CHAPTER forty-three #10
"I used to picture it all—the dress, the lights, the music..." I let out a quiet laugh. "You. Always you. And when I didn't get to live that dream three years ago, I thought... that was it. That I'd never get it back."
He exhales, slow and careful, like he's afraid to break the moment.
I pull back just enough to look up at him. His eyes catch the light—silver and soft, shimmering like moonlight reflected on still water—and something about the way he's looking at me makes my throat tighten.
"So... thank you," I whisper. "For this. For recreating our prom night."
A small smile tugs at his lips. "You deserve your fairytale, sugarplum."
"This is the perfect first date," I say, grinning through the lump in my throat. "You officially set the bar way too high for yourself."
He laughs quietly, forehead dipping against mine. "Good. That means I'll have to keep outdoing myself."
"Pretty sure that's impossible."
He smirks, his voice a low murmur. "You'd be surprised what I'll do for you."
My breath catches again, the space between us humming with warmth and something deeper—something that feels like the version of love I used to dream about when I was younger.
The music fades into another slow song, but neither of us moves to leave the floor. His thumb traces slow, lazy circles on my waist, his gaze locked on mine.
And for the first time in forever, it doesn't feel like I'm chasing a memory of what could've been.
It feels like I'm finally living it.
I lift my head from his chest, my voice barely above the music. "You know what's funny?"
He hums, eyes soft. "What?"
"I actually thought our date wasn't happening anymore."
His brows knit, the crease between them deepening. "What? Why would you think that?"
"Because..." My laugh comes out shaky, small. "You kind of disappeared, Zach. I haven't seen you in days. You barely texted."
My eyes sting. Great. Exactly what I don't want to do—cry in a tiara.
Before the tear can fall, Zach's thumb catches it, brushing gently beneath my eye. His touch is featherlight, but the look in his eyes—God, it's so raw it makes me forget how to breathe.
"Hey, I didn't change my mind," he says quietly. "I've just been busy." He gestures vaguely around us, a small, almost sheepish motion. "You know... putting this together."
A shaky laugh slips from me. "How did you even pull this off in just a few days anyway?"
He grins, boyish and proud. "Not without a little help. This whole thing was basically a group project—minus the part where anyone knew what they were doing."
My brows lift. "Define help."
"Well, Lucy might've slipped me your measurements after your costume fittings last Tuesday." He grins when my mouth drops open.
"Lucy also helped sell the whole 'sponsors dropping by' story. A couple of faculty members pitched in too—they helped me get clearance to use the gym, the sound system, lights, all that stuff."
He chuckles under his breath. "My teammates took care of the setup—the whole décor—with your classmates. You should've seen them—six Division I hockey players arguing over which shade of pink ribbon matched the theme. It was chaos."
I snort. "You're insane."
"Probably," he says, that smug grin creeping back in. "But I'm efficient."
"Wait, what did you need my measurements for?"
Zach smirks, that knowing, trouble-making kind of smile. "For that." His gaze drifts down, sweeping over my dress. "Don't you recognize it?"
I glance down, fingers brushing the glittering fabric. "No..." My voice trails off as I really look. "No way. This isn't... the dress, is it?"
"It is."
My mouth falls open. "No freaking way! That dress was massive—how—"
"Alterations." He's grinning like a proud idiot now. "Last Tuesday night, when I said I had somewhere to go? I drove to Naples. Met your mom."
"My mom knew?"
"Yep," he says, all smug and infuriatingly charming. "She was actually thrilled. She gave me the contact for the original seamstress—the one who made your Sugarplum dress—and helped convince her to put a rush on the alterations."
I shake my head, speechless. "You... you did all these? In three days?"
He shrugs like it's no big deal. "Hey, when it's for you, I don't do half measures."
My chest tightens again, but this time it's with something impossibly warm. "Zach... why would you go through all that trouble?"
His hand slides to the small of my back, drawing me closer until I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin.
"It wasn't trouble," he murmurs, his voice low and steady. "And I didn't just do it for you."
My brows knit. "What do you mean?"
Something shifts in his face—softness tangled with regret. "You see, three years ago," he says quietly, "I was planning to ask you to be my girlfriend. At prom."
The air leaves my lungs. "Wha—what?"
He lets out a short, breathless laugh, like he can't believe he's saying it out loud.
"Yeah. I'd been rehearsing it in my head for weeks.
I must've rewritten the words a hundred times—every version worse than the last. I couldn't sleep, couldn't focus.
You were all I thought about." His thumb traces slow, comforting circles along my cheek, his voice dropping into something rough and fragile.
"And I kept telling myself, 'It's fine. Just wait for prom. That's the night you'll tell her. That's when everything changes.'"
His jaw tightens, a flicker of pain in his eyes. "But we didn't go."
A sharp ache blooms in my chest, heavy and familiar.
He swallows hard. "Now I know why. I know I'm the reason it all fell apart after that. But for years, Caroline, I couldn't stop replaying it—the night that never happened. The words I never said. It haunted me." He shakes his head, a soft, broken laugh escaping him.
"I'd give anything to go back and do it right—to not be the idiot who ruined the best thing that ever happened to him."
He brushes his knuckles gently along my jaw, voice turning tender again. "So this—tonight—it's not just your do-over. It's mine too. My second chance to make it right. To rewrite what should've been the start of our story."
My throat tightens, and I can't tell if it's from the lump forming there or from the way he's looking at me—like I'm something he's been aching for years to hold again.
"Zach..."
He exhales slowly, his hand still on my cheek, thumb grazing my jaw like he's memorizing every inch.
"Back then, I wanted to ask you to be mine. And when I lost you, I thought I'd never get the chance again."
He shakes his head, smiling faintly, the kind of smile that feels like a bruise and a kiss all at once.
"But here you are—standing in front of me, at prom, just like how I dreamed about. Wearing the same dress, looking even more unreal than I remembered."
I can feel my pulse everywhere—wild, unsteady, alive.
His voice softens, the edge of a tremor threading through it.
"So I'm asking now—three years late, and probably in the most over-the-top way possible—but I don't care.
Because this time, I'm not letting the moment slip by.
" He leans in just enough that our foreheads touch, his breath mixing with mine.
"Be my girlfriend, Caroline. Be mine," he says gruffly.
"No maybes, no waiting this time. Not halfway—not almost. I want everything—the good, the bad, the stubborn, the soft.
Every fight, every laugh, every part of you that drives me insane and keeps me coming back.
I want the labels, the jealousy, the chaos.
I want you. Every damn piece of you. Because I can't—" his voice catches, raw, "I can't stand another day of wanting you like this—without the right to say you're mine. "
For a second, I can't even breathe. My heart's gone full kamikaze in my chest.
I let out a shaky laugh, eyes stinging. "You really know how to ruin a girl's mascara, you know that?"
He grins, voice low and teasing. "So that's a yes?"
I nod, smiling through the blur. "That's a hell yes."
His smile breaks wide, like sunlight after a storm, and before I can even blink, his lips are on mine—soft, sure, and absolutely devastating in the best way.
And just like that, the night I'd spent years dreaming about finally feels real.
Zach Westbrook is officially—finally—my boyfriend.
The thought barely settles before the room erupts into cheers and applause around us. But do we stop? Not even close.
His kiss deepens, wild and consuming, like he's trying to steal the very breath from my lungs just to prove he can. Every second stretches and burns, blurring into something infinite.
His hand fists in my hair while the other anchors me by the waist, holding me close enough that I swear even the air between us surrenders.
It's overwhelming—too much, too good—like gravity itself decided to give up on us.
And while the crowd keeps cheering, we stay there, shameless, devouring each other like the world might end if we stopped.
Zach pulls back just enough for our foreheads to touch, his breath still brushing my lips. His voice drops low—raw, certain, and impossibly tender.
"I love you, Caroline. My Caroline..."
Three little words that feel like fireworks detonating right beneath my skin. My heart stumbles, trips, then races ahead like it's trying to catch up to everything I'm feeling.
A soft laugh slips out of me, half-breathless, half-dazed. "I love you too," I whisper, the words trembling against his mouth.
And that's all the permission he needs.
His hands frame my face again, and then we're kissing—slow but sure, a collision of heat and relief and years of wanting finally breaking free.
His lips move against mine with the kind of hunger that borders on reverence, like he's been waiting his whole damn life to do this.
Somewhere in the distance, people cheer again, but it barely registers. It's just us—reckless, shameless, lost in each other—because for the first time, this isn't almost.
This is ours.
CHAPTER forty-one
ZACH
The prom's already at its peak.
And yeah, I still can't believe I actually pulled this off.