Bash
I set my phone down with a smile and turn back to my laptop. I have work to do—a proposal to refine, a presentation to prepare, a future to build. With Bash. Together.
And, I'm not scared at all.
Epilogue
I adjust the off-shoulder neckline of my dress for the thousandth time, staring at the mirror in disbelief. The woman looking back at me can't possibly be me.
The dress is everything I never knew I wanted—ivory silk that drapes like water, delicate beadwork that catches the light when I move, and just enough of a train to feel dramatic without being cumbersome. My hair is swept up in an elegant twist with a few tendrils framing my face, and my makeup is flawless—enough to enhance but not mask.
One year. It's been exactly one year since Bash and I stood in the snow and finally stopped pretending.
"Stop fidgeting," Emily says, swatting at my hands. "You'll wrinkle the silk."
"I'm nervous," I admit, smoothing my hands down the front of the dress instead.
"The great Charlotte Whitaker, nervous?" Lily approaches with a glass of champagne, her blonde bob gleaming in the light streaming through the window of our cabin's bridal suite. "Here. Liquid courage."
"Should the bride be drinking before the ceremony?" my mom asks, fussing with a bouquet of winter flowers—white roses, pinecones, sprigs of evergreen, and tiny crystal snowflakes.
"One glass won't hurt," Emily argues. "Besides, it's tradition."
"Like the note exchange?" Addie pipes up from the corner, where she's been meticulously documenting everything with her camera. Now seventeen, she'sgrown even more into her role as family photographer, and Bash insisted she be the one to capture our wedding.
"Exactly like the note exchange," I say, smiling at her.
My wedding coordinator, Meredith, glances at her phone and breaks into a smile. "He's on the move. Bash is heading to the gazebo now." She looks up, all business efficiency in her tailored pantsuit. "The privacy screen is set up in the gazebo on the frozen pond. He'll be standing behind it, so he won't see you coming."
My heart flutters beneath my ribs. This moment—the note exchange—was Bash's idea. A private, intimate moment before the ceremony where we'll exchange handwritten letters expressing our feelings, standing on opposite sides of a screen so he doesn't see me in my dress.
"Bad luck and all that," he'd said with a wink when he suggested it.
"Are you ready?" Emily asks, helping me into my fur-trimmed coat. The ivory wool is soft against my skin, a necessity for a December wedding in Colorado.
"As I'll ever be," I whisper, tucking the folded note into my clutch. I spent three days writing and rewriting it, trying to capture exactly how I feel about the man who started as a one-night stand, became my fake boyfriend, and somehow turned into the love of my life.
Addie bounces on her toes, camera in hand. "I'm going to get such amazing shots. The lighting is perfect—golden hour on snow with the mountains behind you."
"Just don't slip on the ice," Sarah cautions her daughter as she helps me with my boots—practical footwear for the walk to the gazebo that I'll swap for heels before the ceremony.
Outside, the world is transformed. The afternoon sun casts long blue shadows across pristine snow. String lights twinkle in every tree, and the path to the frozen pond has been lined with hurricane lanterns, their flames dancing in the winter air. In the distance, I can see the gazebo—draped in greenery and white flowers, bisected by a white screen that hides Bash from view.
"Remember, you have twenty minutes," Meredith says, checking her watch. "Then we need you back here for final touches before the ceremony."
I take a deep breath, feeling surprisingly calm. A year ago, I was panicking at the idea of even admitting I had feelings for Bash. Now I'm walking toward him in a wedding dress, ready to promise him forever.
"Wait," I say suddenly, stopping in my tracks. "Should I—should I bring the thing from the blue box?"
Emily rolls her eyes. "Of course you should. That's the whole point, Charlie."
I reach into my clutch and pull out a small velvet pouch. Inside is the charm from the blue box—a silver snowboard engraved with today's date. It's meant to join the lift ticket charm he gave me last Christmas on the bracelet I haven't taken off since.
The snow crunches beneath my boots as I walk, heart pounding harder with each step. Addie slips ahead, positioning herself at an angle where she can capture both sides of the screen.
As I approach, I hear him shifting his weight, clearing his throat. There's something so achingly familiar about knowing he's nervous too.
"Shortcake?" His voice is soft, tentative. "That you?"
