Nick's POV
My father.
He squeezed gently—firm, proud, grounding.
I glanced at him, blinking through the blur.
His eyes were crinkled with the biggest, softest smile I'd ever seen on his face. Not the business smile. Not the polite leader smile.
A father's smile.
"Be ready, son," he murmured, voice low but full. "Wipe those tears… here comes your bride."
Something in my chest clenched hard—like I was eight years old again, wanting my father's approval… and finally receiving it.
I nodded, swallowing a shaky breath as I quickly dabbed my eyes with the handkerchief Oliver shoved at me. Not that it helped much—I probably still looked like a sentimental idiot.
And then my mom stepped forward on dad's other side, elegant as ever, eyes shimmering with amusement.
"Oh dear," she said loud enough that Liam snorted behind me, "our groom cried more than our bride."
A ripple of laughter burst from the guests around us.
