Chapter 152
Evelyn's POV
The next morning, Julian's phone rang at exactly nine o'clock.
"That'll be the wedding planner," he said, already reaching for it. "I called her last night after you fell asleep."
I stared at him. "You called a wedding planner before I even agreed?"
"I know you, Evelyn." His smile was unrepentant. "I knew once you let yourself actually want it, you'd say yes."
The wedding planner turned out to be a terrifyingly efficient woman named Christine who arrived at Julian's penthouse with three assistants and enough binders to stock a small library. She took one look at our two-week timeline and didn't even blink.
"It's tight but doable," she said, already pulling out fabric samples. "The key is making quick decisions and not second-guessing. Mr. Russell tells me you want something elegant but not ostentatious. Traditional but personal. Is that accurate?"
I glanced at Julian, who was watching me with an expression that said your call entirely.
"Yes," I said. "That's... yes."
"Excellent." Christine flipped open a binder. "Let's start with venue. Mr. Russell mentioned the Hamptons house, but with two weeks' notice, we could potentially book—"
"The Hamptons house," Julian said firmly. "It's private property, fully secured, and it matters to us. The ceremony will be on the beach at sunset. Reception in the great room with the ocean as backdrop."
Christine made a note. "Romantic. I like it. Guest count?"
I looked at Julian.
"I want everyone," Julian said firmly. "Everyone who matters in our lives. Business associates, friends, family. I want this to be the kind of wedding people remember."
Christine's pen paused over her notepad. "When you say everyone, Mr. Russell, what are we talking about? Ballpark number?"
"Three to four hundred," Julian said without hesitation. "Maybe more depending on final confirmations."
My eyes widened. "Julian, that's—"
"That's what I want." He turned to me, his expression serious. "I told you, Evelyn. I want the whole world to know I'm marrying you. I want everyone who's ever been part of my life—our lives—to witness it. To celebrate it with us."
Christine was already making notes. "Four hundred guests on a two-week timeline is ambitious, but not impossible. We'll need to move quickly on invitations—I'd suggest digital save-the-dates immediately, with formal invitations to follow. The venue can accommodate that many, especially with the beach ceremony and the great room for reception."
She looked up at me. "Is that acceptable to you, Ms. Valentine?"
I swallowed hard. Four hundred people. Four hundred witnesses to watch me promise forever to Julian Russell. Four hundred people who would see me, know me, remember this day.
Part of me wanted to protest. To argue for something smaller, more private, less exposed.
But looking at Julian—at the determination in his eyes, at the way he was watching me with that expression that said I want to give you everything—I found myself nodding.
"Yes," I said. "Four hundred people. Let's do it right."
Julian's smile was brilliant. "That's my girl."
"Excellent," Christine said briskly. "Now, with that guest count in mind, let's talk about your vision for the day. When you imagine your wedding, what do you see?"
I hesitated. I'd spent so many years not letting myself imagine this kind of future that I didn't have a ready answer.
"Take your time," Julian said softly, his hand finding mine. "There's no wrong answer."
I closed my eyes. Let myself actually picture it for the first time.
"White," I said finally. "Lots of white. Elegant but simple. Flowers—maybe roses and peonies. Candlelight. String quartet for the ceremony. The ocean in the background." I opened my eyes. "Nothing too elaborate. Just... beautiful. Clean. Like a fresh start."
Christine was already sketching. "I can work with that. Classic, timeless, romantic. We'll do an all-white color palette with soft gold accents. Ivory roses and white peonies for florals. Hurricane lamps and pillar candles for the reception. String quartet for ceremony, maybe transition to jazz ensemble for the reception?"
"Perfect," Julian said, squeezing my hand. "That sounds perfect."
The next two hours blurred together. Decisions about table settings and menu options and invitation designs. Christine pulled out sample after sample, and somehow Julian and I kept landing on the same choices without even consulting each other. White linens with gold chargers. Champagne and oysters for cocktail hour. Filet mignon and Chilean sea bass for the main course. A simple white cake with fresh flowers instead of elaborate fondant designs.
"You two have excellent taste," Christine observed. "And remarkably similar aesthetics. This is going to be a beautiful wedding."
After she left—promising to have initial mockups ready by tomorrow—I collapsed onto the couch with a slightly dazed expression.
"That was intense," I said.
"That was just the beginning." Julian sat beside me, pulling me against his side. "Tomorrow we have the dress appointment. And the florist consultation. And the tasting at the caterer."
"All in one day?"
"We have two weeks, Evelyn. We're going to be busy every day until the wedding." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "But it's going to be worth it. I promise."
The next morning, Julian drove us to a bridal boutique in Manhattan that apparently required a three-month waiting list unless you were a personal friend of the owner.
"How did you manage this?" I asked as he held the door open.
"I may have done some security consulting for her ex-husband's company." Julian's smile was enigmatic. "She owes me a favor."
The boutique was elegant and intimate. Soft lighting, plush carpets, champagne offered the moment we walked in. The owner—a striking woman in her fifties named Margot—greeted Julian with a warm hug before turning to me with an assessing eye.
"So you're the one who finally caught Julian Russell," she said. "I have to admit, I'm impressed. I didn't think anyone could."
"Neither did I," I admitted.
Margot laughed. "I like her already. Come, let's find you a dress that makes him forget how to breathe."
The next hour was surreal. Margot pulled dress after dress, each more beautiful than the last. But none of them felt quite right until she disappeared into the back and emerged with a garment bag.
"This just came in," she said. "It's not even on the floor yet. But when Julian described you, this is what I thought of."
She unzipped the bag.
The dress was perfect. Simple ivory silk that would skim my body without clinging too tight. Delicate lace cap sleeves. A subtle train. Elegant without being fussy. Classic without being boring.
"Try it on," Margot urged.
I did. And the moment I saw myself in the mirror, I knew.
This was my wedding dress.
When I stepped out of the fitting room, Julian's expression made every moment of doubt worth it. He just stared, his gray eyes darkening with something that looked like reverence.
"Evelyn," he said, his voice rough. "You're—"
"I know." I smiled. "This is the one."
Margot clapped her hands together. "Excellent. I'll have it altered and ready in ten days. That gives us a few days' buffer in case any last-minute adjustments are needed."
As we left the boutique—dress ordered, veil selected, shoes chosen—Julian pulled me into a quiet alcove and kissed me with an intensity that made my knees weak.
"Two weeks," he murmured against my lips. "Two weeks and you'll be my wife."
"Two weeks," I agreed, and let myself believe it was really happening.