The warm August breeze tousles the curls framing my face. In the seats are the people I love most in this world. Over their heads hang lights like the stars came down low just for us, while flickering candles mark the path from where I stand up to the altar. I want to remember how it smells in the air, how the silk of my dress feels on my skin, how the stirring trees are the soundtrack I never knew I wanted for my wedding.
But most of all, I want to remember Sasha’s face.
He stands beneath an arch woven with white wildflowers, hands clasped behind his back. He’s wearing a dark navy suit with an ivory shirt, open at the throat. On his feet are oxblood leather loafers, so perfectly chosen that I want to laugh out loud. His beard has been shaved close to the skin, so it’s just dark, rough s
