Chapter 42 White Lies & Wedding Dresses
White Lies & Wedding Dresses
The boutique smelled like roses and money. Dresses glittered on their hangers, each one a promise Maddison wasn’t sure she deserved. She smoothed the bodice of the gown, staring at her reflection. Glitter, lace, a fantasy she could barely hold onto.
“Maddison,” her mother said flatly from the sofa, glass of wine in hand. “Are you sure this one’s real?”
The pins digging into Maddison’s ribs hurt less than those words.
“Mum…”
Her sister folded her arms, smug silence sharp as glass.
“The last time you swore a man loved you,” her mother went on, “it ended in doctors
and locked doors.”
Maddison’s throat burned. “This isn’t like before.”
“God, Maddie,” her sister muttered. “Hospitals. Stalking. Do you even hear yourself?”
The silk at her waist blurred as her vision swam. She hated that they could still make her sixteen again , begging to be believed, begging not to be left behind.
And then the doors opened.
The air shifted. Leather shoes on polished tile. Silence pressing heavy.
Lucas Creams walked in. Black suit. Jaw set. Eyes only for her.
Her breath caught.
He stopped in front of her, gaze sweeping the gown, the flushed cheeks, the tears she fought to hide. His mouth curved faintly.
“You,” he said, voice rough, “are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Gasps rippled.
Then he turned , deliberately , to her mother, her sister, and to Remy lounging with her phone angled just so.
“I’m Lucas Creams,” he said smoothly. “Maddison’s fiancé.”
A champagne flute slipped, glass shattering.
Her mother scoffed. “Fiancé? You don’t know her. You don’t know the hospitals, the lies, the men she,”
“I know she’s stronger than every one of you,” Lucas cut in, voice steel. “She survived more than you can imagine. And she’s mine. That’s all that matters.”
His hand slid to Maddison’s waist. Warm. Claiming. Final.
“The wedding’s in two weeks,” he said calmly. “You’re welcome to attend. Or not. Either way, Maddison will be walking down that aisle. With me.”
The air shattered. Silence sliced deeper than their barbs.
Lucas bent, brushed his lips to Maddison’s temple, and whispered:
“They don’t get to decide if you’re real. I do.”
***
Back in the dressing room Maddison sank onto the velvet stool, silk bunching in her fists. “I hate them,” she whispered. “I hate that they can still make me feel broken.”
Lucas knelt in front of her, folding his big frame down, eyes steady on hers.
“They want you to believe you’re crazy because it’s easier than admitting you’re better,” he said quietly. “Don’t let them win.”
Her vision blurred. He caught her tears with his thumbs.
“I don’t want normal,” he murmured. “I want you.”
Her laugh cracked, unsteady. “You’re not supposed to be the calm one.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
And when he kissed her , slow, grounding, reverent , Maddison finally believed it.
Not just the dress.
Not just the fantasy.
But herself.
She was his fiancée.
And the whole world knows it now.
The boutique mirrors showed a girl they could never erase again.
Lucas’s bride.