But dare I say, there is a small hint of pride in her eyes.

Before she’s forced to say something that isn’t natural to her, I reach out and touch her bicep.

“Thanks, mom. And thank you for being here.”

She nods once more and begins to walk away, but something holds her in her spot, and she looks over her shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there last night I... well.” She clears her throat and I nod.

I know what she was going to say.

She couldn’t be there to watch me get married because she had to work.

When I was younger, I never thought I cared about her workaholic ways, but after everything with Anthony, I realized I was bitter about it, and now that I’m older, settled into my own life, I no longer care. I don’t hold it against her, not how she was then or how she continues to be.

My mom is who she is and that’s that. Work has and will always come first, period.

It’s not sad or disgusting or any other word I may have used once, or others may think but not say. It’s simply reality. I no longer judge her for who she is, I can’t and don’t fault her for it. I’m simply happy Ransom helped me to realize what I wanted was far from what I had.

I wanted a home where the people within it are more important than the means that placed us inside of it, and that’s exactly what I have.

That’s the life we’ve built here, one where any and all other things, no matter what, come second to the people we love.

Ransom is my number one, the boys and Sienna right behind, and the most recent addition, Monti.

She still comes and goes but I’ve got a sneaky suspicion she won’t be going all that often anymore, if at all.

Speaking of Monti...

She slips up, rescuing me from the awkward moment with my mom, directing her and our stepdad to an open seat.

I let my back fall to Ransom’s chest as his arms come around me and when I look up, his lips lower, slowly meeting mine for a quick kiss.

“You okay, baby?”

I smile against his mouth, spinning in his arms and hugging him to me. I nod. “I didn’t think she’d make it.”

“Me either.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, meeting my eyes. “But I’m glad she did.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, looking from where my mom sits beside Arsen to my stepdad, who is leaning over the table asking Beretta about the work he did on our property. “Me too.”

Ransom shifts, looking to the right and my gaze follows.

Our employees take up the majority of the tables, a mix of vivacious college students and punk princes and princesses.