"Actually—" She hesitated. "What if we just... get ready out here? Together? It's a big enough room."
"Sure. Yeah."
She grabbed the garment bag and hung it on the back of the bathroom door without looking at it, like she was working up to something. I pulled my tuxedo from the closet and laid it across the bed.
We moved around each other with the same careful choreography we'd developed since Friday night. She disappeared behind the bathroom door to change—"No peeking"—while I started dressing. Tux pants, the crisp white shirt, the bow tie I fumbled with twice before getting right.
I was still working on the cufflinks when the bathroom door opened.
I turned.
And forgot every word in the English language.
The dress was deep burgundy that made her skin glow. Fitted through the bodice in a way that sent heat coiling through my chest as I took her in—then flowing to the floor in a cascade of fabric that moved like water when she stepped forward. Her hair was down in soft waves, minimal jewelry, just enough makeup to highlight features that were already perfect.
This was the dress. The one she'd hidden from me since Thursday afternoon.
I just stood there. Probably looking like an idiot. Didn't care.
My heart kicked hard, and for a second I forgot how to breathe.
"You're staring," she said.
I couldn't form words. Tried. Failed. Tried again. "You're..."
"It's the dress."
"It's not the dress." I crossed to her, stopping close enough to watch color creep up her neck. "You're the most stunning woman I've ever seen."
"We should go. We're going to be late."
"Right. Yeah." I didn't move.
"Hunter."
"Going."
We made our way downstairs to the garden terrace. I squeezed Dixie's hand once, then let go.
"I have to stand up there with Hudson. I'll find you after."
She nodded, and I took my place beside my brother at the altar.
Portable heaters hummed at the edges of the terrace, taking the bite out of the February chill. White chairs lined the aisle, draped with red ribbon. Rose petals and pink carnations scattered underfoot, and paper lanterns swayed overhead in the light breeze. The afternoon sun filtered golden through bare branches.
Excessive and over-the-top and exactly right for Kendall.
Hudson looked terrified and thrilled. "You've got the rings?"
I patted my pocket. "Relax. You're about to marry the woman of your dreams."
"What if I forget my vows?"
"Then you improvise. You're good at that."
The ceremony started with the bridesmaids processing down the aisle. The spray tan correction had worked—they were only slightly orange now, nothing too noticeable from a distance. The poufy pink dresses were undeniable, but that was intentional.
Whitney Pemberton, the maid of honor, came down last. Blonde, pretty, slightly more orange than the others, she had the smile of someone who wished she was the one getting married today.
