The plus one problem

Six months later.

Hallie stood in the center of a luxurious bridal suite, wrapped in layers of ivory satin and hand-embroidered tulle. The gown hugged her waist before spilling into a dramatic, flowing skirt—its train trailing like starlight behind her. Tiny pearls had been stitched into the bodice, catching the light with every movement, while a soft veil cascaded from the back of her curled hair like mist.

It was a dress that demanded attention. Grand, elegant, completely unforgettable.

Her reflection in the mirror didn't look like the girl who once fake-dated her once enemy turned soon to be husband to survive a wedding weekend.

She looked like someone in love.

"You look like a walking fairytale."

Hallie turned to see her Jane standing in the doorway, a proud smile tugging at her lips.

Hallie smiled back. "Pretty sure you said that about your dress."

She stepped inside, smoothing a hand over the delicate lace on Hallie's sleeve. "Mine was nothing compared to this." She tilted her head. "Kind of surreal, huh? A few months ago, you were just trying to survive my wedding without strangling your fake boyfriend."

Hallie laughed. "And now I'm marrying him."

Violet peeked in next, phone in one hand, lip gloss in the other. "He's pacing. Looks like he's either going to faint or start quoting Shakespeare. You might want to get out there before he does both."

2

   The ballroom was breathtaking.

Thousands of white roses bloomed from golden vases lining the aisle, chandeliers sparkled overhead, and the entire room glowed with candlelight and champagne warmth. This was a guaranteed high-profile wedding—but absolutely nothing about this night felt impersonal.

It felt like Hallie and Wes.

Big, dramatic, ridiculous—and somehow still deeply, impossibly intimate.

Wes stood beneath a floral arch in a custom tux, his tie slightly crooked (her doing), eyes fixed on the double doors like his life depended on what was behind them.

And then they opened.

The music swelled.

Hallie stepped into the room, bouquet in hand, her dress catching every glint of light. Conversations halted. Cameras clicked. Somewhere in the back, Violet whispered a quiet "Damn," and Hallie's cousin mouthed a smug I told you so.

But Wes didn't hear any of it.

He only saw her.

The girl who once pretended not to care. The one who turned his world upside down and made him want all the things he used to run from.

His girl.

His future.

When she reached him, he didn't say anything at first—just stared, like blinking might make her disappear.

"Hi," she whispered, breathless.

"Hi," he murmured, smiling. "You're late."

She grinned. "Worth the wait?"

"Every second."

And when the officiant finally declared them husband and wife, and Wes kissed her in front of the world—slow, reverent, all-in—there wasn't a single person in the room who didn't believe it had been real from the very start.

Just fate—with really, really good timing.

                        THE END