I spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze, going through the motions of work while my mind replayed Vivian’s visit on a loop. Callan was going through with the wedding. He would be standing at the altar tomorrow, alone, all because he hoped I might show up.
It was insane. Irrational. Completely contrary to the calculated, controlled man I thought I knew.
Which was exactly why it kept worming its way into my heart, past all my carefully constructed defenses.
By six o’clock, the office was empty except for me. Mari had left with a suspiciously knowing smile and a “Don’t stay too late, boss. Big day tomorrow. Lots of... stuff happening. Wedding stuff. For other people. Not you. Unless...” to which I’d thrown a stress ball at her head with enough force to qualify for a junior varsity javelin team.
Devonna had left too, but not before placing a sealed envelope on my desk that she instructed me not to open until she was gone. Inside, I’d found a detailed schedule for tomorrow, including a 2:00 PM hair appointment at my usual salon that Idefinitely hadn’t booked, with a note in Devonna’s handwriting: “Just in case. Wedding planners should always have a plan.”
I was gathering my things to leave when the front door chimed, indicating a delivery. Assuming it was the new letterhead I’d ordered last week, I called out, “Come in, just leave it by the front desk!”
“Delivery for Anica Marcel,” a voice responded. “A signature required.”
Sighing, I made my way to the reception area, where a delivery person waited with a large white box tied with a simple blue ribbon.
“I’m Anica Marcel,” I said, accepting the electronic signature pad. “What is this?”
“Special delivery,” the woman replied with a shrug. “All I know is I’m supposed to hand it directly to you and no one else. Though the guy who arranged it tipped me five hundred dollars to make sure it got to you tonight, so it must be important.”
Curious despite myself, I carried the box to my office and set it on my desk. There was no return address, no identifying information of any kind. Just my name in elegant script on a small card attached to the ribbon.
With trembling fingers, I untied the bow and lifted the lid.
Inside, nestled in layers of tissue paper, was a dress. Not just any dress, butthedress—the one I’d tried on weeks ago. The simple, elegant ivory silk gown that had made Callan look at me like I’d punched him in the gut.
Beneath the dress was a small envelope. I opened it with unsteady hands, instantly recognizing Callan’s handwriting.
Anica,
This belonged on you from the moment I saw you in it. I’ll be waiting at Rhodes Estate tomorrowat 4pm. No expectations, no pressure. But know that there’s only one bride I’ve ever imagined standing across from me, and that’s you, Anica Marcel.
Sometimes you have to stand where you’re meant to be and hope the right person shows up. I’ll be standing there tomorrow, whether you come or not, because it’s where I’m supposed to be.
Because I love you.
Yours (if you’ll have me), Callan
I sank into my chair, the note clutched in one hand while the other rested on the smooth silk of the dress. Tears filled my eyes, blurring the words.
With shaking hands, I lifted the dress from the box and held it against myself, moving to stand before the full-length mirror I kept in my office for last-minute client adjustments.
The woman who stared back at me looked nothing like the controlled, professional Anica Marcel who planned other people’s happy endings while keeping her own heart safely locked away. This woman looked raw, vulnerable, full of hope and fear in equal measure. She looked like someone on the verge of the biggest decision of her life.
“The thing about love,” I whispered to my reflection, echoing something I’d told countless brides but never fully believed for myself, “is that it’s a verb. A choice. One you have to make every day.”
I had less than twenty-four hours to decide if I would be at that altar tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to decide if Ibelieved what Vivian had told me. That Callan was trying, in his own flawed way, to show me that he’d changed.
Less than twenty-four hours to decide if I was brave enough to risk my heart again.
To make that choice.
CHAPTER 18
Just Five More Minutes…
CALLAN
“The road to hell is paved with asymmetrical flower arrangements and people who don’t understand the difference between eggshell and ivory,” I snapped, adjusting a centerpiece that had dared to exist approximately 0.3 inches off-center. “If one more thing is out of place, I will personally ensure the responsible party spends eternity planning budget weddings for bridezillas with Pinterest boards the size of the national debt.”
