Finnigan stood in front of the full-length mirror, a mix of emotions flooding his mind as he adjusted his wedding suit. The months leading up to this day had been anything but easy. Awkward silences, brief conversations, and the occasional disagreement had marked their engagement. Still, Finnigan chose not to fuel any of their arguments—he saw no value in winning battles that might cost him the war for her heart.
A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Opening it, he was surprised to see Mark, Brielle’s father, standing there with a warm smile.
"Are you ready?" Mark asked.
Finnigan nodded. "I am, Uncle Mark."
Mark chuckled and stepped inside. "Call me Dad. You're about to be my son-in-law."
"Sure, Dad," Finnigan said, offering a genuine smile. "It’ll be my pleasure."
Mark placed a hand on his shoulder, his face growing serious. "I hope you’ll take care of her. She’s... complicated. But she has a good heart. I know she’s been distant, but I see how much you care about her. Thank you, Finn."
Finnigan frowned slightly. "Thank me?"
"For being willing to marry her. For honouring our families. I know this isn’t easy for you. But I believe one day, she’ll see you for who you truly are."
Finnigan blinked away sudden tears. "You don’t need to thank me. My parents gave up so much for me. If this is how I repay them, it’s still not enough."
Mark pulled him into a hug. "You’re a good man, Finnigan. I’m proud to call you my son-in-law. Now, I need to get ready to walk my daughter down the aisle. See you out there."
Finnigan watched him go, emotions swirling inside him.
Moments later, his best friend Michael stepped in. "All set, buddy?"
"As ready as I’ll ever be."
Together, they made their way to the altar. The wedding was held in Finnigan’s parents’ beautiful garden, lovingly decorated by both families. As guests filled the seats, Finnigan glanced at the aisle, waiting.
Then he saw her.
Brielle looked breathtaking in her wedding gown. She clutched her father’s arm, trying to appear composed. Mark leaned down and whispered, "You’ll be fine, princess."
She managed a smile, but her heart ached. Her mind lingered on someone else—someone she loved, someone who wasn’t Finnigan. Still, she walked forward.
At the altar, Finnigan’s breath caught. He smiled through the mist in his eyes. As Mark placed Brielle’s hand into his, their eyes met.
"Shall we begin?" the priest asked.
They both nodded.
"We are gathered today to witness the union of two souls..."
As the priest spoke, Finnigan couldn’t ignore the distant look in Brielle’s eyes. He poured love into every glance, hoping she’d feel at least a fragment of it.
"Do you, Finnigan Lee Byrne, take Brielle Elise Murphy to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
"I do," Finnigan said without hesitation.
"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect her—forsaking all others?"
"I do."
The priest turned to Brielle. "Do you, Brielle Elise Murphy, take Finnigan Lee Byrne to be your lawfully wedded husband?"
There was a beat of silence. Brielle looked at Finnigan, then said, "I do."
"Do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect him—forsaking all others?"
She nodded slightly. "I do."
The priest nodded and called for the rings. Michael passed them forward, and Finnigan slid the band onto Brielle’s finger.
"This ring is my sacred gift... With this ring, I thee wed."
Brielle mirrored the words as she placed the ring on his hand.
"By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Finnigan gently kissed her—just a soft, brief brush of their lips. The guests erupted in applause as the priest announced, "I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Byrne."
They turned to the crowd, smiling for the cameras and cheers. Brielle held his hand, her expression unreadable.
As the newlyweds made their way down the aisle, Finnigan glanced at her. "You okay?"
She nodded faintly. "I’m fine."
But deep inside, Finnigan knew—fine didn’t mean happy. Not yet.
Still, the day had gone smoothly. No disruptions. No disasters. For now, that was enough.
---
As the newlyweds made their way down the aisle, hand in hand, guests tossed delicate white rose petals in celebration. Brielle forced a polite smile for the cameras, while Finnigan's heart swelled with quiet joy. The soft summer breeze carried music through the garden as they entered the reception area, beautifully adorned with cascading fairy lights, ivory flowers, and soft gold accents. Their mothers had poured their hearts into creating this dreamlike setting.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee’s voice rang out, “please welcome Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan Byrne!”
The crowd erupted into enthusiastic applause and cheers. Finnigan gently guided Brielle to the center of the floor for their first dance. As the soft melody of "Can’t Help Falling in Love" began, Finnigan reached for her hand. “May I?” he asked softly.
Brielle hesitated for a moment but nodded. “You may,” she said, allowing him to lead her in the slow, graceful rhythm of the song.
As they danced, Finnigan whispered, “You look beautiful tonight, Brielle.”
“Thank you,” she replied quietly, her eyes avoiding his. He held her gently but respectfully, careful not to overstep boundaries.
From the sidelines, friends and family watched with hopeful smiles. To many, it looked like a perfect union—two attractive, well-mannered individuals from respectable families. But only the bride and groom knew the truth behind the smiles.
Dinner was served, and warm toasts followed. Michael, Finnigan’s best friend, stood and raised his glass. “To Finnigan, who has always been the most loyal, patient, and selfless man I know—and to Brielle, may this journey bring you more love than you ever expected.”
Brielle offered a tight smile, sipping her wine as she listened. Then her childhood friend, Clara, took the mic. “Brielle… I know you didn’t dream of this exact day, but maybe... life has funny ways of giving us what we need, not what we want. I hope you’ll find light in this path—even if it’s dim now.”
Brielle’s eyes stung slightly at Clara’s words, but she masked it with a sip of champagne.
After dinner, more guests offered gifts, took photos, and exchanged well-wishes. Finnigan stayed close by her side, gently introducing her to distant relatives and handling most conversations with poise. Brielle mostly nodded, offered soft smiles, and drifted in and out of her own thoughts.
Later in the evening, Brielle stepped outside for fresh air, standing beneath a pergola wrapped in twinkling lights. Finnigan joined her, hands in his pockets. “Tired?”
“A bit,” she replied.
He hesitated before saying, “If there’s anything you need tonight—or anytime—you can just tell me. I know this isn’t easy.”
She glanced at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. “You’ve been… kind,” she admitted softly. “I didn’t expect that.”
Finnigan smiled faintly. “Kindness isn’t a strategy, Brielle. It’s just who I am. You don’t have to love me today… but I’ll still try to be someone you don’t regret standing next to.”
Her expression softened—just a little—as they stood there in silence, the night wrapping around them in gold and quiet promises neither was ready to make.
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