Updated Mar 13, 2026 • ~6 min read
The bridal boutique is called “Ever After” and it’s exactly as fancy as it sounds.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne on arrival. Dresses displayed like art pieces.
I feel completely out of place.
“This is too much,” I whisper to Wren.
“Nonsense. You’re getting married. You deserve fancy.”
“We’re already married.”
“Which means you deserve EXTRA fancy.”
My mom, Margot, and Eleanor are already browsing the racks. They’ve formed an alliance. It’s both adorable and terrifying.
A consultant approaches—perfectly styled, clipboard in hand. “You must be Tessa! I’m Michelle. Let’s find you the perfect dress!”
“Great. Where do we start?”
“With a questionnaire! Tell me about your vision. What kind of bride are you?”
I freeze.
What KIND of bride am I?
I plan weddings for other people. I know every style, every trend, every silhouette. But for myself? I have no idea.
“She’s elegant,” my mom says. “Classic.”
“She’s modern,” Wren adds. “Sophisticated.”
“She’s romantic,” Margot contributes. “Timeless.”
“She’s confused,” I mutter.
Michelle laughs. “That’s normal. Let’s start with some options. Follow me.”
We move to a private fitting room. Michelle brings dress after dress.
Ballgown: Too much.
Mermaid: Too tight.
A-line: Too boring.
Sheath: Too simple.
After an hour, I’ve tried on fifteen dresses and hated them all.
“Maybe I’m not a wedding dress person,” I say, staring at myself in yet another rejected gown.
“You’re absolutely a wedding dress person,” Eleanor says firmly. “We just haven’t found YOUR dress yet.”
“What if there is no ‘my dress’?”
“There is. Trust me.”
Michelle appears with one more option. “I think this might be it.”
It’s simple. Fitted bodice, flowing skirt, delicate lace sleeves. Nothing flashy. Just… elegant.
“Try it,” Michelle urges.
I step into the dress. She zips it up.
When I turn to face the mirror, everything stops.
Oh.
OH.
This is it.
“Tessa,” my mom breathes. “You look—”
She starts crying.
“Mom, don’t—”
“You look like a bride. A real bride.”
Margot is crying too. And Eleanor. Even Wren looks misty-eyed.
“This is the dress,” Eleanor says firmly. “This is absolutely the dress.”
I turn, looking at myself from different angles. The dress is perfect. Not too much, not too simple. Just right.
For once in this entire wedding planning process, something feels easy.
“I’ll take it,” I say.
Michelle claps her hands. “Wonderful! Let’s get your measurements and we’ll have it altered and ready in one week.”
One week.
One week until the wedding.
My stomach flips.
After the boutique, we go to lunch. My mom’s treat.
“I can’t believe you’re really getting married,” she says for the fifteenth time.
“I’m already married, Mom.”
“But this time it’s REAL.”
“Vegas was real too.”
“Vegas was chaos. This is a wedding.”
She’s not wrong.
We order food—salads for everyone except me (burger and fries because I’m stressed and need comfort food).
“So,” Wren says, spearing a tomato. “Have you written your vows?”
I freeze mid-bite. “Vows.”
“Yes. Vows. The thing you say when you get married.”
“We didn’t do vows in Vegas.”
“Which is why you should do them now.”
“Oh God. I have to write vows.”
“You have a week,” Margot says cheerfully.
“A WEEK.”
“That’s plenty of time.”
“I plan weddings. I hear vows all the time. Everyone else’s vows. But my own? I have no idea what to say.”
“Say what’s in your heart,” my mom suggests.
“That’s so vague.”
“Say why you love him,” Eleanor adds.
“That’s like a thousand reasons.”
“Then pick the top five,” Wren says practically.
I pull out my phone and open my notes app.
Vows – Reasons I Love Holden:
- He makes me laugh
- He challenges me
- He chose me (even when it was complicated)
- He sees me (the real me, not the version I perform for everyone else)
- He makes me want to be brave
I show them the list.
“That’s beautiful,” my mom says, crying again.
“Mom, it’s a list.”
“It’s a beautiful list!”
“Turn those into sentences,” Margot suggests. “Add some specific examples. You’ll have vows.”
“What if I cry?”
“You probably will.”
“What if I can’t get through them?”
“Then Holden will help you. That’s what partners do.”
Partners.
That’s what we are now. Not just two people who accidentally got married. Not just roommates trying to avoid tax fraud.
Partners. Building a life. Together.
“I can do this,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
“You absolutely can,” Eleanor agrees.
When I get home that evening, Holden is in the kitchen making dinner.
“How was dress shopping?” he asks.
“I found the dress.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“Can I see pictures?”
“Absolutely not. Bad luck.”
“We already—”
“I know, I know. We’ve exhausted our bad luck quota. But still. You’re not seeing it until the wedding.”
He grins. “Fair enough. Are you happy with it?”
“Really happy. It feels right.”
“Good. That’s all that matters.”
I sit at the kitchen island and watch him cook. Some kind of stir-fry situation. He’s gotten really good at this domestic thing.
“Can I ask you something?” I say.
“Always.”
“Have you written your vows?”
He pauses mid-chop. “Ah. Vows.”
“So that’s a no.”
“That’s a ‘I’ve been thinking about them but haven’t written anything down yet.'”
“We have a week.”
“I know.”
“What are you going to say?”
He sets down the knife and turns to face me. “I’m going to tell you the truth. That I’ve loved you since you were fourteen and I was seventeen and too stupid to know what to do about it. That every year since then, you’ve gotten more incredible and I’ve gotten more hopeless. That Vegas was chaos but it was also fate. That being married to you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And that I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life proving that I deserve you.”
I stare at him.
“That’s…” I can barely speak. “That’s perfect.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Don’t change a single word.”
“What about you? What are you going to say?”
I pull up my notes app. Show him my list.
He reads it. His expression softens.
“You think I make you brave?”
“You do. You make me brave enough to jump without a net. To trust someone completely. To build a life that’s messy and imperfect and absolutely real.”
He comes around the island and pulls me into his arms.
“I love you,” he says quietly.
“I love you too.”
“One week.”
“One week.”
We stand there in the kitchen, holding each other, ready for what comes next.
In seven days, we’re getting married.
For real. With vows and dresses and families watching.
I can’t wait.
END OF CHAPTER 19
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