Chapter 9 - The Royal WeddingThe wedding of Valerie Sullivan and Gabriel Sterling was dubbed the event of the decade by Vogue and The New York Times.
Held in the grand atrium of the Metropolitan Museum of Art—the very space I had designed three years prior—the venue was transformed into a magical winter garden filled with white orchids, towering crystal chandeliers, and glowing candlelight.
Four hundred of the world's most influential leaders, artists, and philanthropists filled the velvet seats.
I stood behind the grand glass doors, wearing a custom Vera Wang gown of ivory silk, featuring a dramatic train, intricate lace bodice, and a veil that trailed three feet behind me. I looked radiant, powerful, and utterly breathtaking.
My father, who had divorced my mother six months earlier after realizing the extent of her toxic manipulation, walked up beside me, tears in his eyes, offering his arm.
"You look like an empress, Valerie," my father choked out proudly. "I am so sorry I didn't protect you sooner."
"You're here now, Dad," I smiled, squeezing his arm. "That's all that matters."
The glass doors opened.
The live orchestra swelled into a breathtaking symphony.
I walked down the aisle, my head held high, every eye in the room fixed on me in pure awe.
Standing at the end of the altar, wearing a flawless black tuxedo, was Gabriel. His dark eyes were filled with tears as he watched me approach, his face radiant with an unreserved, fiery love.
When my father placed my hand in Gabriel’s, Gabriel leaned down, kissing my knuckles gently.
"You take my breath away, Valerie," he whispered softly.
"You gave me mine back," I replied.
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Before God and four hundred witnesses, we spoke our vows—vows of equality, unyielding protection, and eternal love. When the minister declared us husband and wife, Gabriel pulled me into his arms, bringing his lips down onto mine in a kiss that echoed with absolute triumph.
The entire atrium erupted into thunderous, standing applause.
