Chapter 88 The Ceremony

Chapter 88 The Ceremony


The Adriatic's rooftop glowed with evening light, strung with lights that Sebastian had spent three hours adjusting for perfect ambiance. Twenty chairs arranged in a semicircle. Seattle's skyline provides a backdrop that no amount of money could replicate.

Small. Intimate. Real.

Harper stood in Aunt Eleanor's suite—their suite now—adjusting her dress for the third time. Simple ivory silk that draped over her thirty-week bump. She looked pregnant and bridal and terrified.

"Stop fidgeting," Jessie said, six months pregnant herself now, glowing in pale blue. "You look beautiful."

"I look like I swallowed a watermelon and put on a fancy tent."

"You look like a woman about to marry the love of her life. Again. For real this time." Jessie squeezed her hand. "Are you ready?"

Was she? Harper looked at herself in the mirror. Thirty-two years old, pregnant, about to renew vows with a man she'd married for money and somehow fallen desperately in love with. Nothing about this was the plan.

Everything about this was perfect.

"I'm ready."

Claire appeared in the doorway, already crying. "Why did I think I could get through this without crying? I haven't even seen you walking down the aisle yet."

"It's a rooftop. There is no aisle."

"Don't ruin this with logistics." Claire handed Harper a small bouquet—white roses and eucalyptus, simple and elegant. "These are from Sebastian. He said roses because they're classic, and eucalyptus because it smells like the lobby did when you first showed him around the hotel."

Harper's eyes burned. "He remembered that?"

"He remembers everything about you. It's actually kind of creepy how observant he is."

"It's romantic," Jessie corrected.

"It's both," Harper said, breathing in the eucalyptus scent. That day felt like a lifetime ago. Sebastian in his expensive suit, her in paint-stained jeans, showing him the bones of what the Adriatic could become. Neither of them knowing they were showing each other the bones of what they could become too.

"Time," Claire announced. "Everyone's seated. Sebastian's trying not to cry and failing. It's adorable."

They walked her to the rooftop entrance. Through the glass doors, Harper could see their small gathering. David Rodriguez and Patricia Chen from the board. The Adriatic's construction manager and head housekeeper. A few cousins. Jessie's husband. And Sebastian, standing at the front with the officiant, looking at the door like his whole world was about to walk through it.

Which, Harper supposed, she was.

The doors opened. No music, just the ambient sounds of the city below. Harper walked slowly—thirty weeks made everything slow—toward Sebastian. His face when he saw her made her forget every insecurity, every doubt, every fear.

"Hi," he said when she reached him, voice thick.

"Hi." She handed her bouquet to Jessie, taking Sebastian's hands. They were shaking. "You okay?"

"I'm perfect. You're perfect. This is—" He stopped, collecting himself. "Sorry. I had a whole speech planned and now I can't remember any of it."

The officiant, a woman named Margaret who'd married three generations of Seattle couples, smiled warmly. "Then we'll start with the basics. We're gathered here because Sebastian and Harper want to reaffirm their commitment to each other. They were married six months ago in a courthouse, in what they'd both admit was less than romantic circumstances."

Polite laughter from the guests.

"But they've chosen to stand here today and make new promises. Real ones. Promises built on love, not contracts. On choice, not obligation." Margaret looked at them. "Sebastian, your vows?"

Sebastian took a breath. "Okay. So I definitely had this memorized, but apparently pregnancy hormones are contagious because I'm a mess."

More laughter. Harper squeezed his hands.

"Harper, the first time I saw you, you were covered in drywall dust and glaring at me like I was the devil himself. You told me the Adriatic wasn't for sale, and definitely not to be torn down by some corporate asshole—your words—who wouldn't know architectural significance if it hit him in the face."

"I was more polite than that," Harper protested.

"You really weren't." Sebastian grinned. "And I was fascinated. This fierce woman who'd fight for a crumbling building because it meant something. Who wouldn't be bought or intimidated or impressed by money or power. Who looked at me like I was just... some guy."

His voice softened. "I'd never been just some guy before. I'd always been Malcolm Colton's son, or the CEO, or the billionaire, or whatever label people needed. But to you, I was just the asshole trying to demolish your hotel."

"And you're still that asshole," Harper said. "But you're my asshole."

"I'm trying to be romantic here."

"Sorry. Continue."

Sebastian laughed, wiping his eyes. "What I'm trying to say is—you saw me. Not my name or my money or my title. You saw the person I wanted to be. And you made me want to become him."

Harper felt tears streaming now, not caring about her carefully applied makeup.

"So I promise to keep being just some guy. Your guy. The one who holds your hair when morning sickness hits at three AM. Who builds nursery furniture from incomprehensible Swedish instructions. Who will walk the floor with our screaming baby so you can sleep for twenty minutes." His voice broke. "I promise to choose you every single day. To fight for us. To be the partner and father you both deserve. To never take for granted that you picked me. That you keep picking me."

He was fully crying now. Harper was too. Margaret handed them both tissues.

"That was beautiful," Margaret said. "Harper? Your turn."

Harper took a shaky breath. "I'm definitely going to be less eloquent because I'm crying too hard to see straight."

"You've got this," Jessie called from beside them.

"Sebastian, I came into this so broken. My father in prison, my mother gone, my aunt dead, and this hotel—this beautiful, broken building—as my only inheritance. I thought I had to save it alone. That accepting help meant being weak or being like my father, using people."

She touched his face gently. "Then you offered me a contract. Five million dollars and twelve months of pretending. And I took it because I was desperate, yes, but also because something in me recognized something in you. We were both performing versions of ourselves. Both hiding behind what people expected us to be."

Sebastian nodded, understanding.

"You taught me that real strength isn't doing everything alone. It's letting someone see you at your worst and staying anyway. It's choosing vulnerability over armor. It's fighting for something together instead of protecting yourself by keeping everyone out."

Her hand moved to her bump, where their baby rolled and kicked. "I promise to keep letting you in. Even when I'm scared. Even when my instinct is to run. I promise to trust you, trust us, trust that what we've built can survive anything. I promise to be honest, even when it's hard. To show up, even when I'm tired. To love you and this baby with everything I have."

She squeezed his hands. "I promise to keep picking you. Every single day. Not because a contract says I have to, but because I can't imagine picking anyone else."

Margaret was crying too now. Half the rooftop was crying.

"I think," Margaret said, "we can skip the traditional questions about forever and sickness and health, because you've both already proven you mean those things. So instead, I'll just say this: Sebastian and Harper, you're already married in the eyes of the law. But today, you're married in the eyes of love. Witnessed by the people who care about you, in this place that brought you together, you've chosen each other. Again. Freely and fully."

She smiled through tears. "You may kiss. Again. For real this time."

Sebastian pulled Harper close, careful of her bump, and kissed her like they were the only two people in the world. The rooftop erupted in applause and cheers.

When they broke apart, Sebastian rested his forehead against hers. "We did it."

"We really did."

"I love you so much."

"I love you too." Harper felt the baby kick between them. "Both of us do."

The reception was small and perfect. Dinner at tables overlooking the city. Toasts that made everyone cry—Claire's especially, going on about family and redemption and love that transforms.

"And now," the DJ announced—yes, Sebastian had hired a DJ for twenty people—"the first dance. Well, the first dance as a couple who actually loves each other instead of a couple fulfilling contractual obligations."

"We're never living that down," Harper said as Sebastian led her to the small dance floor.

"Never," he agreed, pulling her as close as her bump allowed. "But I don't mind. It's a good story. Weird, but good."

They swayed to "At Last" by Etta James, which was cliché and perfect. Harper rested her head on Sebastian's shoulder, feeling the baby kick against him.

"They're dancing too," Sebastian said, hand on her bump.

"They're probably uncomfortable. I'm squishing them against you."

"They love it. They know their dad." He kissed her hair. "Three more months."

"Don't remind me. I still can't believe we're responsible for a whole human."

"We'll figure it out."

"That's your answer for everything."

"Because it's true. We've figured out everything else." Sebastian pulled back to look at her. "Contract marriage? Figured it out. Corporate warfare? Figured it out. Falling in love? Figured it out. Labor and newborn chaos will just be the next thing."

"You're very optimistic for someone who's never changed a diaper."

"I've been watching YouTube videos."

Harper laughed against his chest. "Of course you have."

They danced through two more songs before Harper's feet—swollen and aching—demanded she sit down. Sebastian immediately brought her water and put her feet in his lap for a massage.

"You're going to spoil me," Harper said.

"That's the plan." He pressed his thumbs into her arch and she groaned with relief. "I'm going to spoil both of you absolutely rotten."

"What about you? When do you get spoiled?"

"I'm dancing with my wife on the rooftop of her restored hotel while our baby kicks my hand. I'm already spoiled."

Jessie appeared with cake. "Stop being adorable. People are trying to eat."

"Can't help it," Sebastian said. "I'm married to the most beautiful woman in Seattle."

"The most pregnant woman in Seattle," Harper corrected.

"Same thing."

They stayed on the rooftop until midnight, talking and laughing with the few people who mattered most. When the last guest left—Claire, still crying, hugging them both—Sebastian and Harper were alone under the string lights.

"Want to stay?" Sebastian asked. "In the honeymoon suite? We own the hotel. We can do what we want."

"I want to go home. To our home. Our bed. Our ridiculous nursery that's still missing a bookshelf."

"I ordered it yesterday. It arrives tomorrow."

"Of course you did." Harper took his hand. "Take me home."

In the car, exhausted and happy, Harper looked at her wedding ring—still the one Sebastian had given her months ago, the engraving worn smooth from constant wear. Choose me. I choose you.

"I have something for you," Sebastian said, pulling a small box from his pocket. "I was going to give it to you at the ceremony but chickened out."

Inside was a necklace. A simple gold pendant shaped like a building—the Adriatic, Harper realized, in miniature detail.

"So you always carry your aunt's legacy with you," Sebastian said quietly. "And so our baby will know the place that brought their parents together."

Harper couldn't speak, just held the necklace with shaking hands.

Sebastian fastened it around her neck. "Too much?"

"Perfect." Harper kissed him. "You're perfect."

"I'm really not."

"You're perfect for me. That's what matters."

They drove home through Seattle's midnight streets, hands linked, t
he future no longer scary but bright.

In three months, everything would change.

But tonight, it was just them.

Sebastian and Harper Colton.

Married. Again.

For real this time.

Forever.