Best

Six Years Old

Izzy performs the wedding ceremony between giggles. Emma is wearing a tablecloth as a veil and a frilly pink party dress. Alex is wearing jeans and a sweater. He doesn't laugh. He takes Emma's hand as gravely as if they were thirty years old and in church. When Izzy says, "You may kiss your bride," he leans forward and kisses Emma's forehead. She smiles.

Later that night, as Izzy brushes out her little sister's hair, she thinks out loud, "I wonder who we'll actually marry?"

Emma jerks away from the brush and turns around. "When I grow up, I'm going to marry Alex again," she says, with all the weight of a pint-sized prophet.

Twenty Years Old

Alex looks through a stack of photos, pulling out the best ones for the album Izzy is putting together for Emma's twentieth birthday. The first few are painful in a good way, photos of the Knightleys and Woodhouses together, when Mr. Woodhouse had a beautiful woman on his arm instead of an empty place at his dinner table.

Underneath those, he finds a more recent photo, slightly aged but still clear, of a tiny Emma in a pink party dress. On the back, it reads, "I thought you might want this one, Alex, to help you remember you're a married man. Love, Izzy 1995." He remembers the day, and he remembers what Izzy Woodhouse told him that night about the funny thing Emma said.

One memory turns to many more, until Alex finds himself sitting on his bedroom floor thinking about days and weeks and months and years, all of them punctuated by the existence of one girl. One realization emerges, and it makes him blush, not that there's anyone around to see.

When she grows up, I'm going to marry Emma again.

Twenty-Five Years Old

She takes another bite of ice cream and clutches the photo closer. It's of her, aged six, wearing a lace tablecloth and holding Alex Knightley's hand.

Why did she ever let go? She wonders. There have been so many chances, so many days she could have acknowledged that he was right, eaten her words, been a better version of herself. But now it's too late.

They've been married for nineteen years, but they will never marry again. She cries.

Twenty-Six Years Old

They are both on time to the church. Alex hasn't seen Emma. She wouldn't have minded, but he's too traditional to ruin the surprise. He puts on his suit. Only he knows that in his pocket is a tiny square of fabric cut from a green sweater he hasn't worn in fifteen years. Good luck, best luck, a piece of the sweater he wore to his first wedding.

He takes his place at the front of the church and smiles as Izzy and Harriett come in, radiant and beautiful in their chiffon dresses. The music plays, and he feels calm, ready, as steady as he's ever been. Until the bride walks down the aisle.

After the wedding, the photographer says the photo of his face when he first saw Emma is the best picture she's ever taken. Everyone smiles, claps him on the back, congratulates him, says they can understand a groom being overcome by such a beautiful bride.

Only Emma knows the real reason he cried. It wasn't her beauty or her grace. It wasn't the anticipation. It was the first and last time in his life that Alex Knightley ever cried over a color. His bride wore a pink wedding dress.

A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading. Emma Approved was a fabulous series, and I've had a blast writing this.