Page 141 of Big D!ck Energy

“Because.” Brooke took a deep breath, and I watched her eyes go suspiciously shiny. “It's your wedding day, babe.”

I stepped back. “I'm sorry, what?”

“Your wedding day.” She said it slowly this time, like she was savoring each syllable. “Today. Right now. Well, not right now. In a few hours. But today.”

“Brooke.” I let out a laugh that sounded slightly hysterical. “I'm already married. I'm literally here celebrating my one-year anniversary with my husband. The man I married. In Vegas. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Her voice went soft. “Dallas remembers too. That's kind of the whole point.”

My heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”

“Three months ago, your husband showed up at my office.” Brooke moved toward me, reaching out to take my hands in hers. “He sat down in my terrible squeaky chair, looked me dead in the eyes, and said he wanted to give you a real wedding.”

I couldn't breathe.

“He wanted you to have the wedding you deserved,” she continued, squeezing my fingers. “Not one you can't remember. Not one with tequila-induced blackouts and matching hangovers. A real one. One where you could choose him, and he could choose you, and everyone who loves you could watch it happen.”

My vision blurred. I blinked rapidly, but it didn't help. The tears were coming whether I wanted them to or not.

“He planned everything, Davina. The venue, the guests, the flowers, the food, everything. For three months, he's been coordinating with Marcus and me and basically everyone you've ever loved to pull off the most elaborate surprise wedding in the history of surprise weddings.”

“Everyone I've ever…” My voice cracked. “My family is here?”

“Your parents are in Cabin 12. Your dad tried to escape for a walk yesterday, and I had to physically intercept him.” She laughed, wiping at her own eyes. “Delilah's here. Kali and James. Marcus, Skyla. Matt. Dallas's parents, obviously. Austin, Cheyanne, everyone. They've been hiding in cabins all over the property since yesterday, waiting for this moment.”

A sob escaped me. Ugly and loud and completely involuntary.

“He did all this?”

“He did all this.” Brooke pulled me into a hug, and I clung to her like a drowning woman. “Because he loves you. Because he wanted you to know, without any doubt, that he chooses you. That he will always choose you. That if he could go back to Vegas, the only thing he'd change is, well, nothing, because you never would have married him sober. His words.”

I laughed through my tears, the sound wet and broken. “That's accurate.”

“I know.” She pulled back, holding me at arm's length, studying my face. “So. What do you say? Want to marry your husband?”

“I…yes. Obviously yes. But…” I hiccupped, swiping at my cheeks. “Brooke, I don't have a dress. I don't have anything. I can't get married in a sundress I bought at Target.”

“Oh, honey.” Her smile turned almost smug. “Did you really think we'd forget about the dress?”

She pointed over my shoulder.

I turned.

And my knees nearly gave out.

There, hanging from a hook on the bathroom door, was a dress.

Not just any dress.

My dress.

The dress I'd sketched in a worn notebook back when I was still modeling, still dreaming about a fashion career, still believing that someday I might design clothes for women who looked like me. The dress I'd drawn with careful, hopeful strokes, labeling it in the corner with words that had felt like a prayer: My someday dress.

It was here. It was real. It was hanging three feet away from me, brought to life in ivory silk and delicate lace, exactly as I'd imagined it. The off-shoulder neckline. The fitted bodice. The flowing skirt with just enough drama. The subtle beading at the waist catching the morning light.

“How…” The word came out strangled. “How did you…” My voice trailed off as I realized where she’d gotten the design from. “The sketchbook. You kept my sketchbook?”

“I kept everything.” Brooke appeared at my side, arm sliding around my waist. “And when Dallas told me he wanted you to have the perfect dress, I knew exactly where to find it.”