It took 22 years. Here's how it happened.

The 22 Years

I am an engagement and wedding ring designer, and it took me 22 years to get married. I had been engaged for 16 of them.

I never thought marriage was that important. It was just a piece of paper. Life always seemed to get in the way — we did everything out of order anyway. Bought a house first. Had a kid. Then a wedding seemed irresponsible. We needed to remodel the garage. We needed a new roof. Do you want an art studio? A master bedroom remodel? I always said yes to the house.

I always thought about what my wedding would look like, but we know a lot of people and it felt daunting. An enormous undertaking. With a child and two small businesses, neither of us ever had the time. Frank told me he would go to the courthouse any day. But a courthouse wedding wasn't what I wanted — and after COVID, you can't even do that anymore. Everything is online. I pushed it to the back of my mind.

I wanted my grandmother to see me get married. She passed away last fall.

The Island

Three years ago, some of my closest friends got married in Croatia on a yacht they rented for a week. Frank and I went a week early, rented a car, and drove down the coast to Dubrovnik. In Makarska we rented a speedboat and visited all the little islands scattered around. One of them was Zečevo — pronounced ZEH-cheh-voh — a tiny island off the coast of Hvar with nothing on it but a little bar called Lantina Beach, accessible only by boat. We spent a gorgeous afternoon there drinking Aperol Spritzes under the palapas. Funky, romantic, and completely removed from everything. It stuck with us.

Three years later, the same friends were throwing another yacht party in Croatia. This time they said: "What if you got married? You've been talking about it for 16 years."

I dragged my feet at first. My mom wouldn't be able to come. My son wouldn't be able to come — it was adults only on the yacht. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought this might be the only way Frank and I ever actually make it happen. In the end it's not about the people who will be there. It's about the two of us.

The Surprise

Our friend Dan agreed to officiate, and he asked us if we wanted to write our own vows. We did. He gave us exercises to work through, and we spent a month being very vulnerable with each other — creating vows that only two people with 22 years of history could write.

Almost no one knew we were getting married. There were 31 people on the yacht — some we didn't even know — and we surprised everyone at the welcome dinner. We were going to hijack the following day: take everyone to an island, and get married. Turns out, everyone loves a wedding. Especially when it isn't long. I think the ceremony was 20 minutes. It was perfect.

I'm a Taurus. I need to feel the earth under my feet. So we married on Zečevo — that same little island, that same little bar — with the cicadas singing and the Adriatic surrounding us.

The Butterfly

I'm a hat person. If I didn't make jewelry I'd be a milliner. I wore a pillbox hat with a veil, and right before I left I visited my mom and pinned an antique brooch to it — a gold and rhinestone butterfly from my grandmother, who loved butterflies. My mom said: "You know your grandmother won't miss your wedding. I bet you see a butterfly fly by."

After the ceremony we took a dip in the Adriatic. I was swimming with my friend Ariane when a giant yellow butterfly flew past. I hadn't seen a single butterfly in Croatia before that moment. I told Ariane the story. We both got goosebumps.

Yellow was my grandmother's favorite color.

Frank's Ring

When it came time to design Frank's ring, I asked him what he wanted. He's an outdoorsy athlete — a mountain goat. He climbs tall mountains, skis down them, wing foils in lakes and rivers. He is not exactly delicate, and he's very practical.

But I'm a bridal jewelry designer. I couldn't make him a plain band he could have gotten at Costco. He's my favorite person. He deserves better than a run-of-the-mill half round. The challenge: how do I make it interesting without making it impractical?

I love hiding elements in rings — details that only the wearer can see. So I went to the sides of the band, where only one face is visible at a time and Frank can flip it depending on his mood. On one side: 59 black diamonds set along the full edge, a continuous line of dark sparkle running the circumference of the ring. On the other: Art Deco-inspired three-dimensional pyramid etchings, a nod to our shared love of ancient civilizations. The whole thing is cast in heavy 14k yellow gold with a matte finish — substantial, weighted, and built for someone who uses his hands.

For a man who isn't showy and very practical, it's a bit of a stretch — but in the best possible way. He loves it.

What I Understand Now

At the time of writing this, I've only been married three weeks. But I feel different. Speaking our commitment out loud to the universe — to each other, to 31 people on a Croatian island — altered something. It's deepened our relationship in a way I didn't fully anticipate.

I've been designing wedding and engagement rings for 22 years. I understood intellectually what they meant. But standing on that island, with the cicadas and the sun and Frank, I felt for the first time — with real depth — the power of the symbol.

Our vows are etched into our timeline now. His ring, with its hidden diamonds and ancient pyramids, is anchored onto his hand. It only took 22 years. Turns out it was exactly the right amount of time.