These were my priorities.
Not… whatever Noah Langston was doing over there with his devastating jawline.
Do. Not. Look. At. Noah.
I stared so hard at a pile of monogrammed biscuits that I nearly convinced myself they were fascinating.
I gave up and turned, heading back inside the building. The entire bridal suite pulsed with a jovial excited chaos, the kind that buzzed under your skin and made the air feel like it was filled with champagne bubbles.
Caroline stood in the centre of it all, framed by tasteful lighting spilling through the tall arched windows. For a moment, she didn’t look like a Lawyer or the woman who had endured a week of emotional earthquakes.
She looked like the heroine of an old Hollywood film.
Her silk gown skimmed every curve like it had been made specifically for her body and then whispered into existence by someone terrifyingly talented. The fabric caught the light as she moved, smooth and luminous, the fitted bodice flowing into a train that drifted across the floor behind her like cream spilling over marble.
The neckline dipped into an elegant V, timeless rather than trendy, while tiny beaded straps glittered against her skin. And when she turned, the veil shimmered with scattered crystals, delicate as starlight caught in tulle.
But the back of the dress was my favourite part. A dramatic low scoop framed by a line of satin-covered buttons running down her spine, striking and sophisticated all at once.
Her hair was swept into a sleek chignon, not a strand out of place, and her makeup had that effortless, editorial glow that took two hours and the patience of a saint to achieve.
She was breathtaking.
Emma stood behind her with tissues stuffed up one sleeve, whispering, “Caroline, I swear to God, if James doesn’t cry the moment he sees you, I will kick him out of the ceremony myself.”
She said it very seriously for a woman wearing glittering dusty-rose satin and six bobby pins holding her fringe hostage.
Her bridesmaid dress was a fitted, elegant column, with a plunging neckline. Definitely old-money chic with a modern edge. Emma had paired it with diamond studs, and a blowout so glossy it could signal ships.
Sophie, on the other hand, resembled a woodland nymph who had accidentally wandered into a billionaire wedding and decided to stay. Her dusty-rose dress had soft, fluttered sleeves and a flowing skirt that moved like poetry every time she walked. She’d woven tiny spray-roses into her curls, the overall effect heartbreakingly romantic and impossibly her.
She stood to the side, clutching her bouquet like it held actual magical powers. Her eyes kept shining, part nerves, part joy.
Emma shot her a worried glance. “Soph, you’re not going to faint, are you?”
Sophie blinked hard and pressed her lips together. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice was raspy enough to contradictthe entire statement. “I just… she looks beautiful. It’s all just so much.”
“Darling, everything’s so much,” Emma murmured, gently fixing one of Sophie’s curls. “But we’re doing it in couture, so we’ll survive.”
The two of them stood behind Caroline, Emma sleek and glamorous, Sophie whimsical and glowing, both dressed in the same dusty-rose palette but somehow looking like they’d stepped out of entirely different fairy tales.
And yet, together, they were perfect.
Margaret hovered in the doorway, eyes bright, lips trembling in a way she would deny until her last breath. “You… look beautiful, darling.”
And for once, Caroline didn’t shrink beneath her mother’s gaze. She didn’t brace herself. She didn’t wait for a correction or a critique or a dramatic sigh.
The last few days had changed her.
Like somewhere between the missing brooch, the family revelations, and nearly losing James altogether, Caroline had stopped trying to be the perfect daughter and started becoming herself.
Standing there now in her gown, shoulders relaxed, chin lifted, she seemed stronger somehow.
“Thank you, Mum,” she said gently.
And for once, Margaret didn’t interrupt, correct, or tighten her grip on the moment.
She just stood there, eyes shining with something that looked a lot like acceptance.
