Chapter 41
THE SURPRISE
DAVINA
I woke up to sunlight streaming through unfamiliar curtains and the distinct absence of a warm body beside me.
My hand patted the empty sheets, finding them cool to the touch. Dallas had been gone for a while, then. I smiled into my pillow, equal parts exasperated and charmed. The man was incapable of sleeping in, even on vacation.
I stretched, basking in the softness of the bed and the pleasant ache in muscles that had gotten a thorough workout of their own last night. The fire had burned down to embers at some point, and Dallas must have carried me to bed, because I had zero memory of walking here.
The cabin was quiet except for the bird singing outside the window. Peaceful. Perfect.
I rolled over, reaching for my phone on the nightstand, and my fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper instead.
A note.
I propped myself up on one elbow and unfolded it, recognizing Dallas's handwriting.
Get dressed before you leave the room. I love you. Can't wait to see you today.
I read it twice and then a third time.
Get dressed before you leave the room? That was... oddly specific and slightly ominous. Dallas never asked me to put on clothes. I glanced down at myself. I was definitely naked.
“Okay then,” I muttered, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “Apparently, we're following mysterious instructions today.”
I padded to my suitcase, which Dallas had put on the luggage rack, and pulled out a sundress, the pale blue one with the tiny flowers.
I ran a brush through my hair, attempting to tame the mess, and inhaled deeply.
Coffee.
Fresh, rich, recently brewed coffee, the scent curling under the bedroom door. Dallas must have come back from his workout and started a pot.
I crossed to the door, already mentally planning my first cup and whether I could convince him to bring it back to bed for round two of anniversary celebrations.
I opened the door, but I did not find my husband.
I found Brooke, standing in the middle of our cabin's living room, wearing a floral dress I designed for her birthday two years ago, smiling.
And next to Brooke, a woman I'd never seen before. Tall. Short dark hair. Holding a professional video camera that was currently pointed directly at my face.
I froze, my eyes narrowing in disbelief.
The camera's red light blinked at me.
“Um.” I looked at Brooke. Looked at the stranger. Looked back at Brooke. “What?”
It wasn't even a question. Just a word. A single syllable of complete and utter confusion.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Brooke practically sang.
“Who…” I pointed at the camera woman, my brain struggling to form coherent sentences. “Who is that?”
“This is Max.” Brooke gestured like she was presenting a prize on a game show. “She's the videographer.”
“The videographer,” I repeated slowly.
“Hi.” Max gave a little wave from behind the camera. “Don't mind me. Just pretend I'm not here.”
“I... what?” I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. My gaze swung back to Brooke. “What are you doing here? How are you even… We're hours from Tampa. Did you drive up this morning? Did something happen? Is Matt okay? Is…”
“Everyone's fine.” Brooke held up her hands, her smile somehow getting even wider. “Better than fine. Everything is perfect.”
“Then why are you in my cabin?” I gestured around wildly. “With a videographer? At…” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “...eight in the morning? On my anniversary?”
“Because.” Brooke took a deep breath, and I watched her eyes go suspiciously shiny. “It's your wedding day, babe.”
I stepped back. “I'm sorry, what?”
“Your wedding day.” She said it slowly this time, like she was savoring each syllable. “Today. Right now. Well, not right now. In a few hours. But today.”
“Brooke.” I let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. “I'm already married. I'm literally here celebrating my one-year anniversary with my husband. The man I married. In Vegas. Remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” Her voice went soft. “Dallas remembers too. That's kind of the whole point.”
My heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”
“Three months ago, your husband showed up at my office.” Brooke moved toward me, reaching out to take my hands in hers. “He sat down in my terrible squeaky chair, looked me dead in the eyes, and said he wanted to give you a real wedding.”
I couldn't breathe.
“He wanted you to have the wedding you deserved,” she continued, squeezing my fingers. “Not one you can't remember. Not one with tequila-induced blackouts and matching hangovers. A real one. One where you could choose him, and he could choose you, and everyone who loves you could watch it happen.”
My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly, but it didn't help. The tears were coming whether I wanted them to or not.
“He planned everything, Davina. The venue, the guests, the flowers, the food, everything. For three months, he's been coordinating with Marcus and me and basically everyone you've ever loved to pull off the most elaborate surprise wedding in the history of surprise weddings.”
“Everyone I've ever…” My voice cracked. “My family is here?”
“Your parents are in Cabin 12. Your dad tried to escape for a walk yesterday, and I had to physically intercept him.” She laughed, wiping at her own eyes.
“Delilah's here. Kali and James. Marcus, Skyla.
Matt. Dallas's parents, obviously. Austin, Cheyanne, everyone.
They've been hiding in cabins all over the property since yesterday, waiting for this moment.”
A sob escaped me. Ugly and loud and completely involuntary.
“He did all this?”
“He did all this.” Brooke pulled me into a hug, and I clung to her like a drowning woman.
“Because he loves you. Because he wanted you to know, without any doubt, that he chooses you.
That he will always choose you. That if he could go back to Vegas, the only thing he'd change is, well, nothing, because you never would have married him sober. His words.”
I laughed through my tears, the sound wet and broken. “That's accurate.”
“I know.” She pulled back, holding me at arm's length, studying my face. “So. What do you say? Want to marry your husband?”
“I…yes. Obviously yes. But…” I hiccupped, swiping at my cheeks. “Brooke, I don't have a dress. I don't have anything. I can't get married in a sundress I bought at Target.”
“Oh, honey.” Her smile turned almost smug. “Did you really think we'd forget about the dress?”
She pointed over my shoulder.
I turned.
And my knees nearly gave out.
There, hanging from a hook on the bathroom door, was a dress.
Not just any dress.
My dress.
The dress I'd sketched in a worn notebook back when I was still modeling, still dreaming about a fashion career, still believing that someday I might design clothes for women who looked like me.
The dress I'd drawn with careful, hopeful strokes, labeling it in the corner with words that had felt like a prayer: My someday dress.
It was here. It was real. It was hanging three feet away from me, brought to life in ivory silk and delicate lace, exactly as I'd imagined it. The off-shoulder neckline. The fitted bodice. The flowing skirt with just enough drama. The subtle beading at the waist catching the morning light.
“How…” The word came out strangled. “How did you…” My voice trailed off as I realized where she’d gotten the design from. “The sketchbook. You kept my sketchbook?”
“I kept everything.” Brooke appeared at my side, arm sliding around my waist. “And when Dallas told me he wanted you to have the perfect dress, I knew exactly where to find it.”
“Marcus,” I whispered, pieces clicking into place. “Marcus found someone to make it.”
“A designer in New York. She cried when she saw your sketch. Said it was one of the most beautiful wedding dress designs she'd ever seen.” Brooke's voice was thick. “She worked around the clock to finish it in time.”
I moved toward the dress like I was in a trance, reaching out with trembling fingers to touch the fabric. It was softer than I'd imagined. More beautiful than I'd dreamed.
“It's perfect,” I breathed.
“It's yours.” Brooke squeezed my shoulder. “It's always been yours. You just didn't know it yet.”
The front door opened.
I spun around, half expecting Dallas to walk through, but instead found myself facing an invasion. Three women swept in carrying bags and cases, their energy immediately filling the cabin with a buzzing efficiency.
“Hair and makeup have arrived!” one of them announced cheerfully. She had pink streaks in her dark hair and an apron covered in pockets full of brushes. “I'm Jamie, this is Luna, that's Polly. We're going to make you the most gorgeous bride this vineyard has ever seen.”
“Not that you need much help,” added Luna, already unzipping a case of what appeared to be approximately seven thousand hair products.
Polly just smiled and started setting up a lighting rig near the window.
I turned to Brooke, overwhelmed. “This is really happening.”
“This is really happening.” She grabbed my shoulders, meeting my eyes with fierce intensity.
“You have two hours to get ready. Your groom is probably already freaking out, driving Austin insane with questions about whether his tie is straight.
Your family is getting dressed and trying not to cry.
And in approximately one hundred and forty-five minutes, you're going to walk down an aisle toward the man who loves you more than anything in this world.”
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
“Stop crying!” Jamie called from across the room. “I can't do your makeup if you're crying! Save it for the ceremony!”
“Sorry,” I laughed, wiping my face. “Sorry, I just… This is a lot.”
“It is a lot,” Brooke agreed. “It's also exactly what you deserve. Now.” She steered me toward the chair Jamie was setting up near the window. “Sit down. Let these lovely people work their magic. And try to stop crying for at least fifteen consecutive minutes so your mascara has a fighting chance.”
I sat.
Max, the videographer, circled around, capturing everything from a tasteful distance.
Luna started sectioning my hair as Jaime began applying my makeup, and Brooke perched on the arm of the sofa, phone in hand, coordinating God knew what.
Through it all, my gaze kept drifting to the dress.
My someday dress.
Today, apparently, someday had finally arrived.
I closed my eyes, letting the words wash over me.
Three months.
For three months, my husband had been planning this. Coordinating. Scheming. Keeping the biggest secret of his life.
All because he wanted me to have this moment.
All because he wanted me to choose him, as if I hadn't chosen him every single day since Vegas.
“Okay.” I opened my eyes, squaring my shoulders. “Let's do this. Let's get me married.”
Jamie grinned. “Now that's what I like to hear.”