The rooftop was perfect in its simplicity—no orchestras, no armies of photographers, no performance required for people who didn’t matter.

Just twenty chairs arranged in a semicircle, white silk draped over each one, fairy lights strung overhead like someone had convinced the stars to relocate for better ambiance.

The sun hovered low on the Manhattan horizon, brushing every surface with gold that looked expensive as hell but cost nothing.

This didn’t feel like those magazine weddings Harrison used to force me to attend—all pomp and strategic networking disguised as romance.

This felt like coming home.

I stood beneath the simple floral arch Jocelyn had insisted on, hands clasped in front of me to hide the fact that they were shaking like I was facing a hostile takeover instead of marrying the woman who’d saved my life.

The tailored tuxedo felt strange after months of hospital clothes and travel wrinkage, but clean and new in a way that seemed appropriate for becoming someone’s husband.

Someone’s father. Officially, legally, permanently.

Through the entrance, I could see Mia bouncing on her toes in a silver dress that sparkled when she moved, curls pinned back with crystal clips that were already losing the battle against Swiss mountain wind.

She was grinning like she was the star of this show, which honestly, she probably was.

Then the music started—soft strings, nothing loud or overwhelming. Just enough to announce that this moment was real, was happening, was about to change everything forever.

Mia appeared first, carrying her woven basket of petals like it contained the crown jewels.

She scattered them with the methodical concentration of a surgeon, pausing after every few steps to beam at our tiny audience like they were Madison Square Garden.

Then Jocelyn stepped into view.

Christ.

My breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat, probably causing some form of medical emergency I was too distracted to care about.

Her gown wasn’t grand—didn’t trail or glitter or make statements about family wealth. It clung softly to her frame, pure ivory without embellishment, flowing in ways that spoke to strength rather than fragility.

No corset torture device, no cathedral veil hiding her face.

She looked like herself. Beautiful, fierce, real—and somehow mine.

Every step down that makeshift aisle felt monumental, like watching someone shed armor piece by piece until only truth remained. Each footfall on wooden planks brought her closer to a future I’d stopped believing I deserved.

Her eyes found mine and locked on like we were the only two people on this rooftop, in this city, on this planet.

I could see everything written there—the fear, the love, the decision to trust me with forever despite every reason not to.

When she reached me, she didn’t wait for officiant pleasantries or ceremonial cues.

Just stepped close enough that only I could hear and whispered, “You still scare me.”

Something in my chest cracked open.

“You scare me too,” I murmured back with a smile.

The rest of the world disappeared after that.

No rehearsed vows pulled from wedding websites or family traditions. No poetic declarations written by committee. Just us, broken open and rebuilt, one truth at a time.

I took both her hands, felt them trembling slightly, and let out a breath I’d been holding since she first walked into my office months ago.

“There was a time I thought love was a weakness,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. “That needing someone meant losing power, giving up control, becoming vulnerable in ways that could destroy everything I’d built.”

Her fingers squeezed mine.

“But you showed me that love is the only thing worth building. You made me want more than power, more than legacy, more than whatever hollow victory my grandfather was obsessing over.”

I had to pause, swallow around something that felt suspiciously like tears.

“You made me human.”

Jocelyn’s eyes went glassy, but her voice was steady when she replied.

“You were the mistake that saved me. You were the fire I shouldn’t have touched but did anyway, knowing it would change everything.”

She smiled, and it was like watching sunrise after the longest night of my life.

“And I’d burn again a thousand times if it led me back here.”

The officiant blinked, smiled like he’d witnessed something sacred, and said, “Then I think that’s more than enough.”

We didn’t wait for permission or traditional timing. Just leaned into each other and kissed like we were sealing a contract written in starlight and second chances.

The applause started soft, then grew louder, but what I heard most clearly was Mia’s laughter—bright, ringing, absolutely delighted. She clapped wildly from the front row, nearly toppling over in her excitement.

Landon whistled with the appreciation of a man who’d watched me stumble through this entire journey. Helena wiped her cheek with a silk glove, probably cursing the smudge on her makeup.

One of the nurses from Zurich who’d flown in for this dabbed her eyes behind designer sunglasses.

Nobody cared about appearances.

We’d all traveled too far through hell for superficial bullshit.

Dinner was simple—catered dishes, champagne in glasses that caught the fairy lights, conversation that felt easy for the first time in years.

I held Jocelyn’s hand through every toast, every laugh, every moment, like she might disappear if I loosened my grip.

Mia eventually crashed in Helena’s lap, still wearing her crown of tiger lilies, dreaming whatever dreams six-year-olds have when their world finally makes sense.

Jocelyn and I stepped away from the crowd, just far enough to breathe without an audience.

“You okay?” I asked, studying her face in the candlelight.

She turned to me—this woman I’d once run from, once lost, once found again through the most impossible circumstances.

Now just my wife. My anchor in storms I hadn’t seen coming.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve this,” she whispered.

“You survived,” I said, because it was that simple and that complicated. “That’s all it takes.”

We stood under Manhattan stars, letting the noise of celebration fade behind us.

No more games, no more hiding, no more pretending we were anything other than two people who’d found each other against impossible odds.

I pulled her into my arms, rested my cheek against her hair, breathed in the scent of her shampoo mixed with happiness.

Mia’s tiger drawing was folded in my jacket pocket—the one she’d made that first day, the one that had started this entire beautiful catastrophe.

A silent talisman against everything we’d almost lost.

“This is ours now,” I whispered into her hair. “No one takes this from us.”