Violet woke up to sunlight kissing the edge of her shoulder, warming her skin like a promise kept.
It was a new morning. But not just any morning.
It was the first one with his last name.
Or maybe her last name. They hadn't decided.
She turned her head slowly, her hair a wild halo around her face, and saw Adam already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching her like she was some secret the world had finally let him keep.
"Good morning, Mrs. Maybe-Still-Sloan," he said, grinning.
"Good morning, Mr. Might-Be-Rivera," she murmured, stretching lazily.
He leaned in to kiss her nose. "I think we'll have to hyphenate. Violet Sloan-Rivera has a nice rhythm."
"Adam Sloan-Rivera sounds like a historical novelist," she teased.
"I am historical. Just ask my knees."
She giggled and buried her face in the pillow. Outside, birds chirped, and the garden was still dripping from the remnants of the storm. Somewhere, Maya was probably already reorganizing floral archways and humming with post-event adrenaline.
They lay in bed for a long time, in that kind of peaceful silence reserved only for the newly married or the eternally content. The sheets still smelled faintly of lavender and cinnamon—the candles Maya insisted on lighting to set the mood—and Violet's cheeks still hurt from all the smiling.
"You okay?" Adam asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
She nodded. "I'm more than okay."
But that didn't mean her heart wasn't full to the point of ache.
---
Breakfast was chaotic in the best way.
Theo was already in the kitchen, wearing a ridiculous apron that read "Husband Material (Too Late!)" and flipping pancakes while singing off-key to an '80s love ballad. Maya sat at the table with a tub of frosting in one hand and a leftover wedding cupcake in the other, clearly still in celebration mode.
"You two consummated, I assume?" she asked around a mouthful of icing.
"Maya!" Violet hissed, but Adam only smirked.
"Many times. Vigorously. Spiritually."
"Ugh, gross," Theo said, tossing a pancake at him like a frisbee.
They all laughed, easy and unfiltered.
It was in these moments—sticky fingers, syrup on the table, unbrushed hair and laughter echoing off mismatched walls—that Violet realized this was exactly what she wanted marriage to look like.
Not perfection. Not porcelain.
Just people. Messy, loud, full-hearted people.
---
Later that afternoon, Violet and Adam escaped to the studio.
The space had been cleaned but still carried the scent of roses, eucalyptus, and melted wax. The fairy lights were still strung, the floral arch—now slightly lopsided—stood as a silent witness to vows exchanged beneath it.
Violet walked to the center of the room and spun slowly, arms wide, soaking it all in.
Adam picked up a disposable camera someone had left behind and snapped a picture of her mid-spin.
"You look like a painting," he said.
"Which one?"
"The one no one dares sell because it feels too personal."
She smiled. "You always say the right things."
"Because I'm always looking at you."
---
They sat down on the floor, backs against the wall, knees touching.
"We should talk about the honeymoon," Adam said, pulling out his phone. "We've been offered at least six free getaways courtesy of your wildly generous aunties."
"Tempting," Violet said, "but I was thinking…"
He raised an eyebrow. "That tone sounds dangerous."
"Let's wait. Just a few months."
"To travel?"
"To honeymoon. To leave," she clarified. "I just… I want to live in this moment. We've spent so long running toward each other. I kind of want to sit still now. Together. Here."
Adam smiled, setting his phone down. "We make this our honeymoon. Cup noodles, leaky pipes, and all."
"Exactly."
They touched pinkies in agreement.
---
That evening, her mother called.
Not for anything dramatic—just to say, "I'm proud of you."
It wasn't a grand declaration. No tears. No confessions of past wrongs. Just a quiet, sturdy truth passed through the phone line like a thread sewn into the hem of a dress.
Violet said thank you.
Then she sat on the windowsill and cried, not because she was sad—but because, sometimes, happiness cracked you open too.
Adam didn't ask what the call was about. He just handed her a blanket and held her until her shoulders stopped shaking.
---
Over the next few days, they nested.
Rearranged furniture.
Built a bookshelf together—Adam misread the instructions, and it ended up slightly tilted, but Violet insisted it had "character."
She painted their bedroom wall a shade of blue called Whale Song.
He wrote a song for her and sang it terribly on purpose while she cooked pasta.
They planted herbs in mason jars.
They picked new sheets.
They argued about nothing—tea flavors, dishwashing order, the appropriate temperature for toast—and made up within minutes.
The novelty wasn't in the acts themselves. It was in the doing of them together. Every moment had a new rhythm now, like learning to dance in a space they'd only ever tiptoed through before.
---
One night, a week after the wedding, Maya dropped by unannounced.
She was tipsy, carrying a pizza and a giant binder labeled "Future Baby Names (and Aesthetics)."
"Don't worry," she said. "I'm not pressuring. I just think future Sloan-Rivera offspring should be well-prepared for aesthetic greatness."
Violet laughed so hard she nearly choked on her wine.
Adam took the binder and flipped through it with the seriousness of a boardroom executive. "So… Artemis if it's a girl, August if it's a boy?"
Maya nodded. "And a neutral option: River. For vibes."
"Sold," Violet said.
They spent the night sprawled on the living room rug, sharing pizza and stories about their own childhoods—the good, the bad, and the absurd.
At one point, Violet looked around the room and thought: This is my family.
Not bound by blood. But chosen, fiercely and freely.
And wasn't that even more beautiful?
---
Before bed, Adam traced his fingers along Violet's spine.
"You're different," he said quietly.
"How?"
"Not in a bad way. Just… settled. Like your soul found a chair and finally sat down."
She turned to face him, fingers brushing his jaw.
"I think love does that," she whispered. "It gives you a home inside someone else."
He kissed her gently. "Then you're my whole street."
She smiled against his lips.
"Let's stay here a while," she said.
And so they did.
They stayed.
---