As we crossed the Storebælt Bridge, the salt air hit me like a physical embrace. I felt my shoulders drop, that deep, internal knot of uro (unrest) finally smoothing out into the hygge I had tried so hard to explain to him.

The wedding was stripped of all the noise Nash usually lived in. There was no leather, no “Church,” and no threat of violence. It was just the gray-blue sky of Copenhagen, the clean lines of the City Hall, and the smell of roasting almonds from a nearby street cart.

Frederikke and Emilie stood as my witnesses, their eyes darting between my glowing face and the giant, tattooed American man standing beside me. I saw the moment they stopped being worried; it was when they saw the way he looked at me—as if I were the only solid thing in a shifting world. It took less than thirty minutes. In the eyes of the Danish state, I was finally Caroline Sullivan.

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of cobblestones and bicycles. I led him through Nyhavn, of course, to see the colored houses, took him to Amager where locals do cold plunges in the morning, and let him experience the silence of the city I loved.

On our final night, I took him to the waterfront at Langelinie. The wind was whipping off the Øresund, sharp and biting, turning my nose pink and making my eyes water. Nash didn’t complain about the cold; he just stepped behind me, wrapping his heavy arms around my waist and pulling me back against his chest. I felt the heat of him radiating through my coat, a constant, living furnace.

We watched the lights of the passing ships flicker on the dark water, the same water that had raised me.

“It’s beautiful here, Caro,” he whispered, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my ear. “It’s quiet. I didn’t think quiet like this existed.”

“It used to be home,” I breathed, leaning my head back against his shoulder. “I wanted you to see it. I wanted you to know the version of me that existed before you became my home. Because you did.”

He pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes closing tight as if he were memorizing the moment. “I thought home was the club, the patch, the brotherhood. I was wrong. It’s you. It’s only ever been you.”

I reached up, my fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into my space. “I love you, Nash. So much.”

He let out a long, shaky breath, his lips ghosting over mine in a kiss that tasted of salt and promises. “I’m never letting go. You hear me? You’re mine.” He paused, the word catching in his throat before he let it out, a vow and a prayer all at once. “...my wife.”

The way he said it—so proud, so humbled, and so utterly certain—filled every remaining hollow in my chest. Under the vast, cold Danish sky, I knew we had to go back to Italy, but it didn’t matter. I was going back with my husband, the love of my life.

___________________

Author's note:

Hey everyone ❤️

Thank you so much for reading Riot & Caroline's story. If you enjoyed it, please leave a review ❤️

Stone, Bruiser, Neon and Ink’s stories are also complete and available on my page, and I’m currently publishing Doc’s story

Just like last time, let me know if there are any bonus chapters you want in this story - it could be someone else's POV (Lex/Stone/Addie/Bruiser), or maybe another moment from Riot or Caroline's perspective that hasn't been covered.

You can find previous bonus chapters on my page in the book called ”

Broken Halos MC: Bonus chapters

“.

If you want to stay up to date with my work and publishing schedule, please follow my page ❤️

Hugs!

- Bee