Update 11.23.2012. I literally don't know how you people are still finding this because I wrote it almost three years ago. I haven't read any MI books past City of Glass, therefore many details in this story are probably wrong. At the time of writing, Clary didn't have a middle name so I gave her one. I didn't know details of Shadowhunter weddings so I made them up. I'm not going to change these details, so I'd prefer you didn't mention them in your reviews. Thank you so much and happy reading.

Clary Fairchild's heart was pounding so hard, she was sure that Isabelle Lightwood, her soon-to-be sister-in-law, would hear it. Isabelle's hands were skillfully pulling and poking and prodding in Clary's fiery red hair, twisting the curls into an elegant updo that Clary wasn't allowed to see. Isabelle was Clary's only bridesmaid, and she was already decked out in the stunning cobalt blue dress they'd picked out together.

A knock sounded at the door. Isabelle, her hands still intertwined in Clary's hair, called, "Is that you, Jace? You know you're not supposed to see Clary yet."

"It's not Jace," said the voice, "it's Simon."

"Let him in," Clary said.

Isabelle obliged, and the door opened. Simon Lewis came into Amatis Herondale's bedroom. Because Simon was one of the eternal damned, Jace and Clary's wedding couldn't be in a church; instead, they were marrying in Alicante, in a meadow behind Amatis's house, and Amatis had allowed them to use her house.

Simon's jaw minutely dropped when he saw Clary. "Wow, Clary. You look..."

"Too much?" Clary asked anxiously.

"No, it's perfect. Jace is going to die," Simon assured her.

"Not perfect yet," Isabelle corrected, placing Clary's veil into her hair. Clary's back was to the mirror, so she couldn't see what Isabelle had done until it was done. "She doesn't have any makeup on."

"Izzy, no," Clary protested. "It's my big day."

"Precisely. It's your big day, and you need to look your best." Isabelle brandished a makeup brush, nearly as frightening as when she wielded her golden whip. "Close your eyes."

Sighing, Clary did as she was told. As Isabelle dusted some sort of powder onto Clary's skin, she asked Simon, "Where's Alec? The ceremony starts in forty-five minutes. I need him right away."

"He's with Jace, in the great room," Simon reported. "I can go get him."

"Would you? And get Jace out of the great room, please. Clary is gonna need to pass through there, and he's not allowed to see her yet," Isabelle instructed, now drawing an eyeliner pencil around Clary's still-closed eyes.

"Why?" Simon asked curiously.

"It's a secret wedding tradition," Isabelle divulged, now mascara-ing Clary's lashes. "Grooms can't see brides until the ceremony."

"Really." Simon's voice dripped skepticism.

Isabelle painted lip gloss onto Clary's helpfully pursed lips, replying, "No, not really. I just know it would make Jace piss himself to see Clary like this. See?" And then Isabelle turned Clary to face the mirror.

Clary blinked at the beautiful girl, only twenty years old, in the mirror. She had silky ginger-colored curls that were pulled up into a twisting bun on the top of her head, a veil sitting among them. Her skin was luminous and fair, the eyes large and very green. Her lips shone like the diamond in the ring on her finger, and a patch of cinnamon freckles danced on her nose. Her shoulders were bare, and the bodice of her red wedding dress sparkled. Clary had opted to wear red instead of white, because white was the Shadowhunter mourning color, and she was glad she had; the bright color made her eyes pop. "Oh, Izzy," Clary began.

"Don't cry," Isabelle pleaded. "You'll smudge your mascara." Clary laughed, which was better than crying. She wouldn't cry. Not yet.

Jace Lightwood was really, really nervous. He couldn't remember the last time he was nervous. Things that made other people anxious were usually nothing to him, especially danger. Jace thrived on danger. But now he was ready to break down. In just a little while, he would be marrying Clary. He would be hers and she would be his, forever.

Alec Lightwood, Jace's brother and best friend, was sitting beside him, watching as Jace's knee bounced up and down. Both remained silent. And then someone came down the stairs, breaking the silence. It was Simon. Like Alec, he was dressed in a black tuxedo with a deep blue vest and tie that matched Isabelle's dress. Jace wore the black tux too, but his vest and tie were a bright crimson, the exact color of Clary's dress.

"What, bloodsucker?" Jace snapped. Jace and Simon actually were friends at this point. But Jace was wound so tightly, he probably would have snapped at anyone who came down.

Thankfully, Simon ignored Jace's bad temper and instead said to Alec, "Izzy wants you upstairs in the bedroom. And Jace, she wants you out of the great room so you won't see Clary when she comes down."

Mumbling incoherently, Jace stood and stalked to the kitchen without another word. He still didn't get why he wasn't allowed to see Clary until the ceremony. It was total bullshit, but it was Isabelle's bullshit, and that was unable to be argued with. So instead, Jace pulled himself onto the kitchen table, the door swinging closed behind him, and thought.

He remembered the first night he'd seen Clary. At first, he'd thought she was just a stupid mundie who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. The only thing remotely interesting about her was her Sight. And then, as he'd grown to know her, he'd—and he hated this terminology, but it was true—fallen in love with her. It was a punch to the stomach, finding out that she was his sister, and every time he looked at her he felt it again. Those months, when Clary and Jace thought they shared the Morgenstern name, were probably the blackest time of his life, save for the day he'd watched his father die at age ten. But after things had cleared up, after learning that he wasn't Clary's big brother and could love her like he did, he had never looked back.

And now was the day, almost five years since they'd met. His seventeen-year-old self had matured into his twenty-one-year-old self, but they both loved Clary, so strongly. Jace lay back on the table and closed his eyes, letting Clary's face swim before his vision, and stayed there, picturing Clary, until Isabelle came to get him for the ceremony.

"Are you ready?" Luke whispered to Clary as both of them watched Simon and Isabelle, arm in arm, go down the aisle. Just ahead of them were Alec and Jace, but she hadn't seen them go because Isabelle had made her hide from Jace's view.

"No," Clary admitted, but it was too late. The Wedding March had started. Luke took Clary's arm and led her down the aisle. She tried to remember how Isabelle had told her to walk—step, one-second pause, step, one-second pause—and was grateful that she'd decided against shoes. Clary's dress was floor-sweeping, strapless, and simple, with a beaded bodice and floaty skirt. It concealed her feet, so it didn't matter if she'd worn shoes or not. There were already enough tripping hazards in the meadow, like holes in the grass and the folding chairs that were set up, that Clary didn't need high heels to add to the list.

Then, almost involuntarily, Clary caught Jace's eye, and almost stopped walking altogether. He wore a black tuxedo like Simon's and Alec's, but he was infinitely more beautiful than either Clary's best friend or her almost-brother-in-law. The jacket hugged his broad shoulders, subtly flaunting his tight muscles, and the simplicity of the clothes left room for his face to take the stage. His eyes, amber and gold and nearly glowing, were fixed on her, and his rumpled golden hair made him look younger somehow, but not less radiant.

Clary's breath caught, her eyes filling with joyful tears. He was, simply put, the most beautiful thing Clary had ever seen. It took everything Clary had to not run down the aisle and hurl herself at him. But she stayed put. She was marrying him, she reminded herself, in a short while that seemed too long.

When Jace saw Clary, he sucked in a breath so deep that Alec glanced over at him sternly. Jace ignored him, and instead gazed at Clary, walking slowly down the aisle on Luke's arm. She was gorgeous, glowing; her red hair curled up into a complicated twist, her eyes shiny and bright, her skin soft and flawless. Her bright red dress left her shoulders bare and fell down her slender body like a waterfall of scarlet. She was, simply put, the most beautiful thing Jace had ever seen. And she would be his forever, in just a few very long minutes.

Isabelle's lips curved into a grin as she saw Jace look at Clary, and Clary look at Jace. Her work there was done.

For Clary, a lot of the ceremony was a blur, of both tears and words. There was a lot of speaking, and some sitting and standing. Then Clary found herself standing by Jace on the platform, the priest standing in front of them. The only words Clary remembered were the vows: "Do you, Clarissa Katherine Fairchild, take this man, Jonathan Christopher Lightwood, to be your husband; in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Somehow Clary found her voice and choked, "I do."

The priest turned to Jace and said virtually the same thing, switching a few words, and at the end, Jace said a resolute, "I do." Clary bit her lip. She felt the tears coming again, and she wasn't going to cry.

Something else was said, something that didn't register with Clary. But then came words Clary would never forget: "I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Lightwood." Applause started, and a mushy smile spread across Clary's face. Tears leaked out of her eyes and down her cheeks as Jace took her in his arms and kissed her. It was their first kiss as a married couple, and Clary's tears kept falling, even as Jace pulled away.

He took her hand and led her back to their seats as the ceremony ended. "I love you, Mrs. Lightwood," he whispered to her. Clary couldn't speak, but she squeezed his hand, letting him know that yes, she loved him too.