Chapter 9 Wedding Day Warnings
# Chapter 9: Wedding Day Warnings
"Are you sure about this?" I asked Lily, adjusting the flower crown on her head. "You just got out of the hospital two weeks ago."
My daughter gave me a look of pure determination—the same expression she wore when tackling particularly complex coding problems. "I'm sure, Mom. I feel great, and I've been practicing my walk."
Three months had passed since Lily's bone marrow transplant. The procedure had been successful beyond our doctors' expectations—her symptoms were gone, and the pressure on her optic nerve had decreased significantly. Ted's cells had done exactly what we'd hoped, giving our daughter a new lease on health.
Our family had settled into a new normal during her recovery. Ted had moved permanently into the guest house with us, taking over the spare bedroom. The arrangement started as a practical solution during Lily's recovery but had evolved into something more—an unspoken acknowledgment that we were building something together.
And now, here we were, preparing for a wedding. Not ours—though the triplets still dropped hints with alarming regularity—but the marriage of Ted's cousin Julia, who had insisted the children participate as flower girl and ring bearers.
"You look beautiful," I told Lily, smoothing the purple dress we had selected together. The color complemented her eyes perfectly—those distinctive hazel eyes with sectoral heterochromia that matched her father's.
"Do you think Dad will cry?" she asked seriously. "Julia says men always cry at weddings."
I smiled, remembering Ted's tears when Lily was released from the hospital. "He might. Your dad has a soft heart, especially when it comes to people he loves."
"Like you," she stated matter-of-factly.
Before I could formulate a response, the door opened and the boys burst in, handsome in matching suits.
"Mom! Dad says we have to leave in ten minutes!" Ethan announced.
"And he can't find his cufflinks," Oliver added.
"Check the bathroom counter," I called after them as they raced back out. Living together these past months had created a domestic familiarity I hadn't anticipated—I knew where Ted left his things, he knew how I took my coffee, we had developed routines and inside jokes and the thousand tiny connections that bind a family together.
When we arrived at the elegant beachfront venue, the triplets were immediately whisked away by the wedding coordinator for final instructions. Ted, looking devastatingly handsome in his suit, found me in the crowd.
"They're more excited about this wedding than Julia is," he observed with a smile.
"Lily's been rehearsing her flower-petal-throwing technique for days," I agreed. "She's taking her role very seriously."
Ted's hand found mine naturally, our fingers intertwining without conscious thought. This, too, had become part of our new normal—casual touches, physical connection that had gradually returned as the barriers between us lowered.
"You look beautiful," he said softly, his eyes warming as they took in my blue dress—a color he had once told me matched the ocean at his favorite childhood beach.
"You clean up pretty well yourself," I replied, straightening his already-perfect tie as an excuse to be closer to him.
The ceremony was picturesque—white chairs on golden sand, the Pacific Ocean providing a dramatic backdrop. The triplets performed their duties flawlessly, with Lily stealing the show as she carefully distributed rose petals with scientific precision.
During the vows, Ted's hand tightened around mine. I glanced at him, catching the emotion in his expression as he watched his cousin promise forever to her partner. The weight of what we had lost—and what we might still find—hung between us.
At the reception, after the children had exhausted themselves dancing and were now contentedly demolishing slices of wedding cake, Ted pulled me onto the dance floor for a slow song.
"Happy?" he asked as we swayed together.
"Very," I admitted. "It's been a good day. The kids are having the time of their lives, and Lily looks healthier than I've seen her in years."
"Thanks to you," he said. "Your vigilance, your care all these years—that's why she's thriving now."
"And your bone marrow," I reminded him. "We make a good team."
His arms tightened slightly around my waist. "We always did."
The familiar ache of lost time passed between us—five years we couldn't get back, memories we wouldn't share. But increasingly, that ache was balanced by appreciation for what we were building now.
"Julia seems happy," I observed, changing the subject to safer ground.
"She deserves it. She was always the rebel of the family—the only one who stood up to Margaret." Ted's expression darkened briefly at the mention of his stepmother, who remained under house arrest awaiting trial.
"Speaking of family rebels," I nodded toward the kids' table, where the triplets appeared to be in deep discussion with Julia's new husband's teenage nephew—a known computer enthusiast.
Ted chuckled. "Should we be worried?"
"Always," I replied with a smile. "But maybe not today."
As the song ended, Ted didn't release me immediately. "Wilona," he began, his tone shifting to something more serious. "There's something I've been wanting to ask—"
He was interrupted by a commotion at the entrance to the reception hall. Several drones—small, commercial models—had flown in through the open doors, their lights blinking in formation as they hovered over the dance floor.
"Tell me those aren't ours," I muttered to Ted, who looked equally bewildered.
The drones began moving in a choreographed pattern, lights changing color until they spelled out a message hovering in the air: "DAD, IF YOU BULLY MOMMY AGAIN, WE'LL EMPTY YOUR BITCOIN!"
A collective gasp went through the wedding guests, followed by laughter as people realized it was a prank. I turned to the kids' table, where three guilty faces stared back at me—though I noticed the teenage boy looking impressed rather than innocent.
"I'm going to kill them," I whispered to Ted through a forced smile.
"It could have been worse," he replied, barely containing his amusement. "At least they didn't hack the venue's sound system."
As if on cue, the speakers crackled and Lily's voice came through: "This has been a message from the Preston-Greenwood Security Team. We are watching you, Dad!"
The guests roared with laughter, Julia most of all. Ted, to his credit, took a theatrical bow toward our children, acknowledging their prank with good humor.
"Your turn," he murmured to me.
I shot him a look that promised retribution later, then made my way to our children, who were already being congratulated by other guests on their "adorable" intervention.
"Explain," I said when I reached them, keeping my voice low but firm.
"It was just a joke, Mom," Ethan said quickly. "Like in the movies when people write messages in the sky."
"We programmed them ourselves," Oliver added proudly. "Using Dad's drone development kit."
"The one he specifically told you was off-limits?" I reminded them.
They had the grace to look slightly abashed—but only slightly.
"It was my idea," Lily admitted. "For the wedding. Because weddings need something memorable."
I sighed, unable to maintain my stern expression in the face of their enthusiasm. "We're going to have a serious talk about appropriate use of technology later. And you will apologize to Julia and Eric for interrupting their reception."
"They loved it!" Lily protested, pointing to the bride and groom, who were indeed still laughing.
"Nevertheless," I insisted, "boundaries and consent matter. Even for pranks."
As the children nodded their understanding, Ted joined us, crouching down to their level.
"Impressive programming," he acknowledged, "but next time, run your ideas by Mom or me first, okay? Some surprises aren't welcome, especially at other people's events."
"We just wanted to remind you of your promise," Lily said earnestly.
"What promise?" Ted asked.
"From our contract," Oliver explained. "That you wouldn't make Mom cry again."
Ted's expression softened. "I remember. And I intend to keep that promise."
"Good," Ethan nodded seriously. "Because we really could empty your Bitcoin wallet. We've been practicing."
"Ethan!" I gasped.
Ted laughed. "I don't doubt it. But maybe we can find less financially devastating ways for you to express your concerns, hmm?"
The wedding planner approached then, diplomatically suggesting that the children might enjoy the chocolate fountain that had just been unveiled at the dessert table. They ran off eagerly, the lure of liquid chocolate stronger than any lecture about appropriate behavior.
"They're impossible," I sighed, watching them go.
"They're perfect," Ted corrected, his arm slipping around my waist. "And they clearly love you very much."
"Enough to threaten their billionaire father with financial ruin," I agreed dryly.
"I'm surprised they haven't hacked my accounts already to set up college funds and retirement plans," Ted mused. "Actually, I should check that..."
The rest of the reception passed without further technological interventions, though I noticed the teenage nephew exchanging contact information with the triplets—a development that would require monitoring.
As the evening wound down, the children's energy finally flagged. Lily fell asleep against Ted's chest during the last dance, while the boys struggled to keep their eyes open at the table.
"I think it's time to call it a night," I said, gathering our belongings.
Ted nodded, cradling Lily carefully as he stood. "I'll carry her to the car."
We said our goodbyes to the happy couple, apologizing once more for the drone display (which Julia insisted was the highlight of the reception), and made our way to the parking lot.
The drive home was quiet, all three children succumbing to sleep in the backseat. Ted drove carefully, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us. Without thinking, I placed my hand over his, a gesture that had become increasingly natural.
"They're exhausted," I observed, glancing at the sleeping children in the rearview mirror.
"They earned it," Ted smiled. "Perfect flower girl, perfect ring bearers, slightly less perfect drone programmers."
I laughed softly. "Never a dull moment with the Preston-Greenwood Security Team."
The casual combination of our names hung in the air between us. It wasn't the first time one of us had referred to the family that way, but something about the setting—leaving a wedding, driving home together with our sleeping children—gave it new weight.
When we arrived home, Ted carried Lily while I guided the sleepy boys inside. We moved through the familiar bedtime routine in tandem—Ted helping Lily into pajamas while I supervised teeth brushing for the boys, then switching to read bedtime stories while I tucked Lily in.
"They're out," Ted reported when he joined me in the living room thirty minutes later, loosening his tie and collapsing onto the sofa beside me. "Oliver didn't even make it to the second page of his story."
"Big day," I agreed, slipping off my heels with a grateful sigh.
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the kind that comes from shared purpose and mutual understanding. Outside, the moon cast silver light through the windows, illuminating Ted's profile as he turned to look at me.
"You never got to hear what I was going to ask you," he said quietly. "Before the drone interruption."
My heart skipped a beat. "What was it?"
Instead of answering, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. Not a ring box—larger, flatter—but still, my pulse quickened.
"This isn't a proposal," he clarified, seeing my expression. "Not yet. I know we're still finding our way back to each other."
He opened the box, revealing a delicate silver key on a chain.
"This is a key to my private retreat on Catalina Island," he explained. "A place no one knows about—not the company, not the press, not even Margaret. I bought it years ago as a sanctuary, somewhere I could just be Ted, not Theodore Preston of Preston Technologies."
I lifted the key from its velvet bed, feeling its weight in my palm.
"I've never taken anyone there," he continued. "But I'd like to take you—and the children—next weekend. Just us, away from everything. No technology, no interruptions, no Preston name or legacy. Just a family being together."
The invitation was more intimate than a ring might have been—access to the one place he kept separate from his public identity, the one space that was purely his own.
"I'd like that," I said softly, closing my fingers around the key.
Ted's relief was visible. "There's something else," he added, hesitating slightly. "Something I've been meaning to tell you."
"That sounds serious," I observed, trying to keep my tone light despite the sudden tension in his posture.
"It's about the company," he began. "I've been working with the board on some significant changes."
"More name changes?" I teased, remembering the "Wilona Greenwood's ATM" incident.
He smiled briefly, but his expression remained earnest. "Something more substantial. I'm restructuring Preston Technologies into a family trust, with equal shares set aside for each of the children. And for you."
I blinked, trying to process the implications. "Ted, that's... that's billions of dollars."
"It's their birthright," he said simply. "And yours, for raising them all these years. But more importantly, it's security. No matter what happens—between us, with the company, with anything—you and the children will always be financially independent."
The gesture spoke volumes—not just the generosity of it, but the underlying message. Ted was ensuring that I would never again feel trapped or dependent, that I would always have the freedom to choose my path.
"I don't know what to say," I admitted.
"You don't have to say anything," he assured me. "The paperwork is already filed. I wanted you to know before our island trip because..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. "Because I want whatever develops between us to be about us, not about security or obligation or what's best for the children. Those things are already taken care of."
The moonlight caught the silver key in my hand, making it gleam. "You've thought of everything."
"I've had five years to think about all the ways I failed you before," he replied quietly. "I won't make the same mistakes again."
I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers. "We both made mistakes. We both did what we thought was necessary at the time."
"And now?" he asked, his eyes searching mine.
"Now we go to Catalina Island," I said softly. "And see what happens when it's just us, without all the complications."
His smile—the real one, the one that reached his eyes and created the tiny lines I had once traced with my fingertips—warmed me from within. "I'd like that very much."
The moment was interrupted by a small voice from the hallway. "Mom? Dad?"
We turned to see Lily standing there in her purple pajamas, her hair tousled from sleep.
"What is it, sweetheart?" I asked, concerned. "Are you feeling okay?"
She nodded, coming to sit between us on the sofa. "I had a dream about the drones."
Ted and I exchanged worried glances. "Was it a bad dream?" he asked.
"No," she shook her head. "It was a good dream. But different drones. They spelled out 'Wilona, will you marry me?' and there were fireworks and music."
I felt heat rise to my cheeks as Ted coughed slightly.
"That sounds like a very detailed dream," he managed, shooting me an apologetic look.
Lily yawned, curling against his side. "It wasn't just a dream. It was the plan we made with Julia's husband. For next month, at the charity gala."
My eyes widened. "Lily—"
"Don't worry," she murmured, already drifting back to sleep. "It's a surprise."
Ted mouthed "sorry" over her head, though he didn't look particularly repentant. I shook my head, torn between exasperation and amusement.
"I should take her back to bed," I whispered, moving to lift her.
"Let me," Ted said, gently scooping her up. "I'll be right back."
As he carried our daughter back to her room, I sat holding the Catalina key, thinking about the journey that had brought us here—from a hacked drone proposal that spelled doom to a child's dream of another proposal that spelled hope.
Ted returned minutes later, settling beside me again. "She's asleep. And don't worry about what she said—there's no drone proposal planned for the gala. At least, not that I know of."
I laughed softly. "With those three, who knows? They're always three steps ahead of us."
"Like their mother," Ted observed warmly.
"And as stubborn as their father," I countered.
He took my hand again, his thumb tracing patterns on my palm. "So, Catalina next weekend?"
"Catalina next weekend," I confirmed. "But we should probably warn the harbor master that three mini-hackers are coming to the island."
"I'll send a memo," Ted agreed solemnly. "'Beware: Preston-Greenwood Security Team approaching. All digital systems at risk.'"
As we laughed together in the moonlight, the key to his private sanctuary warm in my hand, I realized that somewhere along this twisted path, I had found my way home—not to a place, but to a person. To three small persons who had hacked their way into reuniting their family, and to the man who had never stopped loving us, even when he thought we were lost to him forever.
Whatever the children might be planning with their drones and their schemes, I found myself increasingly certain of one thing: when the question finally came—if it came—my answer would be yes.