Eight Months Later
“T-minus thirty minutes until the photographer wants us downstairs for the next photos,” Beth says, making a mark in the notebook she’s been attached to from the moment Mason and I got engaged.
She’s been the best maid of honour, and in a few hours, I’ll officially be able to call her my sister.
In the reflection of the mirror, I watch where Mum stands behind me, bouncing Navie in her arms. She looks so adorable in her baby blue flower girl dress. Someone will need to take her to Mason soon to get the matching bow on. She still refuses to wear them unless he puts them on.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” Mum asks when she catches my eyes on her.
“Excited.” I smile. “I just want to see him already.”
“Not until you’re walking down that aisle,” Beth says, pointing a finger. “I need to double-check with the photographer that someone has eyes on Mason the entire time. I can’t wait for his reaction when he first sees you.”
“You know, if interior design doesn’t work out, you could be a wedding planner.” Maevyn chuckles as she finishes applying highlighter to Liv’s cheeks.
Beth’s face contorts with a grimace. “People are far more receptive to suggestions when it comes to their house. I don’t think I could handle a bridezilla insisting on bad floral decisions.” She gasps. “Or even worse—fashion.”
I’d never spent any of my life before Mason imagining what a wedding would look like in my future. The longer we were together, the more I daydreamed about what it could be. I knew I wanted something relaxing that included all my favourite people.
Mason surprised Navie and me with a trip to Queens Coast for Valentine’s Day.
One night, we were walking along the beach, Mason taking us on a wild goose chase to find a roaming doughnut stall, when we stumbled across a gorgeous little corner restaurant.
The outside was painted blue, with antique brass lanterns mounted on the walls.
Planter boxes filled with white and red geraniums bordered the alfresco dining area that led around to an atrium-style hall.
The tinted glass revealed a long table, with string lights covering the pitched roof.
From the street, we could see a newlywed couple, the faint hum of the string quartet just reaching our ears as we watched them sway happily in each other’s arms. Then we noticed the name of the restaurant: Florence Hall.
I think the same future played out in our heads at that moment.
Mason dropped down on one knee, pulling a box from his pocket, which he later told me he’d been carrying around for two weeks, waiting for the perfect moment, but that’s every moment when it comes to him.
Two quick knocks on the door have Beth sprinting in her four-inch heels.
“Who is it?” she calls, gripping the handle.
“Your salvation.” Beth rolls her eyes at Tristan’s muffled voice. “Mason has something to give Callie.”
“He can’t come in! He’s not allowed to see her dress.”
“Cover her with a blanket,” Mason calls. My heart leaps when I hear his voice. I wonder if my reaction to him will ever simmer, but I also hope it never does.
Navie squeals, her eyes searching the room for her daddy. I chuckle, walking to the end of the bed in our honeymoon suite and grab a blanket folded over the end.
“You can open the door, Beth.” I drape it over my shoulders, clutching the ends so the bodice and most of my skirt are hidden. There’s too much tulle to hide it all.
Beth pins me with an appalled glare as I stand behind her. “He has to keep his eyes off you, though.”
“Unlikely,” Tristan scoffs. “Just open the door, Luci.”
Beth growls at the nickname. Even on the other side of the country in a five-star resort, these two can’t escape the tension.
She reluctantly opens the door halfway, forcing Tristan to slide in with a scowl on his face, a brief flash of something heated in his eyes, before it returns to annoyance, and then Mason’s face appears.
“Turn around!” Beth cries.
Mason rolls his eyes, shuffling through the door with his back facing us.
“Hey, Callie baby.” I’m a puddle whenever he uses that tone on me. Not the cheeky one he uses at work when he calls me Trouble, the playful one when we’re around his family, or the sweet one he saves for Navie. This softer one, drenched in love and loyalty, is all mine.
“Heartthrob.” I smile, only to be cut off by my daughter.
“Dada.” Mum crosses the room, handing Navie to Mason before she practically jumps out of Mum’s arms.
“Look at my beautiful girl.” Mason holds Navie to his chest, pressing kisses to her cheek. “I just wanted to give you something,” Mason says, turning his head so he can peek over his shoulder. He hands a small stack of papers to Tristan, who then passes them over to me.
They’re letters. Tied together with a blue ribbon and a gold band looped through the bow.
“Are these Greyson’s?” I ask.
Mason shakes his head. “They’re mine.”
“Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” Beth mutters to herself as she fans her face.
“You wrote me love letters?” My voice is thick with restrained emotion as I take a seat at the dressing table. “When did you do this?”
“While I was falling in love with you.”
“Goddammit, Mason Luke.” Beth fans her face harder, demanding composure.
I pull at the ribbon, letting the ring fall free first. The gold is crafted with a filigree pattern, but with closer inspection, I realise it’s a key.
“I recycled the gold of Florence’s ring and the designer copied the original key.” He holds up his right hand, a thick gold band on his middle finger. “Mine’s got the matching lock.”
I set the letters on the table behind me, slipping the ring on my right hand as I come to stand behind Mason’s back, careful not to drop the blanket as I wrap one hand around his middle.
“You trying to make me fall for you?”
He smiles over his shoulder, leaning down until his mouth hovers over mine. “Since the moment I saw you.”