Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88270 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
She pauses with the brush hovering and looks up with a smile, her eyes warm in the mirror's reflection. "The ceremony will be brief—don't worry," she says reassuringly. "We can go inside later on if it does—the villa has that covered terrace with the ocean view."
She starts working on my hair next, her fingers gentle as she weaves in a few loose waves with sea-salt spray, adding that beachy texture that feels right for Tulum. The strands turn curly and whimsical under her touch, and I feel that tension ease a little. I’m so grateful as always to her for being here, and for being my rock through it all.
Once she’s done, I rise and turn to the full-length mirror by the wardrobe. I take in the dress's flow and gorgeous lines in the reflection. It was a vintage find we'd come across a few months ago in Tribeca. It’s a simple A-line in ivory lace from the 1950s, fitted at the bodice with a sweetheart neckline that hugs my curves just right and flaring out to the floor in layers that whisper when I move. The fabric feels unbelievable against my skin, light and airy in the tropical heat. Now it takes my breath away as I twirl slowly, the hem brushing my ankles.
"Does any of this feel real to you?" I ask Emma as our eyes meet in the mirror. My emotions are confused—joy, disbelief, my full heart feeling like it might overflow.
She shakes her head, tears in her own eyes now, stepping close to adjust the neckline with gentle hands on the lace. "No, it doesn't—I still can't believe it," she says, her voice thick as she pauses. "But I'm so happy for you, Jules. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person."
We hug hard then, her arms squeezing tightly around me with that familiar warmth. I try not to cry. I don’t want to ruin all her hard work. I pull back with a laugh and blink fast.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she warns.
The moment lingers sweetly, and then we look outside the window together. We take in the breathtaking view—the cleared beach, white sands stretching to the ocean's edge, where waves roll in gently and foam white. The arch stands ready, adorned with fresh hibiscus and orchids in vibrant pinks. The minister in a white linen shirt stands under it, talking to someone.
Freya, my flower girl, is wearing a simple white sundress with a pink sash. She skips around Frances, who's seated in a wicker chair, and wearing a sun hat. The shawl I gave her as a present is draped lightly over her shoulders.
Blake is already there with a few of his friends. They are all wearing tuxedos, but it is him I can’t take my eyes off. He’s looking even handsome than ever with his dark hair ruffled by the breeze. That strong jaw is relaxed, and his gray eyes keep scanning the villa like he's waiting for me.
I honestly can't believe how lucky I am. Even after I’ve pinched myself, I have a hard time believing that this is not a dream. My heart swells as I pause to watch him scoop Freya up, her laughter carrying faintly on the wind.
"He's so gorgeous, Emma," I whisper softly, emotion thick in my voice, "and he’s the kindest human being I've ever met."
She nods. "You two are perfect for each other."
“One day it’ll be your turn,” I tell her.
She grins. “I hope so. I really hope so.”
I can't wait any longer to be fully his wife. I've legally changed my name to Carolyn, and now I'll be Carolyn Bessant, but more importantly, I’ll be his legal wife.
“You ready to give me away?”
“Yeah, but I’m not really giving you away.”
Hurriedly, I slip into my shoes, flat enough to walk on sand, the leather soft on my feet. I head out with Emma beside me, her arm linked with mine. We walk down the villa's stone path lined with torches not yet lit, the sunset painting the sky in golds and pinks, the ocean's vast stretch calling like a promise.
BLAKE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=an4ySOlsUM
-how long will I love you-
As I stand by the arch, the sand shifts softly, carried by the warm, salty Caribbean breeze off the sea. It rustles the hibiscus flowers woven into the bamboo frame, and makes my heart sing.
I'm so excited that I can barely stay in my skin—my shirt feels too tight at the collar. My hands clench and unclench in my pockets. That buzz under my ribs makes it hard to stand still, like energy building with no place to go.
I pace a little on the warm, fine white sands while my friends chuckle nearby.
One claps my shoulder and says, "Relax, man—she's coming."
It doesn't help much. That anticipation coils tighter.
I can't remember ever feeling this way, not even close. For my marriage to Carolyn, I'd almost wanted to send someone to represent me at the ceremony because I just didn't want to take the time off work. There was not an ounce of true excitement. Where emotion should have been was just a feeling that I had performed an obligation. The whole thing felt like a cold transaction in a New York ballroom, surrounded by the crème de la crème of New York Society.