Chapter 21
POPPY
WREN
Happy Wedding Day! I’ll be down to your suite soon to get ready.
I send her a quick kiss-y face emoji back.
Then, I set my phone down on the counter and look at myself in the mirror of the lavish hotel bathroom.
The room alone probably costs more per night than most people’s rent.
Jett insisted that I have an entire suite to get ready in on my wedding day, even though it will only be Wren and I here for the morning.
It wasn’t worth the risk having anyone else finding out about the wedding being a complete and utter sham. So, there’s no makeup artists, no hair stylists, and certainly no photographers allowed in my room this morning. All against Brooke’s will.
We argued about it for a while before Jett stepped in and told Brooke to back off.
That if I want privacy on the morning of my wedding, I can have it.
The rush of heat between my legs felt the same as when he punched that waiter in the face, my body responding to Jett’s protective side.
He only seems to show that side of himself for me.
I run my blow-dryer brush through my short brown hair. It’s not like a stylist would be able to do anything spectacular with it anyway. It hardly comes down to my chin. All I can do is brush it through with the heated round brush, adding some volume and a flip where it curls around under my ear.
Then, I tuck and pin my hair back with the tiny pearl adorned clips.
They were on my bed when I checked into the hotel room, along with an envelope containing a note from Jett.
I know Brooke probably picked them out for him to give me, but seeing my name in his scratchy print, reminding me that we’re in this together, and it settled the nerves buzzing beneath my skin.
Wren can help me with my makeup. Though, I told her under no circumstances am I wearing a bold red lip like she prefers. And I’m wearing my favourite gold cat earrings. They remind me of Cordelia, playing with the balls of yarn I leave lying around my apartment.
I wish she could be here today, though she made herself quite at home when I dropped her off at Jett’s last night.
Once I’m satisfied with my appearance, I take my dress off the hanger and slip it on over the white lace lingerie set I selected.
I silently curse myself for banishing anyone and everyone from my room today, now that it’s time to do up the long line of delicate buttons that secure the dress at the back.
There’s a soft knock on the door to my suite, and I call for whoever it is to come in.
Probably Wren.
But when I wander out of the bathroom, holding the dress up at the front and getting ready to ask Wren for her help, it’s Jett that I nearly walk right into.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim, clutching the dress to the front of my body. “We aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding,” I hiss, before realizing that all the traditional superstitions probably don’t apply here.
But once I see Jett, my eyes rake over him, taking in the sight of his perfectly tailored black suit.
It fits him everywhere that counts. His hair has been trimmed, not the floppy raggedy waves I’m used to seeing on him.
It’s been pushed back with gel, just enough that it still looks soft, and I want to run my fingers through it.
Jett could have stepped off the cover of a GQ magazine, and now I’m second guessing my decision to forego professional makeup.
“You look beautiful, Poppy. As always,” Jett says, taking me in in the dress that I’m having to hold up, so it doesn’t fall. “I just wanted to go over everything with you for today, make a game plan.”
“Sure, but can you help me with the buttons first?” I turn around gesturing for him to do up the tiny, covered buttons the whole length of my spine.
There must be at least fifty of them, and the feeling of his fingers working them through the holes, the way his calloused fingertips sometimes brush the skin on my lower back, sends a shiver right through me.
When he finishes, his hands linger on the top button, as if not wanting to take his hands away from me. His fingers graze my ribs, my waist, my hip, as I turn around to face him. And then they find my hand and hold on.
“There,” he says. “Done.”
Maybe it’s my imagination, but I swear his eyelids look heavier than they did before.
“So, what did you want to go over?” I ask, but before he can answer, Wren waltzes through the door, coffees in hand. She just about drops the cardboard tray when she sees Jett.
“You’re not supposed to be in here,” she scolds. “It’s bad luck. And you both need all the luck you can get to pull this stunt off. Get out.”
Jett’s gaze whips back to me, and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away, the same way he did at the bowling alley–we’re in this together.
“See you at the altar, Pops.” He throws me a playful wink as he backs toward the door.
I silently scold my heart for the way it rolls forward in my chest.
I can’t get over how Brooke and the rest of Jett’s team managed to pull this off. My breath catches in my throat as I take it all in. The venue, which is normally booked out years in advance, even in winter, is stunning.
Dark, walnut chairs are set up flanking an aisle that ends right before Lake Louise, a stunning backdrop of rocky grey mountains blanketed in thick white snow.
Bunches of white roses, matching the ones I hold in my hands, are tied to the aisle seats with dusty blue, velvet ribbon.
Brooke would have had to pull about a thousand strings to make this wedding happen on such short notice.
But there’s something else, a kind of magic that I can’t quite place. It’s like the air itself is sparkling.
I pull my fur shawl tighter around my shoulders and adjust my bouquet in my hands. Soft music drifts up to where I’m standing, hidden behind an outcropping of evergreen trees at the top of a wooden staircase.
Down at the end of the aisle, I spot Jett, standing in his tux, and my heart flip flops. It’s only a matter of minutes now until he’s my husband.
Once everyone is seated, the processional music will start and the show will begin.
After that, life is going to happen in warp speed. Jett will be off for his first stop on the World Cup circuit, and I’ll be going with him—as his wife.
“You ready?” Wren squeezes my bicep and I pull my eyes away from Jett to look at her.
“I think so,” I breathe, shifting my bouquet from one hand to the other. Wren doesn’t have time to say anything else in response, because the wedding coordinator who was talking into her headset is motioning that it’s time for Wren to start her walk down the aisle.
Now, I’m alone, and my pulse races.
We have a plan. This wedding will give me everything I’ve been working for. We’ll stay married for as long as it takes to secure my inheritance and then we’ll both be on our way. The most amicable divorce in history.
Then, I can go back to living my quiet, uncomplicated life.
I try to remind myself of what Wren told me the other day. It had worked at the bridal salon to quell my nerves, replaying her words in my mind.
Jett is on my team, we have a plan, and I’m doing this for Aunt Dahlia.
I just wish Aunt Dahlia could send me some sort of sign that I’m doing the right thing.
Wren is about halfway down the aisle now, and the wedding coordinator nudges my shoulder as the classical processional music fades into another song, but I’m frozen in place.
It’s an instrumental version of a familiar classic.
Moon River.
My heart skips a beat as I recognize the song I’ve always dreamt of walking down the aisle to.
I’ve never told Jett about that, I’ve always kept it tucked away in a hidden corner of my heart, too afraid to admit that I even wanted a wedding. Too afraid that saying it out loud might jinx it, that it wasn’t going to happen for me anyway.
There’s no way he knew, and yet, choosing the music was the one task Brooke entrusted him with, and this is the one he chose when he thought of this moment.
Maybe I should be upset that it’s being used for this sham of a wedding. But I can almost hear Aunt Dahlia, humming along to the tune, and I know that I’m making the right decision. Excitement dances across my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Start walking,” the wedding coordinator hisses, giving me a nudge from behind, and I start my slow walk down the stairs. Seats shuffle as everyone rises and turns to face the end of the aisle.
My heart is pounding. I’ve never had this many eyes on me, especially not like this. Anxiety rises like a lump of bile in the back of my throat as I glance around at the crowd flanking the aisle.
I spot the CEO of Nuclear, Chase Montgomery, whom I only recognize because he was featured on a magazine cover that sat on the coffee table in the café.
His face was stained with spilled tea and dried coffee rings.
Today though, he’s looking perfect and polished, standing at the edge of my wedding aisle.
On the other side is the rest of our friends and Jett’s brothers. I catch a glimpse of Spencer and Ally dabbing tears from their eyes with a handkerchief. Guilt needles at my chest. All these people came here for me, and I’m lying to their faces.
The confidence I felt at the top of the staircase falters for a second, and I briefly contemplate whirling around and turning on my heel to run back down the aisle.
But then my eyes land on Jett.
He smiles, warm and genuine, creases forming at the corners of his eyes, his dark brown irises sparkle with our shared secret. A strange sense of calm washes over me at the way he’s looking at me.
He’s looking at me like he loves this, watching me walk down the aisle.
And for a second, I can’t tell if he’s pretending.