Chapter 18
SARAH
The next six weeks fly by in a flurry of painting, wedding planning, and moving my things into Carter’s new house.
Our new house? In any case, things moved way too quickly, and now I’m standing in the tiny hall bathroom in Anna’s house in a wedding dress, my hands pressed against the cool porcelain sink.
Anna insisted I let her hire professionals for my hair and makeup, and the effect is pretty extraordinary. I’ve never felt quite so beautiful.
Plus, this dress.
It’s beyond gorgeous. Strapless, with a sculpted bodice and asymmetric pleats and a flowing full skirt. It’s simple and romantic but somehow still showstoppingly beautiful.
At first, I was determined not to stress about finding the perfect dress. My timeline was ridiculously short, which meant I couldn’t afford to be choosy. I needed something white and nice enough to convince our audience it was one I loved. There was no reason to go all out.
But Anna talked me right out of that notion.
“If life has taught me anything,” she said in the middle of the bridal boutique, “it’s that every time you get the opportunity to wear a gorgeous dress, you take it.”
When I tried to argue that I should save the most beautiful dress for my real wedding, her scolding only grew more intense.
“You have to stop calling it a fake wedding, Sarah. You’re exchanging real vows. Signing a real marriage license. That means you get a real wedding dress. End of discussion.”
And so I did. A real dress. Real hair and makeup. Real jewelry.
I glance down at my left hand. Real engagement ring.
And tonight, my real husband will drive us home to the real house I’ve been living in without him for the past three weeks.
That was his idea. As soon as he closed on the house, he suggested I move in so I could make use of the studio.
I tried to protest—it didn’t feel right since he’s the one who bought it—but he insisted, and honestly, I needed the space.
I’ve been overwhelmed trying to finish my pieces for my gallery show in a few weeks.
Now that it might lead to something at the Rooke in New York, I’m even more determined to make sure everything is perfect.
Having a studio large enough to work and display the entire collection together has been such an amazing gift.
Being in the house has also made it easier to decorate.
Emerson has been up from Savannah three different times, and we’ve made excellent progress.
The main living areas are all finished, as well as Carter’s room and the guest room where I’ve been living.
I’ve had a million this or that conversations with Carter trying to gauge a sense of his style, and I’m pretty sure I nailed it.
He likes simple and clean but with a distressed comfort that reminds me of his Texan roots.
His living room is full of soft brown leather and muted throw pillows and natural fabrics.
I’ve kept the whole thing hidden from him—I want it to be a surprise when he officially moves in tonight.
He knows I’ve been working, but he hasn’t seen the inside of the house in two weeks.
I take another slow, calming breath, but when I lift my hands from the sink, they’re still shaking. But I’m supposed to be nervous, right? It’s perfectly normal to be terrified on your wedding day.
“Honey?” Anna calls from the other side of the door. “It’s been a minute. Are you sure you don’t need any help?”
It isn’t the first time she’s checked on me, and I can tell she’s starting to worry.
I move over to the door, but instead of letting her in, I lean my forehead against it. “Can you just get Carter for me?” I say. I’m not sure what makes me say it. I just know I want to see him before I go out there and marry him.
Anna’s quiet for a beat before she says, “Are you okay?” I’m probably stressing her out, something she doesn’t need so close to when her baby is due.
Not to mention how hard she’s worked over the past month and a half.
She basically spearheaded the entire wedding—in the middle of hockey season. In the weeks right before playoffs.
She even transformed her house. All of her living room furniture is currently in the garage so there’s room for a ceremony and a reception after.
We never should have been able to pull this off. And we only did because of her.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I say. “I just want to see him.”
“Okay. Hang on.”
Less than a minute later, another knock sounds on the door.
“Sarah?” Carter’s voice calls.
I unlock the door, then take a step back, making room for him to enter.
I sometimes forget how big a guy Carter is, but in this small space, it’s impossible not to notice. There’s no way to be in this room together and not be close enough to touch.
His eyes move over me, then his expression softens. “Wow,” he says so softly it almost seems more like he’s talking to himself. “Wow.”
“You look really nice, Carter.” This is the first time we’ve seen each other today, and he’s so handsome, I can hardly catch my breath.
“You look like you need a drink,” he teases.
I chuckle. “I’m sure.”
Carter takes a step forward and holds out his hand. “Friendly hug?”
I nod and slip my fingers into his, letting him tug me into his arms. I breathe in his familiar scent, letting his solid presence ground me.
Despite all the painting and decorating and Carter’s very busy game schedule, we’ve still managed to spend quite a bit of time together over the last six weeks. We’ve eaten meals together, watched movies together, spent time with Poppy and Olive while their parents got much-needed alone time.
I’ve gotten to know his brother and FaceTimed with his mom. I’ve attended two different events with his teammates and the other Jaguars wives and girlfriends.
In all that time, we’ve gotten to be really good friends.
Just friends, apparently. Turns out, establishing the ground rules of our relationship really helped knock us onto the same page, though I’m beginning to think I was the only one who needed the reminder. Carter is very good at following the rules. Almost too good.
I, on the other hand, have to remind myself regularly to ignore how steady he makes me feel. How he always seems to say exactly the right thing. Not to mention how incredibly handsome he is.
“I’m kidding about the drink,” Carter says, lifting his hand to brush a strand of hair away from my face.
“You’re stunning.” His hand lingers on my cheek for a long moment before he lets it fall.
He tilts his head toward the living room on the other side of the wall.
“Is it all the people? If it is, I can tell half of them to wait outside.”
I manage a smile as I shake my head. “Don’t make anyone leave.”
He nods. “Are you having second thoughts?”
I look up into his earnest blue eyes. “That’s not it either.”
“Okay.” He says this with zero judgment and zero sense of urgency. It’s clear he’ll stay in this bathroom and talk to me all day if that’s what I need. “Do you want to tell me what it is, then?”
I drop my eyes to the floor, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress. “I’m not sure it’s one particular thing. I just…got really overwhelmed, all of a sudden. Things are feeling very…permanent, you know?”
He waves a hand like it’s no big deal. “Nah. You’ll be on your own in no time. I’ve seen what’s going into your gallery show. You aren’t going to need me for long, not once you’re famous.”
Ha. Famous. Famous in the art world doesn’t come close to actually famous, but I appreciate his vote of confidence anyway. “You make it sound so easy.”
“You’re making it easy,” he says. “I’m only buying you a little time.”
Of all the things Carter has given me in the past six weeks, his belief in me as an artist might be the most significant.
While Miles is still dropping not-so-subtle hints about teaching, Carter hasn’t mentioned it once.
He talks like qualifying for an O-1 visa is a natural next step for me, like the requirements aren’t a big deal at all.
Even though he’s the one who has every right to urge me to pursue what would get me a visa the fastest, he doesn’t seem concerned.
He keeps using that word. Extraordinary. Like it’s a foregone conclusion I’ll get there without any trouble.
Like always, Carter’s presence works wonders on my nervous system, and after a few more moments of deep breathing, I feel calm enough to leave the bathroom. “Okay. I think I can do this.” I look toward the door. “Should we go?”
“Actually, since we’re here…” His words trail off, and I sense a new trepidation that wasn’t there moments before.
“What is it?” I quickly say.
He shakes his head like he’s reconsidered. “Actually, just forget it. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You can’t stand in here and talk me out of an anxiety attack and then dismiss your own feelings like they’re nothing.”
He runs a hand across his face, leaving his hand over his mouth like he’s afraid to speak. “It’s dumb,” he says, his voice muffled by his fingers.
“I’m sure it isn’t.”
Finally, he sighs and drops his hand. “I was just…feeling a little nervous about kissing you in front of so many people. I know it’s not the first time, but it’s been a minute since our last kiss, and they’re all going to be watching us so closely. I want it to be convincing.”
My eyebrows lift.
The last time we kissed would have been the morning after we got engaged.
We’ve done a lot of holding hands and snuggling when we’ve been out with other players and their wives or at hockey events, but we haven’t had a reason to kiss again, especially since we’ve been following the rules so closely.
But he’s right. The wedding kiss isn’t exactly optional.