Extra 5 Wedding(5)

Extra 5 Wedding(5)
Cecilia

Music woke me—not the harsh blare of an alarm or the distant sounds of the estate waking up, but something soft and melodic that seemed to drift through the bedroom like morning light through curtains.

I blinked slowly, my brain still foggy with sleep, trying to identify the source before my eyes had fully focused on anything.

That's when I saw her.

Alice was sprawled across the foot of the bed on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, chin resting in her hands, watching me with an expression of barely contained glee.

The moment our eyes met, she blinked once—slow and deliberate, like some kind of cat acknowledging my existence—and that was apparently her version of a greeting.

"Alice," I said, my voice coming out rough with sleep as I pushed myself up on my elbows. "What are you—" A yawn interrupted me, and I had to pause to rub at my eyes. "What are you doing here? Did you come to hang out?"

Alice slid off the bed with the fluid grace of someone who'd clearly been awake for hours, landing on her feet and immediately pointing toward something across the room with barely restrained excitement.

I followed her gesture, and the breath left my lungs in a sharp gasp.

There, displayed on a dress form like a piece of art in a museum, was the most magnificent wedding dress I'd ever seen.

The bodice was pure white silk, fitted and structured in a way that suggested expert tailoring, with delicate lace overlay that caught the morning light and scattered it in subtle patterns.

But it was the skirt that made my heart stop—layers upon layers of the finest fabric I'd ever seen, each tier decorated with white silk roses that had been hand-stitched into place, creating a cascading effect that made the entire dress look like it had been woven from flowers themselves.

The train—god, the train—stretched at least six feet, covered in more of those delicate silk roses, each one perfect and precise and clearly the work of master craftspeople who'd spent countless hours bringing this vision to life.

I turned back to Alice, my mouth opening and closing without sound as my brain struggled to process what I was seeing, what this meant.

"Alice," I finally managed, the word coming out strangled. "What—what is this? Why is there a wedding dress in my bedroom?"

Alice's grin widened to something that could only be described as absolutely delighted, her hands coming together in a single sharp clap that echoed through the room.

The bedroom door burst open immediately, and suddenly the space was flooded with people—a professional hair and makeup team I recognized from fashion magazines, a seamstress carrying what looked like undergarments and accessories, someone else with a rolling rack of shoes, another person with jewelry boxes stacked in their arms.

They descended on me with practiced efficiency, gentle but inexorable as they guided me out of bed and toward the bathroom, their voices a soothing murmur of instructions and compliments that washed over me without really penetrating the shock.

"Wait," I said weakly, trying to dig my heels in even as they swept me along. "Wait, I don't understand, what's happening—"

"Arthur prepared everything," Alice said from somewhere behind me, her voice carrying that particular quality of someone delivering information they'd been dying to share. "He's been planning this for weeks—maybe months, honestly. He was just waiting for you to say yes."

The words finally penetrated, and I felt my legs go weak enough that two of the team members had to steady me. "He what?"

"Oh, honey." Alice appeared in front of me, her expression softening with genuine affection as she took my hands. "He built you an underwater observatory in three months. Did you really think he wasn't also planning your wedding?"

The bathroom became a flurry of activity—someone running a bath with what smelled like expensive oils, someone else laying out towels and robes, the makeup artist already setting up her station with the kind of efficiency that suggested she'd done this a thousand times.

I let them guide me through it all in a daze—the bath, the hair washing, the careful application of makeup that somehow made me look like myself but better, more luminous, like I was glowing from the inside out.

They dressed me in delicate white undergarments that felt like silk against my skin, then the seamstress approached with the dress, her hands reverent as she began the process of helping me into it.

The fabric slid over my body like water, cool and smooth and perfect, and when she began fastening the dozens of tiny buttons that ran up the back, I finally looked at myself in the full-length mirror.

The woman staring back at me looked like something out of a fairy tale—the dress hugging every curve before flaring out at the hips in that cascade of silk roses, my hair styled in loose waves that fell over one shoulder, makeup subtle but striking, making my eyes look impossibly large and bright.

The necklace, the very symbol of Lady Winston, hung around my neck.

"Oh my god," I breathed, my hands coming up to touch my face, half-expecting the image in the mirror to disappear like a dream. "Is this real? Am I really—"

"You're really getting married," Alice confirmed, appearing beside me in the mirror wearing a pale pink empire-waist dress that made her look like she'd stepped out of a Regency romance. "Like, right now. Today. Arthur's waiting."

She took my arm, linking it through hers with gentle but firm pressure, and began guiding me toward the door.

We stepped out into the hallway, and I stopped dead, my breath catching in my throat at what I saw.

The entire corridor had been transformed into something out of a dream—white rose petals scattered across the floor in a path that led toward the main staircase, more roses climbing the walls in carefully arranged garlands, soft lighting that made everything glow with warm, romantic ambiance.

But it wasn't just the hallway.

As we descended the stairs and moved through the house toward the back entrance, I realized with growing awe that Arthur hadn't just decorated a room or a section of the estate.

He'd transformed the entire grounds.

Every window I passed showed the same view—white roses, thousands upon thousands of them, covering every available surface. The gardens had become a sea of white blooms, the pathways lined with more petals, even the trees seemed to be dripping with white blossoms.

"How did he—" I started, but my voice failed as we stepped out onto the back terrace and I got my first full view of what Arthur had created.

The main lawn had been converted into a wedding venue that looked like something out of a magazine—rows of white chairs arranged in perfect symmetry, an aisle carpeted in white rose petals leading to an altar decorated with more flowers than I'd ever seen in one place.

White balloons floated overhead, tethered by invisible strings, and as a gentle breeze picked up, I heard music—a string quartet positioned somewhere out of sight, playing something classical and beautiful that made my eyes burn with unshed tears.

And there, standing at the altar in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, was Arthur.