The minister opened his book and found his place.
"Dearly beloved," he began, then paused, glancing at the empty seats. "Well. Dear... Jason. We are gathered here today..."
Jason gave a solemn thumbs up from behind his phone. He had already started recording, holding it carefully as if docunting a historical event.
Leo took both of Bella’s hands in his. His gray eyes held hers, warm and steady.
"I didn’t know you when we first said our vows," he said quietly. "I was cold. Distant. I married you because it was expected." He squeezed her fingers gently. "But I know you now. I know how you take your coffee. I know you hum when you’re happy. I know you bite your lip when you’re nervous." A small smile curved his mouth. "I know you’re the bravest person I’ve ever t."
Bella’s tears fell freely now.
"I didn’t know how to love you then," he continued, his voice softer, more certain. "But I do now. And I’ll spend the rest of my life showing you."
The minister read the vows—simple, traditional words that felt brand new in this nearly empty venue, with only Jason recording on his phone and the mountains standing as silent witnesses.
When it was Bella’s turn, she took a shaky breath.
"I didn’t know you either," she whispered. "I was scared of you. Of this life. Of everything." She tightened her hold on his hands. "But then I saw you. Really saw you. The way you protect people. The way you love your family. The way you look at like I’m sothing precious."
Leo’s jaw tightened, emotion flickering behind his eyes.
"And Leonardo Moretti," she said softly, her voice trembling but sure, "you have no idea how you stole every space in my mind and heart."
The minister smiled gently. "By the power vested in ... I now pronounce you husband and wife. Again."
Leo cupped her face and kissed her, slow and deep, full of everything he could not put into words.
Behind the phone, Jason sniffled loudly.
"I’m not crying," he announced. "It’s the mountain air."
No one believed him.
The mountains stood witness. The golden light wrapped around them like a blessing.
And two people, already married, beca husband and wife all over again.
"Woah! I am so happy!" Jason burst out, practically bouncing on his heels as Leo finally pulled back from the kiss. "Congratulations to both of you for getting married again! Again! That’s so—wait." He paused mid-bounce, his face scrunching. "Is it still called getting married if you’re already married? Is it re-marrying? Over-marrying? Double-marrying?"
Bella laughed, wiping her tears.
Jason did not stop. "Like, legally, what does this make you? Super married? Married squared? Married with benefits—no, wait, you already have those—"
"Jason." Leo’s voice was flat, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"I’m just saying! This is unprecedented! I need answers!"
"You need to shut up," Leo said, but he was smiling now.
And Bella laughed, an unrestrained laugh that echoed off the mountains and made her whole face glow. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling with happy tears, her smile so wide it hurt.
Leo watched her like she was the only thing in the world worth looking at.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
The waterfall roared in front of her, loud and steady, drowning out everything else.
Hazel sat on a flat rock, her knees pulled up, her wedding dress bunched around her in ssy white waves. She was not crying anymore. She was simply staring. At the water. At the trees. At nothing.
The scar burned on her cheek. It always burned when she cried.
She touched it without thinking, feeling the raised skin under her fingers. Rough. Permanent. A mark that would never fade.
Before the accident, she had been pretty. Really pretty. n had tripped over themselves to talk to her. Won had wanted to be her friend. She walked into rooms and people noticed.
Then the glass shattered. The blood. Months of bandages and surgeries and hoping it would heal clean.
It did not.
After that, the looks changed. People still noticed her, but for different reasons. Their eyes would land on her face, catch the scar, then dart away quickly and awkwardly, like they had seen sothing they should not have.
n stopped approaching. The ones who had been interested before suddenly were not. They would smile politely, make small talk, then find excuses to leave. She would see them later with other won. Smooth-faced won. Unmarked won.
One man had said it out loud. Drunk at a party, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You used to be hot. What happened?"
She had left. Cried in her car. Never went back.
The pity had been worse. People treating her gently, like she was fragile. Like the scar ant she was broken inside too. Offering her scraps of kindness with that look in their eyes—poor thing, she used to be beautiful.
She stopped going out. Stopped trying. Stopped hoping.
The depression hit hard. Days in bed. Weeks of nothing. She would lie awake at night and imagine cutting the scar off her face. Just slicing it away. If the skin was gone, maybe she could start over.
Nicolas ca along when she was at her lowest. He looked at her differently. He looked at her straight on. No flinching. No pity. He touched her face, scar and all, and said he did not see it. Said she was beautiful.
She had wanted to believe him so badly.
So she did.
Hazel wiped her face with the back of her hand. The tears had stopped. There was nothing left.
The waterfall kept falling. The mountain kept watching.
She sat alone in her wedding dress, on the rock where she used to co as a girl, before everything broke.
"Hey."
The voice ca from behind her, breathless and slightly annoyed.
Hazel turned.
Dominique stood a few feet away, one hand braced against a tree trunk, his chest rising and falling like he had just run a marathon. His three-piece suit was rumpled now, jacket unbuttoned, tie loosened, shirt untucked on one side. Sweat dotted his forehead. His perfect hair had surrendered to the mountain humidity, a few dark strands falling across his brow.
He looked ridiculous.
He also looked unfairly handso.
"You," he gasped, pointing at her, "wore a wedding dress. And heels. How are you walking faster than ?"
Hazel stared at him.
Of all the people to follow her. Of all the faces to appear in her hidden place.
"I’m trained," she said flatly.
Then she turned away, facing the waterfall again.
She did not need him here. She did not need anyone. Especially not soone who looked like that, perfect jaw, perfect eyes, perfect everything, looking at her with whatever expression was about to co next. Pity. Curiosity. Disgust.
She had seen them all.
Behind her, Dominique caught his breath. Straightened. Took a few careful steps closer, but not too close.
"Trained," he repeated. "Right. Of course. Because you’re..." He gestured vaguely. "You. Shooter. Assassin. Mountain queen. Obviously."
Hazel said nothing.
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