Page 51 of Theirs to Tempt: The Marriage Claim

We share a private glance, her elbow nudging mine in silent amusement as we gather everything and head back out.

Derek accepts the coffee and sandwich with genuine surprise softening his features. His quiet “Thank you, ma’am” carries real warmth.

He settles back behind the wheel while we climb in, the rich scents filling the cabin—my strong brew chasing away the last traces of my terrible night.

All too soon, we arrive at Hautest Bridal Couture.

There’s a sign in the window, hanging at a jaunty angle, saying CLOSED.

“The owner is expecting you,” Derek assures me as he opens the door.

A burst of desperate panic holds me frozen.

It’s real. Too real.

Piper takes my free hand. “You can do this, Soph.”

Suddenly I’m not sure I can. “Derek…” My voice is breathless. “I think you should take me home.”

Chapter Sixteen

Sophie

Just then, the front door opens, and a man in a suit strides toward us, his smile wide and inviting.

Did Lucian figure I’d run and took steps to avoid that?

Derek exits the vehicle to help us out, and I am swept up in the moment.

“Sophie Langford! We’ve been expecting you.” He introduces himself and adds, “I have champagne.”

And now I think I need it.

He shakes hands with Piper, and I barely notice that he’s effortlessly moving us inside the building.

“You’ll have the whole salon to yourselves for an hour.”

Randy ushers us deeper into the salon, past a low velvet chaise and a trio of full-length mirrors arranged in a gentle curve.

“And you’ll have your own consultant, Hannah.”

As if by magic, she appears from a side alcove carrying a silver tray—two flutes of pale champagne already beaded with condensation.

We both accept the flutes, and Piper clinks her glass to mine without waiting for a toast. “Let’s do this.”

Randy gestures toward the wide pedestal at the center of the mirrors. “Sophie, tell me—what kind of bride are we dressing today? Romantic? Modern?”

“Do you have any potato sacks?” The words slip out before I can stop them, flat and honest, the kind of half joke that isn’t really a joke at all.

Randy grins. “This is going to be the most fun I have ever had with a bride.”

And it’s going to be one of the least fun days I’ve ever experienced.

“So you don’t have a specific direction or style you’d like to try first?”

I’ve spent the last eight years refusing to consider a wedding day. “Honestly? No.”

Randy studies me for a moment, and his gaze moves over the clothes I chose for myself this morning, taking in details with the same concentration I use when a client tells me something they don’t realize is important.