Updated Mar 13, 2026 • ~6 min read
One year after Vegas.
Three hundred and sixty-five days since we woke up accidentally married.
“Can you believe it’s been a year?” I ask Holden over breakfast.
He looks up from his phone. “Feels like yesterday. Also feels like forever.”
“Both?”
“Both.”
A lot has changed in twelve months.
Holden’s career exploded. He signed three first-round NFL draft picks. His name is everywhere in sports media now. People recognize him at restaurants.
My business grew too. The celebrity wedding I coordinated—the one that saved us financially—led to three more high-profile bookings. I hired an assistant. Rented office space. Built something real.
We moved to a bigger apartment. More space for both of us. An actual office for me. Room for Holden’s growing collection of sports memorabilia.
We’re thriving.
Both of us.
Together.
“What time is Noah coming over?” Holden asks.
“Two. He said he has something important to discuss.”
“Think he’s finally going to propose to Margot?”
“God, I hope so. They’ve been together for three years.”
“We got married after knowing each other for one night.”
“Different situation.”
“Fair point.”
Noah arrives exactly at two. He looks nervous.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just—I need to ask you something.”
We sit in the living room. Holden brings drinks.
“So,” Noah begins. “Margot and I are getting engaged.”
I squeal. “FINALLY!”
“I’m proposing next weekend. Private dinner, romantic, the whole thing. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay?”
“After we’re engaged, we’ll start planning the wedding. And Margot wants you to coordinate.”
I freeze. “Me?”
“You’re the best wedding planner in the city. You’re also my sister. Who else would we ask?”
“Noah, that’s—that’s a lot of pressure. What if something goes wrong? What if you hate it? What if—”
“Tessa.” He takes my hand. “I’ve watched you plan dozens of weddings. You’re incredible at this. And I trust you. Margot trusts you. We want you.”
I look at Holden. He nods encouragingly.
“Okay,” I say finally. “Yes. I’d be honored.”
Noah hugs me. “Thank you. This means everything to us.”
After he leaves, I pace the apartment.
“This is huge,” I mutter. “This is my brother’s wedding. It has to be perfect.”
“It will be,” Holden says calmly.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you’re you. You make everything perfect.”
“I planned our wedding and it rained.”
“And it was still perfect. Because you made it perfect anyway.”
He’s right. The garden wedding was beautiful despite the weather. Maybe even more beautiful because of it.
I can do this.
The next weekend, Noah proposes to Margot at their favorite restaurant.
She says yes (obviously).
They come over the next day to celebrate. Champagne. Stories. Planning talk.
“I want a spring wedding,” Margot says. “Something romantic. Flowers everywhere. Not too big, but not tiny either.”
I’m already taking notes.
“Budget?” I ask.
Noah winces. “Reasonable?”
“Reasonable I can do. Venue preferences?”
“Somewhere meaningful,” Margot says. “Maybe a garden? Something that feels like us.”
I immediately think of three venues. My brain is already designing the entire event.
This is what I do. This is what I love.
Planning a wedding isn’t just logistics and schedules. It’s telling a love story. Noah and Margot’s story.
And I’m going to make it perfect.
Over the next few months, I work on their wedding while managing my other clients.
It’s exhausting. Amazing. Overwhelming.
But I love every second.
Margot and I meet weekly. We taste cakes. Tour venues. Look at flowers and decorations and seating arrangements.
She trusts my vision. Which makes it easier and harder.
Easier because I have creative freedom.
Harder because I want it to be absolutely flawless.
“You’re putting too much pressure on yourself,” Holden says one night when he finds me surrounded by fabric samples.
“It’s Noah’s wedding.”
“Exactly. Noah. Who loves you. Who will love whatever you plan because you planned it.”
“But what if—”
“No what-ifs. You’re incredible at this. Trust yourself.”
I lean against him. “When did you become so wise?”
“I married a wedding planner. I’ve learned a few things.”
Six months after Noah’s proposal, the wedding day arrives.
I’m more nervous than I was at my own wedding.
The venue—a botanical garden—looks stunning. White roses everywhere. String lights. An arch covered in greenery and flowers.
Everything is perfect.
Everything is ready.
Noah finds me before the ceremony.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For all of this. It’s exactly what we wanted.”
“You haven’t even seen Margot yet.”
“I don’t need to. I can see how beautiful this is. You did this for us. That means everything.”
I hug him. My big brother. Getting married. Growing up.
“I love you,” I say.
“Love you too.”
The ceremony is beautiful. Margot looks stunning. Noah cries (we all cry).
The vows are personal and heartfelt. When they kiss, everyone cheers.
This is what I do this for. These moments. This joy.
At the reception, Margot pulls me aside.
“Thank you. For making this perfect. For understanding exactly what we wanted. For being you.”
“It was my honor.”
“You know what’s funny?” she says. “A year ago, you were figuring out your own marriage. And now look at you. Successful, happy, helping other people find their happiness.”
“A lot can change in a year.”
“It really can.”
Later, Holden finds me watching the dance floor.
“You did good,” he says.
“They’re happy. That’s all that matters.”
“They’re happy because of you. You created this.”
“I had help.”
“You had vision. That’s different.”
We watch Noah and Margot dance. Their first dance as husband and wife.
One year ago, I was navigating my own unexpected marriage.
Now I’m watching my brother start his intentional one.
Life is strange. Beautiful. Unexpected.
And I wouldn’t change a single thing.
“Being at a wedding always makes me think about ours,” Holden says suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“Hard to believe it’s been a year and a half since Vegas.”
“Feels like a lifetime ago. In the best way.”
He smiles. “Best accident of my life.”
“Mine too.”
We stay at the reception until the end. Help with cleanup. Say goodbye to the last guests.
Then we go home. To our apartment. Our life.
One year down.
Forever to go.
END OF CHAPTER 27
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