I close my eyes, the warmth of that reality moving through me all over again. A part of me still wonders if it’s a dream. If this is crazy. But the other part of me, the one that loves him with my whole heart, doesn’t care. I want him. He finally admitted he wants me too, so there is no point for us to wait. I want to do this. I want to be Lawson Montgomery’s wife. So I get it. I understand this mad rush. Honestly, I wouldn’t even care if we were married in our street clothes. But Judge told me he wants to do it right, and that means something.

So here I am, pouring myself into a dress that somehow fits just right. It’s a dress that immediately brings tears to Solana’s and Ivy’s eyes, and when they lead me to the mirror, it brings tears to mine too.

“Okay stop it.” Solana waves her hands in front of her face. “I really don’t want to redo my makeup.”

“I’m sorry,” I blubber. “I can’t help it.”

We’re all half laughing, half crying when Georgie appears carrying a selection of bouquets for me to choose from. I recognize them all as flowers from his shop, and I’ve never been so grateful to have friends who understand my tastes so well.

“They’re stunning.” I finger the flowers, settling on a bouquet of champagne roses.

“As are you.” Georgie leans in to kiss my cheek, and my emotions come back in a big way.

“Okay, you guys seriously have to stop,” Solana yelps. “Shoes… we need shoes!”

“Stilettos,” I tell her, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“Really?” Georgie asks. “You’ve been whining about your feet being swollen for days.”

“It’ll just be for the wedding.” I shrug.

He rolls his eyes. “The things women put themselves through.”

Lucky for me, Solana understands, and she helps me pick out the perfect pair of black stilettos, albeit a size larger than I’d typically wear. After that, there isn’t much left to do, but Santiago appears at the door, and everyone seems to sense he wants a moment of privacy with me. So they all take their leave without being asked, shutting the door behind them.

His eyes move over me, uncharacteristically charged with emotion, and he swallows audibly before speaking. “You look beautiful, Mercedes.”

“Thank you,” I choke out. “Will you walk me down the aisle?”

His features soften, something passing through his eyes, and he nods. “This is what you want then?”

“It is.” There can be no doubt to my words, and I know Santi sees that.