“The other ten percent?”
He shrugs, not giving me any hints. “Time will tell.”
It’s a short drive, maybe twenty minutes, but long enough for me to notice the way his hand keeps drifting toward me, fingers grasping for mine.
When the car finally rolls to a stop, I blink at the sprawling entrance ahead. Glistening fountains flank a grand circular drive, water arcing high and catching the last of the sunset. Golden light spills across manicured palms and sleek stone walkways.
Fancy as fuck.
“Holy crap,” I breathe. “Are we staying here ...?”
“Yup,” Callum grins, already around to open my door. “Welcome to the Estrella.”
Even from Washington I’ve heard of it. A high-end desert oasis tucked into the foothills—luxury spa, five-star dining, and one of those pools with the water that disappears into the horizon like magic. No edge.
He offers his hand, and I take it to exit the vehicle.
“What on earth is happening?” I whisper as he leads me through the opulent lobby, with its floor-to-ceiling windows and whisper-quiet elegance.
“You’ll see,” he says.
My heart does a slow somersault.
I have no idea what he’s planning and neither do the butterflies swirling in my stomach, but I follow beside him all the same, past the marble fountain that trickles gently in the center of the grand foyer, past the arched entry lined with lanterns and tropical palms, through a wide hall that smells like eucalyptus and fresh-cut citrus.
The deeper we go, the quieter it gets—until the buzz of the lobby fades and it’s just the soft sound of our footsteps and the fluttering beat of my own curiosity.
We step through a pair of tall wooden doors into a courtyard strung with twinkle lights. Desert blooms spill from massive stone planters. A canopy stretches overhead, woven with vines and tiny white flowers.Candlelit tables. A long aisle carpeted in light-colored woven rugs. A small string quartet playing quietly.
And then—
I freeze.
Not because of the music. Or the setting. But because I start recognizing faces.
Lucy. She’s in a navy sundress, hair straightened.
Next to her? Our parents. Harris—towering over Lucy and freshly shaven in an actual suit, straightening his tie like it’s trying to strangle him. One or two other massive men I do not know but who are probably teammates.
Evy from the wedding at the lake. She winks at me over a champagne flute.
And then—oh my God.
Pastor Dan.
What are these people doing here?
My heart stops. My feet stop.
Callum’s hand tightens on mine, giving me a supportive squeeze.
I whip toward him, eyes wide. “Is this—are we—”
He doesn’t answer. Just smiles.
Because yeah.
We are.
