23. Jules
CHAPTER 23
Jules
Last night was a blur of reckless decisions and impulsive promises. The, sure, I’ll marry you, Brian , quickly followed by us plunging headfirst into wedding plans and venue hunting—a dizzying whirlwind that sends anxiety slithering up my neck like a nest of angry bees.
When ideas like Vegas and Paris are tossed around, I catch myself scratching at my neck, the reality of till death do us part pushing me dangerously close to the brink of an official runaway bride.
Then Brian brings up the one place we can both agree on.
Donovan’s.
A haven—breathtaking, secluded, a perfect escape from the world.
No media.
No paparazzi.
Just us.
By the stroke of midnight, Brian leaves—surprisingly superstitious for a big, gruff military man. Either that, or he’s afraid of turning into a pumpkin. “Eight p.m. sharp,” he says, all dominant military man. “Make sure she shows up, Taylor. In a gown. I’ll tackle the rest.”
Then, like only the desperate or borderline delusional would, he hands Taylor his black card, with strict instructions. “Make her happy.”
Taylor’s eyes light up. “Can I make me happy, too?”
He sighs, giving in. “As long as you avoid anything that involves pink slips or deeds.”
And from the time I wake up, it’s a whirlwind, with Taylor dragging me all over town, swiping that card like it’s the Olympic sport she was born to dominate. Driven around by Logan, no less.
The ladies at the bridal boutique practically roll out the red carpet the second Taylor flashes it. By the time I’m slipping into the sixth gown—after countless glasses of overflowing brut, fresh berries, and bite-sized cupcakes that are too adorable to eat, not to mention the endless selfies—I’m done.
“No matter what, the next one I try on, I’m taking,” I declare, half-joking, half-serious. “Maybe I’ll end up serving burgers and fries in it at Donovan’s.”
Taylor giggles, her eyes bright. “Remember when we thought we could serve twice as many people on roller skates?” She snorts, and I nearly collapse, a wave of uncontrollable laughter hitting me as the ridiculous image of us wobbling around with trays full of drinks and food floods back.
It’s all so perfect. Too perfect. And that’s when my phone starts blowing up.
First, a text from Colby.
Colby
Is there something you want to tell me?
About you.
And
Brian Bishop???
WTF—Over???
Next, the name Eomma lights up the screen.
“Shit.” My eyes go wide as I glance at Taylor. “It’s my mom. What do I do?”
She shrugs. That’s not exactly reassuring. “Answer.”
I swallow the knot of nerves tightening in my throat and pick up. “Hello?”
“Hello? Is that all you’ve got to say?” Eomma’s voice leaps from mildly annoyed to full-blown panic. “Juliana Grace, are you getting married today?”
“What? Where’d you hear that?” I try to keep my tone light, playing innocent, but my heart’s pounding wildly, a trapped animal desperate to break free.
“It’s all over Facebook. And Instagram. And don’t even get me started on TikTok.”
“TikTok? What?”
My eyes snap to Taylor, who’s already swiping through her phone.
She flips the screen toward me, and there it is—pictures of Brian and me splashed all over social media. The hashtags #HighSchoolSweethearts and #Billionaire&Bride are spreading like California wildfire.
This is definitely not how I wanted to handle this. But before I can even process her question through the champagne still buzzing in my veins, Dad’s voice barrels through the line. “Are. You. Getting. Married? Yes or no, Juliana?”
“Um . . . Yes.”
“Seriously, Juliana? You’re going to marry him. The guy you’ve hated for years.”
I want to explain, but there’s a sales associate lurking in the room, and probably the one who leaked this to the world in the first place. I shoot daggers at her while Taylor hustles her out. “Dad, it’s not what you think?—”
“Young lady, you listen to me. I don’t care how old you are or what’s going through your head. You’re still my little girl. Period. If my little girl is getting married, I will be walking her down that aisle. End of story. And you will not deprive me of the pleasure of threatening that Bishop boy within an inch of his life if he even thinks about breaking your heart. Am I clear?”
My response is automatic. “Yes, sir.”
He exhales, the sound long and heavy, like a dam about to burst with all the parental patience he has. “When is this blessed event supposed to take place?”
“Eight tonight,” I mutter, sheepish.
“Fine. We’re heading there now.”
“But you don’t know where it is.”
“The entire world knows where it is, Jules,” he snaps, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s at Donovan’s. We just didn’t know when. And before you even think about dodging this all-in family affair, your mother is bringing Korean honey cookies, and Halmeoni is picking your bouquet from the garden now.”
Then the line goes dead .
I’m still breathing through the tightening in my chest when I look up, and Taylor’s already dialing, her fingers moving fast.
“Who are you calling?” I ask, my voice more strained than I’d like.
“Logan.”
“Is this really the time for that?”
“I think so,” she says, not missing a beat. “Logan said if anything came up, he’d cover our six. Whatever that means.”
True to his word, within minutes, Logan is at the door, all business, flanked by another guard who seems to have materialized out of thin air. “We’ll take care of everything,” he says, as the other man gathers my belongings and quickly ushers Taylor and me into a waiting SUV, with an identical one shadowing us like a ghost.
“I just need to pay for this dress,” I stammer, looking back.
“I took care of it before we collected you.”
He did?
We take off just as swarms of paparazzi descend like vultures on roadkill. “What a nightmare. Is this what Brian deals with all the time?” I ask, more to myself than anyone.
Logan glances back in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine. “Unfortunately, yes. Since the article came out. But he’ll make sure you’re protected.” His words cast Brian in a new light for me— protector . Then Logan adds, almost offhandedly, “Beautiful dress.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, forcing a smile up my lips, still processing it all. Brian—the guy whose only way out of this media storm is me. The same girl who threw him into the spotlight in the first place.
My phone rings, flashing an Unknown Caller ID. I’ m about to ignore it when Logan says, “I gave the boss a heads-up about the situation. That’s him.”
Oh.
I pick up, and Brian’s voice comes through, soft and full of regret. “I’m so sorry, Jules. This isn’t how I wanted things to go down. I had a plan and, hell, I don’t even know what the plan was anymore. I just thought I’d have more time to get ahead of this. If you want to back out?—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice firmer than I expected. “I can handle it.” I have to. I caused it to begin with.
“It won’t last long,” he promises, steady and reassuring.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because the media thinks we’re just high school sweethearts. It’s the kind of ‘nothing to see here, folks’ story that they’ll drop in no time. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I am, but you might not be.”
A pause. “What do you mean?”
“Um, my family’s coming to the wedding.”
“You told them?”
“No. Social media did. Pretty sure they were tipped off by the lady at the bridal shop.”
He inhales sharply, then lets out a low chuckle, nerves and amusement threading through his voice. “On a scale of all good to your dad is picking out headstones , how worried should I be?”
“Considering Mom’s busy making Yakgwa , you’ll live at least long enough to eat. And in case you didn’t remember, Yakgwa are?—”
“Sweet, gingery cookies, deep-fried to perfection, then soaked in honey syrup, traditionally served at special occasions. Like weddings. And let’s not forget they’re one of your favorites— heaven help anyone who tries to snag one before you do, because you’re liable to bite off their hand. I remember.”
“You do?” If I wasn’t already sitting down, I might’ve swooned.
“I remember everything about you, Jules.” My heart skips a beat, and yeah, I’m definitely swooning. “See you at eight.”