Chapter 188 One Hundred & Eighty Eight

Chapter 188 One Hundred & Eighty Eight
EMMA POV

After we hung up, I sat on my couch and stared at the ring for a long time.

He was right. I was engaged to a man who loved me more than anything. Someone willing to wait two years to be with me. Someone who was building a future with me even when it was hard.

That wasn't something to be scared of.

That was something to be grateful for.



Over the next week, I started thinking about wedding details.

My mom was thrilled. She came over with a notebook and about fifteen wedding magazines.

"We need to plan this," she said, sitting on my couch. "What's the date? What's the venue? What's the dress situation?"

"I don't know yet," I said. "Ryan and I haven't really talked about it. He's been busy with the team, and I've been busy at work."

"Well, you need to talk about it," my mom said. "Weddings take time to plan. If you want to get married sometime in the next year, we need to start looking at venues now."

A year.

In a year, I could be married.

The thought made me excited and terrified at the same time.

"Let me talk to Ryan," I said. "We'll figure it out."

Later that night, I called him again.

"So my mom wants to start planning," I said.

"Of course she does," he laughed. "What does she think?"

"She thinks we should get married within a year," I said.

There was a pause.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "What do you want?"

"I want to marry you tomorrow," he said. "But I know that's not practical. So I'd say next summer. That gives us time to plan something nice. And it gives me time to save up for the honeymoon."

Next summer.

One year away.

"Okay," I said excitedly. "Next summer. Summer wedding."

"Summer wedding," he agreed. "I'll tell my mom. She's about to get really busy "

"So will my mom, too," I said.

"Good," he said. "Let them plan. We just have to show up and say yes."

"That's a lot simpler than it sounds," I said.

"That gives you enough time to focus on work," he said.

“Yeah, sure.”

“But baby, it's your wedding still.. Whatever you think, it's beautiful for us. I trust you, so don't let our moms get so carried away with their ideas, okay? “ he said softly

“Sure.”

“Feel free to tell me no if it's too much for you.”

“Sure, my love.”

“Love you, my soon-to-be wife,” he said

“Love you too.”

“Say it, Emma.”

“Love you too, hubby.”

The next month was a whirlwind of planning.

My mom and Ryan's mom called each other constantly. They started a group chat with me included. They sent lists of venues. They debated color schemes. They argued about whether we should have a sit-down dinner or a buffet.

It was chaotic and overwhelming and kind of beautiful.

Because it showed that people who'd been strangers a few months ago were coming together to celebrate our love.

Ryan came home for a long weekend in the middle of spring.

We spent it looking at venues.

A garden venue felt right immediately. There was something about the way the light hit the flowers. The way the space felt intimate but also grand.

"This one," I said.

"This one," Ryan agreed, pulling me close.

We walked through the space holding hands, imagining what it would look like on our wedding day.

Our moms were texting constantly, planning details.

"We should do peonies," Ryan's mom texted.

"I was thinking roses," my mom responded.

"Both," Ryan texted in the group chat. "Let's do both."

That was very Ryan. Making everyone happy. Solving problems with generosity.

"You're too nice," I told him.

"I'm not too nice," he said. "I just don't care about flowers. As long as you're happy, I'm happy."

"What about the cake?" I asked.

"Chocolate," he said immediately.

"You don't want to try different flavors?" I asked.

"Emma, I've eaten the same protein shake for six months," he said. "I don't care about cake flavors. I just want chocolate. We can have two types of cake. But as long as we have chocolate am good.”

I laughed so hard I cried.

The long-distance part was still hard.

Even with the engagement. Even with the planning. Even with the certainty that we were building toward something.

There were nights when I'd FaceTime him and see how tired he was, and I'd want to just hold him. I'd want to make him food and let him lie on my bed.

But I couldn't.

All I could do was listen to him talk about his day and tell him about mine.

And hope that it was enough.

"Is this hard for you?" I asked him one night.

"What?" he said.

"This. Being apart. Being engaged but not being able to be together."

"Yes," he said honestly. "It's hard. Every day is hard. But hard doesn't mean I want out. This is worth it, Emma. You're worth it."

"Two years is a long time," I said.

"I know," he said. "But in a year, we'll have a wedding. We'll have memories of planning it together. We'll have a story. And then we'll have forever."

He made it sound so simple.

Like we could just power through two years of long distance and come out the other side.

Like love was enough to bridge any gap.

Maybe it was.



Six months after the proposal, Ryan sent me a package.

Inside was a scrapbook.

Pictures of us. Ticket stubs from movies we'd watched over FaceTime. Pressed flowers from the garden venue. Little notes he'd written me.

On the first page, he'd written:

"To the girl who changed my life. One year until I get to marry you. And then forever starts. I love you. - R"

I cried for an hour.

For the past couple of months have been a crybaby but happy tears.

My mom found me on the couch, ugly crying over a scrapbook.

"What happened?" she asked, panicking.

"Nothing bad," I said through tears. "Everything's good. Everything's so good."

She looked at the scrapbook and smiled.

"He's a good one," she said.

"I know," I said. "I'm the luckiest person alive."

And I meant it.

Despite the distance. Despite the fear. Despite all the hard parts of loving someone on another continent.

I was the luckiest person alive.

Because I was going to marry my best friend.

And we were going to make it work