(Thomas POV)
The music shifted, still soft, but with a new thread pulled through it, this was a recording of Edward playing the piano now. His beyond human timing and perfection had the whole yard holding its breath.
The small crowd stood; the music clearly indicated that the most important participant of the ceremony was about to arrive.
Carlisle was the only movement near the door, he stepped full into view next to the arch, careful to block no one's sightline as he waited to walk his adopted daughter down the aisle. He adjusted his cuffs once, a doctor's habit, then folded his hands in front of him and waited.
Even Jasper's aura of calm thinned a bit as he waited expectantly.
Then she stepped out of the house, not with a flourish, not with drama. Just…with weight.
She stood there for a moment, her eyes searching the crowd, landing on every face and meeting their eyes as if to personally thank them for coming. In return, every person straightened just a little more, reached for the hand of a loved one, and just stared at the vision before them.
My pulse thudded, hard, as if it had been held until this moment.
Edythe had made but one demand of the dress Alice and Rosalie had designed and stitched, and that was no theatrics. Her sisters had delivered. There was no overly intricate design, no sparkles with every movement, just a simple white dress that no one would ever mistake for anything but a wedding dress.
It looked soft and light without being sheer, fitted like it was a second skin until it reached her waist, and then it fell in clean lines, moving with the wind as she stepped forward to take Carlisle's arm.
And the yard exhaled.
Charlie looked like he'd forgotten how to breathe. Renée made a small sound that Phil immediately absorbed by tightening his hand over hers. Bella's eyes went bright, and her expression shifted, not into panic, not into envy, into something steadier. Like she was watching proof being laid down in front of her: that you could choose a life and still keep your spine.
Leah didn't move. But her gaze tracked Edythe with the same sharp attention she'd used in training, measuring, assessing, taking in every detail like it mattered.
Maybe it did.
Carlisle guided Edythe forward at a human pace, slow enough for the humans to keep up with their own feelings. The hem of her dress brushed the runner Alice had laid down, and the scent of flowers and wet grass and vampire skin hit me all at once.
My hands went cold.
Not fear.
Anticipation so sharp it felt like a blade.
Jasper shifted his stance beside me.
Emmett's grin softened into something almost reverent.
And I just stood there, locked in place on that taped X I'd half-imagined earlier, thinking: if Alice really did write The sacrifice stands here, she wasn't wrong.
Because the second Edythe reached the end of the aisle…
The moment Carlisle brought her to me…
Everything else I'd survived to get here stopped mattering.
The last person Edythe looked at was the one she wanted to see the most, me.
And when her eyes locked on mine, the yard blurred at the edges. The crowd. The flowers. Even Edward's music became background, like it belonged to another day.
Carlisle paused beside her, steady and patient, letting the moment exist at a human pace.
Then he lifted her hand and held it out.
I reached for her like it was the only motion left in the world. Her fingers were cool, of course they were, but familiar, perfect in my palm.
The second I closed my hand around hers, something in my chest unclenched, like my body finally believed I wasn't going to lose her to distance, or timing, or some old rule written by people who didn't know her.
Carlisle's gaze met mine briefly, quiet approval, quiet warning to hold myself together, and then he stepped around us, moving to the front with practiced calm.
He took his place beneath the arch, turned to face the small crowd, and folded his hands.
The ceremony began.
(Third Person POV)
Carlisle let the quiet settle first, after indicating they could take their seats.
Then he spoke.
"Thank you for coming," he said, voice warm and steady. "For being here today, for Thomas and Edythe."
He paused just long enough for the backyard to breathe with him. For the chairs to stop creaking. For Renée to press her lips together like she was trying to hold herself in one piece. For Charlie to remember to blink.
"We're gathered for a simple reason," Carlisle continued. "Two people have chosen each other. Not because it's expected. Not because it's easy. Because it's what they want. Because they believe in the life they're building."
His gaze moved to Thomas and Edythe, no lingering, no spectacle. Just a calm focus that made the moment feel grounded instead of staged.
"Marriage is a promise," he said. "A commitment made out loud so that the people who love you can witness it, and so that, on the hard days, you can remember you didn't make it alone."
Another small pause. Then Carlisle turned slightly toward Thomas.
"Thomas," he said clearly, "do you take Edythe to be your wife?"
Thomas didn't hesitate. "I do."
Carlisle's eyes shifted to Edythe.
"Edythe, do you take Thomas to be your husband?"
"I do," she answered, quiet and certain.
Carlisle nodded once, as if confirming something vital, and then continued without rushing.
"Then we will speak vows," he said. "Not because words make a bond real, but because they give shape to what is already real in your heart and soul."
He held out his hand, palm up, a quiet invitation.
"Thomas."
Thomas swallowed once, more out of habit than nerves, and then reached into his jacket pocket. His fingers closed around the folded paper there, creased, softened at the edges from being opened and refolded too many times.
He glanced at it like it might betray him.
Then he looked at Edythe.
For a beat, neither of them moved. The yard felt suspended between breaths.
Thomas unfolded the paper carefully, as if the sound alone might be too loud, and began.
"Edythe…" he said, and the name came out steadier than he felt. "I had this whole thing planned. Something polished. Something that would make Alice preen and make Emmett pretend he wasn't watching for it."
A small ripple of quiet amusement moved through the chairs, quick, contained. Carlisle's expression didn't change, but the warmth in his eyes did.
Thomas didn't look away from Edythe.
"But the truth is," he continued, "I won't make you smaller than what you are. And I won't dress this up in anything that isn't honest."
He glanced down at the page once, just long enough to find the line again, then lifted his eyes back to hers.
"I love you," he said simply. "Not the idea of you. Not the story of you. You."
His hand tightened around Edythe's fingers, an unconscious anchor.
"I love how you pay attention," he went on, voice low and steady. "How you hear what people mean even when they don't say it right. How you step in front of the people you love like you were built for it."
He breathed in, slow.
"And I love that you let me in. That you chose me, even when you didn't have to. Even when it would have been easier to keep your heart locked up where nothing could touch it."
Thomas's mouth twitched, the start of a smile that didn't quite make it all the way.
"I know you don't do 'theatrics,'" he said. "So I'm not going to promise you a fairytale. I'm not going to promise you a life where nothing ever goes wrong."
He lifted the paper slightly, then lowered it again, as if he didn't need it anymore.
"What I can promise," he said, "is that you will never be alone in it."
His voice held, steadying on conviction.
"I promise to be your partner. To be your home when the world gets loud. To tell you the truth, even when it's hard, and to listen when you do the same."
A pause…small, but deliberate.
"I promise to choose us," he said, "on the easy days and on the ones that make us earn it."
Thomas swallowed again, then softened, like the last words weren't for the crowd at all.
"And I promise," he finished, "to keep finding you, every time. No matter what tries to pull us apart."
For a moment, he didn't move.
Then he folded the paper once, careful, almost reverent, and let his gaze stay on hers like the vow wasn't complete unless she saw every part of it.
Carlisle waited just long enough for the meaning to settle.
Then he turned to Edythe, his voice gentle.
"Edythe."
She didn't reach for a paper.
She simply lifted her chin a fraction and kept her eyes on Thomas as if the rest of the yard had stopped existing.
"I do not have this written down," she said quietly. No apology in it. Just honesty.
A faint, restrained sound moved through the crowd, more surprise than laughter, because it was so very her.
Edythe's fingers tightened around Thomas's hand, steady and sure.
"Thomas," she began, and the way she said his name made it sound like a promise all by itself.
"I have spent a long time believing that wanting things, ordinary things, was selfish." Her voice stayed soft, but it carried. "That if I allowed myself to hope for them, I would only be reminded of what I couldn't have."
She didn't look away. She didn't blink.
"And then you walked into my life and treated me like I was allowed to want." Her mouth curved, just barely. "Like I was allowed to choose."
Thomas's expression shifted, something in him breaking open and holding at the same time.
Edythe's voice didn't rise, but it deepened. Settled.
"I love you," she said, simple and absolute. "Not because you are easy. Not because you are safe." A pause, measured. "Because you are good. Because you are stubborn. Because you keep showing up, even when it costs you something. And because you can tell me no."
Her gaze flicked, the smallest glance, to the crowd, family, friends, witnesses, then returned to him like they were background.
"You don't flinch at what I am," she continued. "You don't ask me to be less. And you don't ask me to perform softness so other people can feel comfortable."
A quiet inhale. Controlled.
"So here is what I promise you."
She shifted her hand, bringing Thomas's knuckles closer, as if she needed the contact to keep the words from turning into something too sharp to share.
"I also promise to choose us," she said. "Every day. Not when it's convenient. Not when the room agrees. But every day."
Carlisle's face remained calm, but there was warmth there, pride, the quiet kind.
"I promise to tell you the truth," Edythe went on, "and to trust you with mine. I promise to listen when you speak, even when you're angry, even when you're afraid, even when you think you have to carry it alone."
Her eyes softened, just enough to make Renée press a hand to her mouth and squeeze Phil's fingers like she needed the reminder that she was still sitting in a chair.
"And I promise," Edythe finished, voice lowering, "that you will always have me. Not as an idea. Not as a dream. As a person who stands beside you. Who defends you. Who comes home to you."
She held his gaze, unblinking.
"Always."
The yard didn't move for a beat. Like everyone had agreed, without being told, to give them that second uninterrupted.
Carlisle cleared his throat gently, not to break it, just to guide it forward.
"Thank you," he said, and then his hands lifted slightly. "May I have the rings?"
Alice was already there, of course she was, appearing with a small box like the laws of physics were optional on wedding days. She placed it into Carlisle's palm with a smile that was too bright to be entirely innocent.
Carlisle opened the box and looked to Thomas first.
"Thomas," he said, "place the ring on Edythe's finger."
Thomas's hands were steady now. Whatever shaking had been in him earlier was gone, burned off by certainty. He took the ring, lifted Edythe's hand, and slid it on with a careful reverence that made Charlie's throat work like he was swallowing something he couldn't name.
Carlisle turned to Edythe.
"Edythe."
She took the second ring with the same calm she did everything, except her fingers lingered on Thomas's hand for half a second longer than necessary, like she was memorizing the moment in a way that didn't require photographs.
She slid the ring into place.
Carlisle looked at them, one breath, one beat, then faced the crowd.
"By the vows you have spoken," he said, voice warm and certain, "and by the rings you have given, it is my honor to pronounce you husband and wife."
He paused, just long enough for Renée to inhale like she might cry, again.
"Thomas," Carlisle said, and the smallest smile touched his mouth, "you may kiss your bride."
Carlisle's words hung in the air for one suspended heartbeat.
Thomas didn't rush it.
He lifted Edythe's hand, still holding it like he didn't trust the world not to steal her away, then let it fall gently between them as he stepped closer.
Edythe tilted her face up, calm and unflinching, like this was the most natural conclusion to every strange, impossible thing that had led them here.
Thomas brushed his thumb once over her knuckles, an unconscious check-in.
Then he leaned in.
The kiss was simple. No performance. No show.
Just a quiet claim, deliberate and certain, like a promise sealed without needing to be announced.
For a second, the entire backyard forgot how to make noise.
Then Renée made a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and Phil tightened his arm around her like he'd been waiting for the exact moment gravity would fail.
"Oh…oh my God," Renée breathed, voice cracking on the last word, and she pressed her free hand to her mouth like she could hold the emotion in by force.
Charlie's face did something complicated…stubbornness fighting softness and losing. He blinked hard, stared at a spot over Thomas's shoulder like he was determined not to be seen feeling anything at all, and then cleared his throat as if that fixed it.
It didn't.
Sue squeezed his forearm gently, not teasing, not claiming, just steady support. Charlie didn't look at her, but he didn't pull away either.
Bella's expression shifted in a way that made it hard to tell where the warmth ended, and the thought began. She smiled, small, real, and her eyes shone like she'd just watched a door open in a house she'd believed was locked forever. Edward's hand tightened over hers, careful and anchoring, and he looked at Edythe like he was both proud and relieved in the same breath.
Angela's hands flew to her face, fingers covering her mouth in a quiet, delighted gasp. Ben leaned toward her instinctively, protective without knowing why, then remembered where he was and straightened like he'd been caught reacting.
Leah didn't clap.
She didn't smile, either.
But her shoulders eased by a fraction, and her gaze stayed locked on Edythe with that sharp, measuring focus, like she was cataloging the proof in front of her and filing it under real. When Edythe's eyes flicked toward the front row for the briefest second, Leah held the look and didn't flinch.
That, somehow, felt louder than applause.
Jasper exhaled softly, and the whole yard seemed to release with him. Whatever tension had been coiled in human bodies loosened; whatever edges had been sharpening dulled. His calm didn't erase the moment, it let everyone survive it without breaking.
Emmett broke first, grinning wide as he clapped with enthusiastic, impossible restraint for a man built like a wrecking ball.
"About time," he rumbled, low enough to not fully interrupt, loud enough that several people heard and chuckled anyway.
Rosalie's expression stayed composed, but her eyes softened, and when she glanced at Thomas and Edythe there was something like approval there, brief and sincere.
Alice looked like she might vibrate out of her dress. Her hands fluttered once, then clenched like she was physically restraining herself from launching into a choreographed celebration. A bright, too-wide smile flashed, and then she was moving, already turning, already signaling, already trying to herd the universe into her preferred shape.
Carlisle stepped back with a small, satisfied nod, the kind that said good, done, alive, and then he faced the crowd again with the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how to move people from sacred to social without letting either feel cheap.
"Thank you," he said warmly. "Truly. Please…stay. Eat. Celebrate with them. And oh, I almost forgot, I present to you… Thomas and Edythe Raizel."
The crowd clapped at the introduction.
Thomas and Edythe didn't separate right away.
They stayed close, foreheads nearly touching, her hand still in his, his posture angled around her like a shield he didn't have to think about.
Then Edythe turned slightly, just enough to look out at the small gathering, and her smile changed.
Not polite.
Not careful.
A smile meant for family.
A smile that said: This is real. This is ours.
And for the first time that day, the backyard sounded like a wedding.
Chairs scraped. Someone laughed. Renée cried again, unabashed now that the worst of holding it in was over. Charlie muttered something that sounded like an insult but landed like affection. Angela hugged Bella, quick and fierce, before remembering herself and letting go.
Leah stood last. Quiet. Watchful.
But she stood.
And when she finally moved toward the edge of the aisle to let people pass, she didn't look away from the couple at the front.
As if she was making sure, just once, that the promise held.
The afternoon light kept shifting through clouds above them, and the white flowers Alice had insisted didn't belong in March looked almost unreal against the wet green of the yard.
But the rings were real.
The vows were real.
The way Thomas's hand never stopped holding Edythe's, real.
And that was enough.