Chapter 153
Evelyn's POV
The days that followed blurred together in a whirlwind of appointments and decisions.
The florist consultation where we selected white roses and peonies with eucalyptus greenery. The caterer tasting where Julian and I fed each other samples and pretended we were being objective about the menu choices. The photographer meeting where we reviewed portfolios and selected a style that was artistic but not overly posed.
And then Isabella called.
"I heard you're planning a wedding in two weeks," she said, her voice bright with barely contained excitement. "And I'm deeply, personally offended that you haven't called me to help."
"Isabella—"
"Don't even try to argue with me, Evelyn Valentine." She was already talking over me. "I have actual experience planning a wedding, remember? Sure, mine didn't happen in the end, but I got all the way through the planning process. Picked the flowers, tasted the cake, argued with the caterer about portion sizes—the whole nine yards."
She paused for dramatic effect. "So unless you think I'm bad luck or something—which, fair, my engagement did implode spectacularly—you're going to let me help. I'm coming over tomorrow morning with coffee and pastries and my very organized binder of wedding planning materials that I definitely did not cry over when I cancelled everything."
Despite myself, I laughed. "Isabella—"
"Tomorrow. Nine AM. Don't try to stop me." Her tone turned slightly more genuine. "Seriously though, Evelyn. Let me do this. Let me help make your wedding perfect. Plus, I'm really good at this stuff. Like, scary good. My cancelled wedding was going to be amazing."
"Okay," I said, still smiling. "Nine AM. Bring the binder."
"Yes!" Isabella's triumph was audible through the phone. "You won't regret this. I'm going to make your wedding so beautiful that everyone will forget mine was a disaster. This is going to be great. See you tomorrow!"
She hung up before I could say anything else.
Julian looked up from his laptop, eyebrow raised. "Isabella's helping?"
"Apparently I don't have a choice," I said. "She's coming over tomorrow with her cancelled wedding binder and a determination to make ours perfect."
"Good," Julian said simply. "She'll be good at it. And honestly?" His mouth curved. "I think she needs this."
True to her word, Isabella appeared the next morning with coffee and pastries and an actual wedding planning binder.
"Okay," she said, settling onto the couch. "Show me what you have so far."
I pulled out Christine's mockups and the various samples we'd collected. Isabella reviewed everything with a critical eye that reminded me she'd been raised in a world where social events were political theater.
"This is beautiful," she said finally. "Classic and elegant. Very you." She paused. "But you're missing something."
"What?"
"The personal touches. The things that make it your wedding, not just a wedding." Isabella pulled out her phone. "What's your song? The one you and Julian consider yours?"
I blinked. "We... don't have one?"
"Then we're finding one. Right now." She started scrolling through playlists. "What kind of music do you both like?"
Julian looked up from his laptop. "Jazz. Evelyn likes the classics—Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald. I'm partial to Miles Davis."
"Perfect." Isabella kept scrolling. "What about 'The Very Thought of You' by Billie Holiday? It's romantic but not saccharine. Classic but not overdone."
She played it. The opening notes filled the room, Billie Holiday's voice smooth and achingly tender.
Julian crossed to me, held out his hand. "Dance with me."
We swayed together in the middle of the living room while Isabella watched with a satisfied smile. And as Billie Holiday sang about the very thought of someone bringing happiness, I realized Isabella was right.
This was our song.
"Okay," Isabella said when the music ended. "That's your first dance. Now let's talk about the little details that will make people remember this wedding."
Over the next few hours, Isabella helped us add the personal touches Christine's professional expertise had missed. Signature cocktails named after inside jokes. A late-night snack bar with our favorite foods. Handwritten notes at each place setting thanking guests for being part of our lives.
"What about favors?" Isabella asked. "What do you want people to take home?"
Julian and I exchanged glances. Neither of us had even thought about favors.
"Something meaningful," I said slowly. "Not just generic wedding tchotchkes."
"What about donations?" Julian suggested. "We could make donations in each guest's name to causes that matter to us. Domestic violence prevention, veterans' services, that kind of thing."
"I love that," Isabella said. "It's thoughtful and it says something about who you are as a couple."
As the afternoon wore on, I found myself relaxing into the planning in a way I hadn't expected. This wasn't just logistics anymore. It was becoming real. Personal. Ours.
"Thank you," I said to Isabella as she was packing up to leave. "For helping with all this. For being here."
She hugged me tightly. "Of course. You're my friend, Evelyn. And honestly?" She pulled back with a smile. "I'm living vicariously through your wedding planning since mine didn't work out."
"Are you okay?" I asked. "With everything that happened with Adrian?"
"I'm better than okay," Isabella said honestly. "Breaking that engagement was the best thing I could have done. I deserve someone who actually loves me, not someone going through the motions for family politics." She squeezed my hand. "You and Julian? You have the real thing. That's worth celebrating."
After she left, Julian pulled me into his arms. "She's right, you know. We do have the real thing."
The final week before the wedding was chaos. The dress needed one more fitting. The final guest count came to four hundred and twenty-three. The list read like a combined edition of the Forbes list and a celebrity directory—tech moguls, defense contractors, politicians, old money families from both coasts, and a surprising number of people from the private military and security world that Julian moved through with such ease.
"This is insane," I said, reviewing the spreadsheet Christine had sent over. "Half these people I've never even met."
"You will," Julian said, unconcerned. He was reviewing security protocols with Weber, making sure every guest had been properly vetted. "And they're going to love you."
"Or they're going to wonder what the hell a guy like you is doing marrying someone like me."
Julian looked up sharply. "Someone like you? You mean brilliant, beautiful, and capable of taking down trained operatives with kitchen utensils?" His mouth curved. "Yeah, I'm sure that'll be a real mystery."
Despite my anxiety, I laughed. "You know what I mean. A widow."
"I do. And I'm telling you it doesn't matter." He crossed to me, tilting my chin up with one finger. "Every single person on that list is coming to witness me marry the woman I love. Their opinions about whether you're 'suitable' or whatever the fuck they might think—that's irrelevant. You're mine. I'm yours. That's all that matters."
Julian handled vendor calls while I was at my final dress fitting. He coordinated with Weber on security arrangements while I worked with Isabella on the seating chart. He even somehow arranged for Ghost to have a custom collar for the wedding—white leather with our wedding date engraved on a small gold tag, which looks absurdly regal on a ten-pound cat.
"You thought of everything," I said one evening, watching him review the final timeline with Christine.
"Not everything," Julian admitted. "But I'm trying. I want this day to be perfect for you."
"It already is," I said honestly. "Because it's ours."