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Kaylee and Sam's city hall elopement with a live cellist (7 guests) filled a corner of San Francisco City Hall in October 2025, then carried on to a small reception at the RH Palm Court. Seven people, a single cellist on the marble, and a morning that stayed close the whole way through.
Before any guests arrived, the cellist was already playing, folk and indie songs drifting up through the colonnade while City Hall was still quiet. The ceremony was short and bright under the rotunda, and everyone walked to a glass-roofed courtyard for a meal together. Built small on purpose, it felt like it.
Hair and makeup came together early while Kaylee's bouquet sat waiting nearby, garden blooms gathered loose, warm-toned. Sam got dressed with his small group close by, a boutonniere pinned to his lapel.
Before they left for City Hall, the two of them did a first look, a quiet few minutes with just each other, Kaylee's dress and her flowers, before the day opened up to everyone else. No big crowd to build toward, just the two of them and the seven people they'd asked along.
The ceremony was inside San Francisco City Hall, at the foot of the grand marble staircase that sweeps up beneath the building's gilded dome, the 1915 Beaux-Arts rotunda that rises taller than the dome on the United States Capitol. The cellist from Bay Area All Strings & Brass had been playing since before anyone arrived, folk and indie songs carrying up through the open colonnade while the seven guests found their places.
Seven guests stood close around Kaylee and Sam, near enough to reach out and touch. Janette said the words, the two of them exchanged their vows and rings, and the smallness of the room made every line of it land. They had walked in together to Johnny Cash's 'Rose of My Heart.' When it was done they walked back out to 'Kiss' by Prince, played on strings, the seven of them following behind down the marble.
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“Seven people, a single cellist on the marble, and a Prince song played on strings as they walked back out.”
After the ceremony, the small group moved through City Hall for photographs, the sweeping staircase, the arches, the tall windows throwing light across the stone. The rotunda floor is laid in Tennessee pink marble, patterned to mirror the dome directly overhead, and Kaylee and Sam took their portraits across it while their seven guests looked on.
Then it was the two of them on their own for a few frames in the colonnade before everyone gathered back together for the walk out.
The celebration carried on at the RH Palm Court, the glass-roofed courtyard at RH San Francisco, where the seven of them sat down together under the greenery and the daylight coming through the ceiling. Toasts went around the table, and the cake from Art Cakes, iced in soft white, was set out for the small crowd.
An indie playlist ran behind the conversation, the same music sensibility that had carried through the whole day, from the cellist's pre-ceremony set to the Prince recessional. The people who'd been at City Hall a few hours earlier stayed put around one table, the light coming down through the glass, and the seven of them let the morning wind down on its own.