Chapter 39 The Wedding She Deserved
THE WEDDING SHE DESERVED
DALLAS
I stood at the front door of Brooke and Davina’s Podcast office.
I knocked.
“If you're a delivery guy, leave it by the door!” Brooke's voice carried through the wood. “If you're selling something, I have a dog, and I'm not afraid to use him!”
“You don't have a dog,” I called back.
A pause. Then footsteps, quick and curious, before the door swung open.
Brooke stood in the doorway wearing an oversized sweater, holding a mug. “Dallas?” Her eyebrows shot up. “What are you doing here? Davina's not…”
“I know. She's shopping for new material with Marcus.” I'd made sure of that. “I'm here to see you.”
Her expression cycled through confusion, suspicion, and finally landed on intrigued. “Me?”
“You.”
She studied me for a long moment, her eyes narrowing. Then she stepped back, gesturing me inside.
“This better be good, Dodger. I have a podcast to edit and approximately seven hundred listener questions about whether you're as romantic as you seemed or if it was all an act.”
“What do you tell them?”
“That you're disgustingly sincere, and it makes me want to vomit.” She dropped into her desk chair, which was purple and had wheels that squeaked when she moved. “In a good way. Mostly.”
Her office was an organized mess. Papers covered every surface; sticky notes formed a multicolored wallpaper around her computer monitor, and a whiteboard in the corner was covered with what appeared to be a flowchart.
I moved a stack of magazines off the chair across from her desk and sat down.
“Okay.” Brooke set down her mug and folded her hands like she was about to conduct a job interview. “Spill. Why are you here?”
I took a breath. I'd practiced this in the car on the way over, had rehearsed exactly what I wanted to say, but now that I was here, the words felt too small for what I was trying to express.
“I want to give Davina a real wedding.”
Brooke blinked.
“A... real wedding?”
“Yeah.”
“You're already married.”
“I know.”
“To Davina.”
“I'm aware.”
“The woman you married in Vegas,” Brooke spoke slowly. “With the Elvis impersonator and the tequila. And the…”
“That's exactly the point.” I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, trying to convey through sheer intensity what the words couldn't capture. “That wedding was... I mean, I don't regret it. I could never regret anything that led to being married to her. But it wasn't what she deserved.”
Brooke was quiet for a moment, her expression softening.
“Dallas,” she said slowly, “I've never heard Davina complain about your wedding.
Not once, and trust me, if she were unhappy about it, I'd know. The woman has opinions about everything from thread count to the optimal temperature for white wine. If her wedding bothered her, I would have heard about it.”
“I know she’s not complaining.” I ran a hand through my hair, struggling to articulate the feeling that had been building in my chest for weeks now.
Ever since Sam. Ever since I'd held Davina while she cried and realized how close I'd come to losing her because she couldn't quite believe I'd chosen her. “I want to put to rest any doubt she has. Any questions about whether this is real or temporary. I want her to know that I choose her. That I will always choose her. That if I could go back to that night in Vegas, the only thing I'd change is… Well nothing. She’d never have married me if we weren’t drunk, and that one night changed my whole life. For the better.”
Brooke's eyes were filled with unshed tears. “Okay, you want to give her a real wedding.” She blinked rapidly and reached for her coffee mug, taking a long sip.
“I want to give her a wedding that doesn't involve tequila-induced blackouts and waking up with matching hangovers. I want her to know that I choose her and I want her to choose me.”
“Fair. Very fair.” She set down her mug and leaned forward, her expression shifting from touched to tactical. “So. How can I help?”
Relief flooded through me. I'd hoped Brooke would be on board because I needed her help to pull this off.
“I need a venue,” I said. “Something... intimate and beautiful.”
Brooke's smile widened. “Oh, I know exactly the place.”
She spun in her chair, grabbed a laptop from beneath a pile of what appeared to be listener mail, and started typing.
“When Matt and I were planning our wedding, before we decided on Vegas, we looked at this winery venue a few hours outside of Tampa. Sunset Ridge Vineyards.” She turned the laptop to show me a website featuring a beautiful landscape covered in grapevines, a rustic barn converted into an event space, and enough golden-hour photography to make even the most cynical person believe in romance.
“It's gorgeous. Intimate and the best part?”
I scanned the photos, my heart rate picking up. “What?”
“They have cabins.” Brooke clicked through the gallery to images of a small, beautiful cottage nestled among the vines.
“Private cabins for the wedding party. Which means you could take Davina there for a romantic getaway without her knowing about the wedding plans until you're ready to reveal them.”
“That's...” I trailed off, clicking through the images. A ceremony space under a massive oak tree strung with lights. A reception area with exposed beams and crystal chandeliers. Views of the sunset over endless rows of grapevines. “That's perfect.”
“It accommodates about twenty-five to thirty guests, so we're talking family and close friends only. Very intimate, very personal.” Brooke was practically vibrating with excitement now, her earlier exhaustion completely forgotten.
“And the venue comes with a wedding planner who handles flowers, food, drinks, cake, lodging for guests, basically everything.”
“I need everything. I know nothing about weddings.”
“You planned one in Vegas.”
“I was blackout drunk. That doesn't count.”
“Fair point.” She pulled the laptop back toward her, already taking notes. “Okay, venue is handled. What else?”
I hesitated. This was the part I'd been dreading.
“A dress.”
Brooke's eyebrows rose. “A dress.”
“Davina needs... I want her to have the perfect dress. Something that makes her feel...” I gestured vaguely, struggling for words that could capture what I meant. “Like herself. Like the incredible woman she is. Something that shows off every curve and makes her feel like…”
“You really love her.”
The statement was simple. Quiet. Not a question.
“More than I knew I was capable of.”
Brooke's smile turned soft. “Well, you're in luck, Dallas Dodger. Because one of the very first sketches Davina ever did when she started designing clothes was her dream wedding dress.”
My heart stuttered. “What?”
“I'm serious. She was still working as a plus-size model, and she was just starting to think about fashion as a career, and she filled this sketchbook with designs.” Brooke was already on her feet, moving toward a filing cabinet.
“Most of them became early Curvy Closet pieces, but there was this one dress she always said she was saving. For someday.”
“Do you have it?”
“I have everything.” She pulled open a drawer, rifled through folders, and emerged triumphant with a worn sketchbook. “Said she didn't need it anymore because all the designs were now real. She was going to throw it out, but something told me to save it.”
She flipped to the very first page, and then she stopped.
The sketch was simple. A bit rough around the edges, clearly the work of someone still learning their craft. But even on yellowed paper, the dress was stunning. In the corner, in Davina's handwriting: “My someday dress.”
My throat felt tight.
“We need to find someone to make this.”
“Already ahead of you.” Brooke was typing furiously on her phone. “Marcus knows every designer and seamstress from the Tampa Bay area to Paris. If I bring him in on this…”
“Do it.”
“...he'll know exactly who can execute this design and make it even better than the original sketch.” She looked up, grinning. “He'll also be thrilled to be involved in something this romantic. The man lives for this kind of stuff.”
“What about measurements? Davina can't know about any of this.”
Brooke waved a dismissive hand. “Please. I've been Davina's best friend for over a decade. I know her measurements better than she does. But if I need to update them, I'll figure out a creative way to do it.”
I nodded, relief and excitement battling for dominance. This was really happening. I was going to give my wife the wedding she deserved.
“Okay.” Brooke set down her phone and grabbed a fresh notepad, her expression turning businesslike. “Timeline. When are we thinking?”
“Our one-year anniversary. Three months from now.”
Her eyes widened. “Three months?”
“Too soon?”
“Dallas, planning a wedding usually takes twelve to eighteen months minimum. Venues book up years in advance. Dresses take months to make. Flowers need to be ordered, catering arranged, guests notified…” She cut herself off, took a deep breath, and squared her shoulders.
“But you know what? We're going to make it happen. Because you love my best friend, and she deserves this.”
“I appreciate that.”
She was scribbling notes. “Okay, so here's the plan. I'll call Sunset Ridge today to check availability for your anniversary date. If it's available, I'll put down a deposit…”
“I'll give you whatever you need.”
“…and then I'll set up a meeting with their wedding planner to discuss the basics. Meanwhile, I'll get Marcus involved on the dress situation. We'll need to work fast, but if we find the right person, they can do a rush job.”
“Money is no object.”
“Good, because this is going to cost you.” She looked up with a grin. “Consider it the price of marrying your wife twice. Which, by the way, is the most extra thing I've ever heard, and I fully support it.”
I laughed, the tension that had been sitting in my shoulders finally starting to release. “I just want it to be perfect.”
“It will be.” Brooke's voice softened.
We spent the next hour going through details. Guest lists, immediate family, closest friends. Logistics for getting Davina to the venue without spoiling the surprise and backup plans for if the venue wasn’t available.
I stood, feeling lighter than I had in weeks. Maybe months. The plan was in motion. Davina was going to get her real wedding, the one she deserved, the one I should have given her from the start if we hadn't been too drunk to remember our own vows.
Three months.
In three months, I was going to marry my wife.
For real this time. The way she deserved. The way I should have done from the start.
And this time, I was going to remember every single second.