Chapter 12 Hope
HOPE
Iwake up to the sound of my alarm going off, and for a moment, I forget where I am.
I glance around the room to see the white desk from my childhood.
As I blink back the fog, it hits me that today's the day I get married. My heart does this little flip in my chest, part nerves, and part pure excitement. I stretch under the covers, smiling at the ceiling. After everything that’s happened the past two weeks, the misunderstanding, the tears, the reconciliation, the day has finally arrived.
In a few hours, I'll be Mrs. Deacon Stone.
Mrs. Hope Stone. God, I love the sound of that.
I throw off the covers and pad across the room to the closet door, where my garment bag hangs. The beautiful ivory lace dress that made me cry in the boutique is the same dress that's going to make Frost's jaw drop when he sees me walking toward him.
My fingers find the zipper, and I pull it down slowly, anticipation building with every inch.
The bag falls open, and my mouth drops in absolute horror.
Pepto Bismol pink taffeta stares back at me.
Not ivory lace with the champagne silk. This is definitely not my dress.
In front of me in the bag is the ugliest pink, shiny, bridesmaid’s dress ever made.
“No,” I whisper, my hands shaking as I pull the dress out further.
I hope and pray that maybe my dress is underneath, that this is just some weird protective layer, or maybe they put someone else’s dress in with mine by mistake. I dig through the bag, but it’s not there. Only this monstrosity remains.
“No, no, no, no, no.” My voice gets louder with each word. “This isn't… Where's my…how di—”
Panic hits me in the gut like a freight train. It’s the wrong dress. They sent me home with the wrong fucking dress, or someone grabbed the wrong bag. I don't know what the hell happened, but my wedding dress is gone, and I'm holding what looks like a rejected prom dress from 1987.
There's no time to fix this. The wedding is in six hours. There isn’t nearly enough time to make it to Truth or Consequences before the wedding starts, and we can’t afford to delay it.
My breathing gets faster, shallower. What am I going to do? What am I going to wear? I can't get married in this. I can't. A loud booming sound cuts through my mental spiral.
Thunder?
Not just thunder but rain. Not gentle, romantic, movie-scene rain, either.
Nope, it’s heavy, pounding, angry rain. I drop the pink disaster and rush to the window, yanking back the curtain.
My stomach somersaults when I take in the scene before me.
It's pouring, the kind of rain that floods streets and ruins everything in its path.
Water is hammering the ground, turning the backyard into a muddy disaster zone.
Our outdoor wedding.
“Oh my God,” I breathe, pressing my hands against the glass.
The gorgeous tent we set up yesterday is white and beautiful, with fairy lights strung inside. I can barely see it through the rain, but what I can see makes my heart sink. There's a giant, gaping hole in the top of the tent, and water is pouring through it like a waterfall.
“No. No, this can't be happening.”
My bedroom door flies open, and Mom rushes in, her face pale. “Hope, honey, we have a probl—”
“I know!” I gesture wildly at the window. “The rain! The tent!”
“The tent has a hole,” Mom says, her voice tight. “A big one. I just came from outside. The chairs are soaked, and the decorations are ruined. Water is pooling everywhere."
“And I don't have a dress!” I grab the horrendous dress and hold it up. “Look at this! This isn't my dress! Where's my dress?”
Mom's eyes go wide. “What? Ho—”
“I don't know!” My voice cracks. “I don't know what happened, but this is what was in the bag, and the wedding is in a few hours, and I don't have a dress, and the tent is destroyed, an—”
My phone rings, interrupting my rant. We both stare at it on the nightstand like it's a bomb that will detonate at any second.
Hell, it could be with the way everything else is going.
“Maybe it's the bridal boutique,” Mom says hopefully. “Maybe they realized the mistake.”
I lunge for the phone, not even checking the caller ID. “Hello?”
“Hope?” The voice on the other end is rough, congested. “It's Pastor Williams.”
“Hi, Pastor Williams,” I say weakly.
“I'm so sorry,” he says, and then he coughs, a deep, rattling cough that makes me wince. “I'm sick. I believe it’s the flu, and I can barely get out of bed. There's no way I can officiate your wedding today.”
The phone nearly slips from my hand. My stomach sinks further into the depths of despair, which I didn't think was possible. “You... what?”
“I'm so sorry,” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know this is terrible timing. Maybe you can find som—”
“The wedding is in six hours,” I say numbly.
“I know. I'm so, so sorry. I hope you ca—” Another coughing fit cuts him off.
“It's okay,” I hear myself say, even though nothing is okay. “Feel better.” I hang up before he can apologize again.
Mom is staring at me. “That didn’t sound good. What did he say?”
“He's sick with the flu. He can't do the ceremony.” I look down at the phone in my hand, then at the pink dress on the bed, then at the rain hammering the window.
No dress. No venue. No pastor.
“What the hell are we going to do?” I whisper.
Mom's face crumples slightly, but she tries to hold it together. “Okay. Okay, we can figure this out. Can we move the ceremony inside? The living room is big enou—”
“For forty-three people?” I shake my head. “What about the tent? All the decorations? The chairs?”
“We can bring them inside and dry them off,” she suggests.
“And the dress?” My voice is getting higher, more frantic. “Where am I supposed to get a wedding dress?” I check the time on my phone. “In six hours?”
“We can go to another dress shop and see if we can find something off the rack that would fit.”
“Again, in six hours?” I'm pacing now, my hands shaking. “Even if they did, we don’t have an appointment, and I still need to get my hair and makeup done. Not to mention finding a new place to have a wedding and finding someone to marry us!”
“Then we'll find something else. What about a nice dress from a department store?”
“I'm not getting married in a 'nice dress,' Mom!” The tears are coming now, hot and fast. I know I’m being completely irrational and sound like a spoiled brat, but I can’t help it. “This was supposed to be perfect. After everything that’s happened with the food poisoning, the florist, and the fight with Frost, I thought today would finally be perfect.”
Mom reaches for me, but I step back and wrap my arms around myself.
“I think this is the universe’s way of trying to tell me something,” I say, my voice breaking. “Maybe we're really not supposed to get married.”
“Hope Marie Webster, don't you dare think that.” Mom's voice is firm now, even though her eyes are shiny with tears. “Don't you dare let a few obstacles make you doubt what you have with that man.”
“A few obstacles?” I gesture around wildly. “Everything is falling apart!”
“So, we'll put it back together,” she says forcefully.
“How?” I'm crying now, ugly crying. “How are we supposed to fix all of this in six hours?”
The door bursts open again, and Amy rushes in. She takes one look at my tear-streaked face, the pink dress on the bed, and her eyes narrow. “What happened?”
“Everything,” I sob. “Everything happened.”
“The bridal boutique handed us the wrong dress,” Mom explains quickly. “The tent has a hole, everything outside is ruined, and to top it off, the pastor just called. He's sick with the flu and can't do the ceremony.”
Amy's eyes go wide. She looks at the pink dress, then at the window, and back at me.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Okay, that's... that's a lot.”
“What the hell are we going to do, Amy?” My voice breaks on her name. “I don't have a dress. I don't have a venue. I don't have anyone to marry us. The wedding is in six hours, and everything is falling apart. Maybe this is a sign. May—”
“Stop.” Amy crosses the room and grabs my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. “Breathe.”
“I ca—”
“Yes, you can. Breathe with me.” She takes a deep breath, and I try to follow, but it comes out shaky and broken. “Again.”
We breathe together, once, twice, three times, until the panic recedes just enough for me to think.
“Better?” Amy asks.
I nod, even though I'm still crying.
“Okay.” Amy looks at Mom, then back at me. “This is bad. I'm not going to sugarcoat it. This is really bad, but we've dealt with worse.”
“When?” I wheeze.
“The other night,” she says simply. “When you thought you were losing Frost. You didn't because you fought for each other.”
“This is diffe—”
“No, it's not.” Her grip on my shoulders tightens. “This is just logistics, and that can be fixed.”
“How?” I gesture at the pink dress. “How are we supposed to fix all of this?”
Amy's jaw sets in that determined way I know so well. “I don't know yet, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Amy.”
“No.” She cuts me off. “You love Frost, and he loves you. Everything else is just details, and I'm really good at details.”
Despite everything, I almost smile, because she is. Amy can organize, fix, and make anything happen. However, even she can't pull off miracles.
“I need you to stay here with your mom,” Amy says, already moving toward the door. “Try to calm down. Take a shower. I'm going to make some calls, figure out a plan.”
“What kind of plan?” Mom asks.
“I don't know yet,” Amy admits. “I’ll think of something. I always do.”
She looks back at me, and her expression softens. “You're getting married today, Hope. I promise you that. It might not look exactly like we planned, but you're marrying Frost today. Okay?”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her so badly. Looking at the pink dress, hearing the rain, thinking about the pastor's congested voice has me wanting to curl up into a ball and let the misery pull me under.
“I’ll try.”
Amy nods once, then she's gone, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
“We'll figure it out.” Mom squeezes my hand in solidarity. “We always do.”