Chapter 15 #2
Nate shrugs like it’s obvious. “Not that I’m complaining.” He wraps his arm around me and tugs me into his side, like he needs me close. “Maybe it’s not a curse after all.”
I melt into his warmth, heart thumping like a war drum. I can’t tell if I want to laugh or cry.
“Fuck you,” Sebastian laughs, shaking his head. “I could bet my future wife won’t be half as charming as her or share your chemistry before the wedding. When’s the wedding by the way?”
“On Tuesday.” Nate smirks.
“This Tuesday? As in 3 days?”
“Yeah…”
I blink, trying to process all of it—the truth, the lie, the almost kiss of tears in my eyes, and the fact that somehow, in this twisted fairy tale, I might’ve ended up being his girl after all.
And I never saw it coming.
A beat passes, then Sebastian checks his watch and signals a man seated nearby.
“I’m actually here in D.C. to meet a friend,” he says. “Fashion designer. Derek Wilson. He’s making custom suits for me.”
I perk up. “Derek Wilson? He’s incredible.”
“He is. And his bridal collection is… unique, but I’m sure you have all you need already.”
My eyes widen a little, and I glance at Nate. “I’m not sure what his mother chose for me, and I was going to ask if I could go dress shopping while we’re here. Just to look…”
“Why don’t you come with me?” Sebastian offers. “If anyone can make you feel like a queen on your wedding day—it’s Derek.”
I blink. “Are you sure?”
Nate just grins. “Come on. When royalty offers you fashion advice, you don’t say no.”
Sebastian lifts a brow at the word royalty, but says nothing. The only thing he gives away is a faint smirk, like he’s used to hiding behind veils of titles and diplomacy.
“All right,” I say, smiling. “Lead the way, Your Highness.”
Sebastian laughs, and for the first time, it’s a full one. Honest. Unfiltered. “Now that’s going to get you into trouble.”
But he’s already standing, holding the door open as Nate and I fall into step behind him, my hand in his.
Wilson Creations Boutique is nothing like I expected. It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. It’s refined—glass panels, soft ambient lights, and mannequins draped in perfection. You can feel the genius humming in the walls. And when Sebastian walks through the door, the energy shifts.
“Your Royal Highness,” comes a voice with a smirk.
A man in a black turtleneck and perfectly tousled hair walks out from behind a curtain, fabric pinned over one arm. “Should I curtsy?”
Sebastian laughs and pulls him into a brief hug. “Only if you want to be stabbed by a pin.”
“Nate,” Sebastian turns to us. “Isabel. This is Derek Wilson. Genius, fashion icon that would find your wedding dress, and a royal pain.”
Derek grins. “Only on days ending in Y.”
Nate chuckles, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you. Heard a lot about you.”
“I hope it’s all true and twice as scandalous,” Derek winks. “Isabel, welcome. You are stunning!”
“Thank you,” I smile. This is one of the designers I adore but impossible to hire or have a consultation. He mostly creates but of course for a prince you do find time to meet in person.
“And when’s the wedding?”
“In three days.” I admit seeing his eyes widen, “The wedding dress I have is not giving me any emotional vibes and would love to try some.”
“It won't be hard to find you something here.” He chuckles watching me from head to toe.
Sebastian and Nate share a look I can’t quite catch—Sebastian leans into Nate and murmurs something in a different language. Nate rolls his eyes, but there’s a light in them I haven’t seen before.
Once the laughter settles, Derek claps his hands. “All right. Let’s get these suits sorted. Royalty doesn’t dress itself.”
Within minutes, two racks of tailored suits are rolled out, and Sebastian ducks into one of the private rooms.
The next hour is a mix of silk, charcoal grays, deep navy blues, and champagne toasts. Nate ends up in front of us in at least five different suits.
Sebastian and I sit on a long white couch sipping from delicate flutes, offering unsolicited fashion advice.
“That tie makes him look like a funeral director,” I whisper behind my glass.
Sebastian grins. “Agreed. You’d think with a face like that, it’d be easier.”
“I can hear you both,” Nate calls from inside.
“That’s the point,” I tease.
“I do have my uniform, I don’t understand why all of this is necessary.”
“Part of the experience.” Derek winks at us.
For a moment, the laughter quiets. I feel Sebastian’s eyes on me again—he studies me like he’s reading a page I haven’t written yet.
“Does he know?” he asks quietly.
I blink. “Know what?”
“That you fell for him.”
My chest tightens. I try to deflect. “I agreed to marry him. I think it’s implied.”
“But have you told him?” Sebastian presses gently, eyes still soft.
I hesitate, swirling the champagne. “No.”
“You should.” His tone is gentle, but firm. “Men like Nate… they don’t assume. They hope.”
I glance at Nate, laughing with Derek now, and suddenly the idea of telling him everything I feel doesn’t feel so terrifying. It feels… right. Fear, though, creeps in.
When the suits are packed and Sebastian's final fitting is declared ‘acceptable by royal standards,’ Derek turns to me.
“Now,” he claps his hands, “let’s talk about the bride.” Derek smirks, motioning me toward the changing room. “Come, darling. Let’s see what dreams you didn’t know you had.”
Inside the plush fitting room, the light is soft, the mirror enormous, the walls an elegant blush. An assistant gently helps me out of my coat.
“What do you envision for your wedding dress?” Derek asks from outside.
“I…” I hesitate. “I never really dreamed about my wedding.”
A long pause. Then Derek’s voice shifts—quiet and serious. “Good. Then you have no limits.”
“I like the way you see it.” I try to smile, but there’s a slight tremble at the edge of it.
“I’ll send you some options. You can try a few on. How does that sound?”
There’s something so genuine in the way he says it. Like this fake engagement is suddenly realer than it should be. Like he actually wants to see me in one.
I swallow down the tight feeling rising in my throat.
“Sounds like a challenge,” I say with a nervous giggle, trying to hide the way my chest aches a little at the thought.
After trying three wedding dresses that were amazing and fit like gloves, Derek steps in, holding a dress in his hands like it’s spun from morning mist and stardust.
“I finished this a few days ago,” he murmurs, “and I had no idea who it was for. Until now.”
He helps me step into it gently, moving with precision and reverence. As the fabric slides over my skin, I can already feel the weight of it—elegant but light.
When I turn toward the mirror, something in my chest stutters.
I don’t cry easily. I don’t do vulnerable.
But seeing myself in that dress? It undoes me.
My breath catches, my eyes sting. It’s not just a dress.
It’s a promise.
When I walk back out into the showroom, Sebastian immediately moves toward me, stopping dead in his tracks.
“Isabel…” he smiles.
I nod, swallowing hard as I try to find my voice. “I… I found it,” I whisper, my throat tightening around the words. The moment feels surreal—like I’m standing in a dream I never let myself believe could come true.
The fabric flows like liquid around my legs, soft and perfect, hugging my body in all the right places.
“I sent him into the other room,” Sebastian says with a mischievous smirk, winking at me like we’re co-conspirators in the most sacred secret. “Groom’s not allowed to see the dress before the big day, remember?”
That simple word—groom—makes my chest flutter in a way that has nothing to do with the fit of the gown.
I blink quickly, trying to keep the tears from falling. “Thank you,” I murmur, my voice thick with emotion.
Sebastian shrugs like it’s nothing, but his smile is warm and proud. “That’s what a best man does,” he says, nodding toward someone behind him before giving me a big thumbs-up like a proud older brother.
“See?” Derek adds, stepping in and gently closing the door behind him. “Told you this one was made for you.”
I turn slowly back to the mirror, placing a hand on my chest as I take it in again. My eyes glisten, lips trembling just slightly.
After taking the wedding dress off and wearing back my clothes, we join the men.
Derek gives a little bow. “The bride knows when it’s the one.”
Nate, smiles. “I know it may be a little last minute but we’d love to have you at our wedding.”
“I never turn down champagne and chaos,” Derek replies with a grin, “London is also on my bucket list.”
Sebastian raises his glass. “To the perfect dress. And to people crazy enough to believe in forever.”
We all clink flutes and for the first time, I don’t just feel ready for the next chapter.
I feel home.
* * *
Monday
I turn around in this bed like it’s on fire. The silk sheets are cool against my skin, but my mind is anything but still.
We're getting married tomorrow.
The words echo, wild and heavy in my chest. It should feel magical, exciting—like a fairytale coming true. And in some ways, it does.
But in the quiet of this oversized hotel room, fear creeps in like a shadow under the door.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
Not just my last name or the way people look at us. Not just the ceremony or the rings.
Everything.
Because being his girlfriend, his fiancée, even his lover—those all came with a sense of freedom, of motion. But a wife? That feels rooted. Permanent. Real in a way that scares the hell out of me.
I got used to having him by my side, to the way his body fits against mine like we were made to sleep tangled in each other’s warmth. Now that he’s not here, I can’t sleep.
The bed feels too big.
Too cold.
Too empty.
Frustrated, I toss the sheets back and get up. The city lights glimmer beyond the hotel window, but I don’t care. I need to get this out.
I pull out a crisp sheet of paper and sit at the little desk. If I can’t say it—if the words catch in my throat—I’ll write them down. Pour my thoughts, fears, and love into ink.
The pen glides across the page as I write to him—about how much he changed me. How terrified I was to love him. How even now, part of me wonders if I’m enough. But mostly, I write that I choose him. Every day. For the rest of my life.
When I’m done, I fold it neatly and seal the envelope, pressing my fingers to it like a prayer. My gaze shifts to my phone.
Is he asleep?
Is he thinking about me?
Is he scared too?
I crawl back under the covers and eventually, sleep finds me around 2 a.m., but it’s light and restless.
Before I know it, the early morning alarm blares, and I jolt up, heart racing.
No time for long dreams or slow awakenings.
The makeup artist and hairstylist will be here soon, and I need to be human before then.
I’m stepping out of the shower, towel wrapped around my head, when my phone pings.
Nate: Can’t wait to see you. I missed you so fucking much, Izzy.
My heart swells and clenches at the same time.
Me: A couple more hours, love. And I’ll be yours.
Because I will be his—soul, mind, and body. In all the ways that count.
A loud knock makes me flinch, and I drop my phone with a gasp. It clatters to the floor just as I bolt toward the door in my bathrobe, heart pounding.
“I’m coming!” I shout, slipping slightly on the marble as I run.
When I swing the door open, I barely have time to react—Nate pulls me into his arms, lifts me off the floor, and kisses me like the world is ending.
His mouth is hot, desperate, familiar.
“Nate…” I gasp, struggling to breathe, his scent crashing into me. “You—what are you—?”
“I couldn’t wait,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against mine. “I’m sorry. I needed to see you. Isabel, I want—”
“What are you doing here?!” Alice’s voice cuts the moment like a whip.
We both freeze.
She’s standing behind us with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed, and pure maid-of-honor authority radiating from her.
“You can’t see the bride before the wedding!” she scolds, pushing him back with one hand on his chest. “Shoo. Go!”
Nate grins, backing away slowly like a guilty schoolboy. “Worth it.”
Alice slams the door and turns to me. “Hair and makeup will be here in five. Go get dressed.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me standing there breathless, smiling like an idiot.
I walk back to the bed, still warm from where I left the letter, and glance at the delicate underwear laid out in lace and satin. My fingers trail over it absently as I touch my lips where he kissed me.
I sit down, my hands trembling slightly. The butterflies that had been fluttering in my stomach before are now in full riot. I try to inhale deeply, but it catches halfway in my chest.
This is happening.
He’s mine.
And in just a few hours—I’ll be his, completely.