Chapter 13: Lace and Promises by the Lake
The scent of peonies was everywhere. It clung to the morning air, sweet and heavy, filtering through the open window of the small villa bedroom where Hyukjae stood paralyzed. His rented tuxedo felt like a costume, the crisp white shirt a cage for his hammering heart. Downstairs, he could hear the murmur of voices—Nonna bossing the florist, the celebrant’s low laugh, the clink of glasses being arranged.
A soft knock. Coach Park shouldered his way in, holding two cups of espresso. He looked almost as uncomfortable as Hyukjae felt, stuffed into a suit that strained across his shoulders. He’d flown in from Seoul the night before.
“You look like you’re waiting for a penalty shootout,” Coach Park said, handing him a tiny, scalding cup.
Hyukjae took it, the china rattling against the saucer. “Worse.”
“It’s not worse.” Coach Park sipped his own espresso, gazing out at the lake view. “In a shootout, you’re alone. Today, you’re not.” He turned, his familiar, stern expression softening. “Your mother sends her love. She is sorry she could not… navigate your father yet.”
Hyukjae nodded. He’d expected it. His mother’s tearful, supportive calls were enough. His father’s silence was a weight he’d learned to carry.
“The agent from Skyline Mobile is downstairs,” Coach Park added, a slight grimace on his face. “He brought a photographer.”
Of course he had. Hyukjae had almost forgotten the small, concurrent reality of his life now: the modest but growing buzz in Korean sports media about the ‘student who skipped to Serie A,’ the ‘unexpected transfer to Milan,’ the ‘whirlwind romance.’ The narrative was tidy, marketable. It felt utterly divorced from the man staring at his own reflection, terrified of fumbling his vows.
“Ignore him,” Coach Park said firmly, reading his face. “Today is for you and Gabby. Not for a data plan.” He set his cup down and straightened Hyukjae’s already-straight tie with a rough, paternal tug. “Remember the advice I gave you? Before you left Seoul?”
Protect her. Provide for her. Hyukjae nodded again, the words etched inside him.
“Good.” Coach Park patted his cheek, a little too hard. “Now go get married. I didn’t fly across a continent to watch you sweat in a rental tux.”
The ceremony was set in the lower garden, a natural amphitheater of stone and blooms overlooking the water. The guests were few: Gabby’s mother, elegant and stiffly smiling; Nonna and Nonno, beaming; a handful of Milan teammates and their partners, including Linnea and her now-husband Emil; Min-ji, who had flown in and spent the morning crying; and Coach Park, standing like a sentinel at the back.
The music began—a simple acoustic guitar piece played by one of Emil’s friends. Hyukjae took his place under the ivy-wrapped gazebo, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. The lake was a sheet of beaten silver below.
And then she appeared.
Gabby walked alone. Her father was not here. That absence was a silent, understood statement in the hushed garden. She held a small bouquet of peonies and baby’s breath, which she carefully, deliberately, rested atop the pronounced swell of her stomach before taking the final steps. The gesture was so uniquely, definitively her that Hyukjae’s breath caught.
Her dress wasn’t a traditional white cascade. It was a fluid column of ivory silk that draped over her body like water, accentuating every curve, celebrating the life growing within her. Nonna’s antique lace veil was a whisper behind her, catching the dappled light. She was breathtaking. Not like a statue or a painting, but like a force of nature—vital, powerful, abundantly real.
She reached him. Her eyes were clear, no tears, just a deep, steady certainty. She took his hands. His were ice. Hers were warm.
The celebrant, a local woman with a gentle voice, began to speak in English. Hyukjae heard the words as if through water. He was only aware of the pulse in Gabby’s wrists beneath his thumbs, the faint, familiar scent of her skin beneath the peonies, the way her dress moved with the baby’s subtle shift.
Then it was his turn. He fumbled in his pocket for the folded paper, his typed vows smudged from his nervous sweat. His voice, when it came, was rough.
“Gabby,” he started, then had to clear his throat. A few soft laughs rippled through the small crowd. He didn’t look up. “You asked me once if I was scared. I am. Right now, I’m so scared.” He risked a glance. She was smiling, a small, encouraging curve of her lips. “But I’m not scared of this. Of us. I’m scared of… of not being enough. Of missing a pass when you need me.” He took a shuddering breath. “In Seoul, you were the sun. Everything was bright because of you. Here, you are the ground. You are the thing I stand on. My home is wherever you are.” He looked directly into her eyes, his voice firming. “I vow to be your home, too. Every day. However I can.”
A single tear escaped Gabby’s composed exterior, tracing a quick path down her cheek. She didn’t wipe it away.
Her turn. She didn’t reach for paper. She just held his hands tighter.
“Hyukjae,” she said, her voice carrying clearly on the quiet air. “You say you’re scared of not being enough. But you have never been not enough. You were enough when you were just a boy with a soccer ball and a sweet heart. You were enough when you followed me across the world with a contract in your bag and a ring in your pocket.” She pressed his hands against her stomach. “You are enough for him. For her. For us.” Her voice softened, just for him. “You built us a home out of nothing. Out of courage. I vow to honor that courage. To protect it. To fill every room of every home we ever have with so much love you’ll never wonder if it was worth it.”
The rest was a blur. The rings—simple platinum bands they’d chosen together in Milan. The pronouncement. The kiss, which started chaste but deepened for a second as she leaned into him, her hands framing his face, and he heard Linnea let out a soft, happy “woop!” from the front row.
Then they were walking back up the stone path, man and wife, a cheer rising from their friends, the Skyline Mobile photographer clicking away discreetly near a rose bush. The weight that had been on Hyukjae’s shoulders since the day in her father’s study didn’t vanish, but it transformed. It became a foundation, not a burden.
The dinner was held on the villa’s main terrace, long tables under strings of fairy lights. The mood was loose, joyful. Nonno made a surprisingly eloquent toast in broken English that had everyone laughing and wiping their eyes. Gabby’s mother gave a tight, graceful speech that mentioned “surprises” and “new journeys” but never “baby” or “husband.” It was fine. It didn’t matter.
Hyukjae was pulled into conversations with his new teammates, who clapped him on the back and teased him gently in a mix of Italian and English. He was learning. He could understand the jokes now, even if he couldn’t always fire back.
He found Gabby near the stone balustrade, looking out over the lake as twilight painted the sky in dusky purple and rose. She’d taken off her heels. The fairy lights reflected in her dark eyes.
“Tired?” he asked, slipping an arm around her waist, his hand settling on the curve of her stomach.
“Happy-tired,” she said, leaning into him. “It was perfect.”
“Your mom is talking to Coach Park.”
“I know. I think she’s trying to understand my life through the lens of athletic discipline.” She smirked. “He’s probably telling her I need better defensive positioning.”
Hyukjae laughed, the sound easy and free. For the first time all day, he truly relaxed.
Later, after the cake was cut and the dancing had begun—slow, swaying dances largely for the expectant mothers and the older couples—Min-ji found Gabby. They hugged for a long time, Min -ji whispering fiercely in Korean into Gabby’s ear. When they pulled apart, Min-ji’s eyes were red-rimmed.
“You are officially a married woman,” Min-ji said, sniffling. “And a mother soon. My best friend.” She shook her head, then turned to Hyukjae. Her playful sternness returned. “You. You better be everything you promised today. And more.”
“I will,” he said, and he meant it with every fiber of his being.
The party wound down. They said their goodbyes under a canopy of stars, the lake a black mirror below. They weren’t leaving for a honeymoon; the due date was too close, preseason training too imminent. Their ‘honeymoon’ was a single night booked in the suite of a grand old hotel a few towns over, a gift from the team.
The hotel room was vast, quiet, and elegantly old-fashioned. Their overnight bags looked small on the polished floor. The events of the day crashed over Hyukjae in a sudden, exhausting wave. He stood in the middle of the room, unsure what to do next.
Gabby walked to the balcony doors and opened them, letting in the cool night air. She turned to him, her back to the night. The city lights from across the water twinkled around her silhouette.
“Come here,” she said softly.
He went to her. She took his face in her hands, her thumbs tracing his cheekbones. The diamond of her engagement ring caught the light from the room.
“We did it,” she whispered.
“We did.”
She kissed him then, a slow, deep kiss that tasted of wedding cake and promise and a future that was no longer a terrifying leap, but a path they were already walking, step by step, together. Later, in the immense, soft bed, she curled into his side, her head on his chest, her belly a warm, solid weight against his hip. He listened to her breathing even out, felt the baby kick once, a final punctuation to the day.
He stared at the ornate ceiling, the reality settling into his bones. Lee Hyukjae, husband. Lee Hyukjae, soon-to-be father. Lee Hyukjae, AC Milan footballer. The identities stacked, one upon the other, a tower of responsibilities and joys. He wrapped his arm more securely around his wife, his wife, and closed his eyes. The field ahead was vast, but he wasn’t running alone anymore. The whistle had blown. The game was on.