Page 98 of Dr. Fellow

“She’s got a huge case going on right now, so she got over it because now he doesn’t have to take off work.”

I smack my gloss-covered lips, turning my head to check out the intricate low bun that my hair is pulled into. Floral pearl pins accent the design, and the stylist left a few short wisps out to frame my face.I can’t believe this only took her an hour—the thing is a work of art.

“Well, selfishly I’m glad you decided to elope because being a bride is way more fun than I expected.”

We’ve spent the past three hours relaxing in the spacious bridal suite while listening to ’90s country hits and getting pampered. Claire bought us all matching silk robes with feather trim to lounge around in, and if I had known this was what having a wedding could be like, I might have thought about it more seriously.

“Ready to see your dress?” Cassidy’s hazel eyes swirl with delight as they meet mine in the mirror.

I nod with a nervous grin and strip down.

Because Cass is the only one who knows anything about the gown, she shoos Claire and Caroline out of the room so that I can make a grand entrance. The photographer wanted to capture the genuine reactions of my friends, and I’m crossing my fingers that this thing fits; otherwise, the only reaction I’ll be getting is one of horror as I walk down the aisle in the pale pink maxi I had originally planned to wear today.

From what I could determine before the fabric was pulled over my head, the wedding dress is made of a shimmery satin that feels expensive because it’s super heavy. This is definitely not a last-minute dress that they ordered from a discount shop—it’s a high-quality designer gown. I shove my arms through the off-the-shoulder sleeves, sucking in my belly as Cass slides the hidden zipper all the way up the corseted bodice. Stepping into four-inch white heels to complete the look, I take a deep breath and turn to face the floor-length mirror.

My lip quivers as I take in the entire ensemble. I’ve never really paid much attention to wedding dresses, but if I had to choose one, this is nearly identical to what I would pick.

The gown is perfectly tailored to my body, like the designer had all of my measurements and custom made it for me. The neckline is strapless and pushes up my breasts just enough to make me feel sexy. At my waist, the fabric flares out with a high slit that shows off my legs, which look like they’re a mile long thanks to the heels.

Emotion balls up in my throat because I feel so damn beautiful—I feel like a bride.

“How?” I whisper, blinking up at the ceiling to stop the tears.

Cass comes up behind me, holding my shoulders as she peers at us in the mirror with a smile. “Walker.”

My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“He took your measurements when you were asleep to make sure they were perfect.”

“Of course he did,” I laugh, shaking my head. “I think the man might be developing a somno kink.”

My mind starts replaying the time that he woke me up with his hand between my legs, gently rubbing me until I was on the verge of orgasm at six in the morning.

“Wait—” I snap, interrupting my thoughts. “How did you get the dress so quickly? We only made the decision to stay married, like, a month ago.”

I’m pretty sure a wedding dress takes months to make. I guess in theory they could have purchased it off the rack and paid to have it altered, but even that takes time . . .

Cass winks and squeezes my shoulders. “Turns out that money talks, and we happen to know someone with a black AMEX.”

I turn to face her, letting out an amused exhale. “Claire does love spending money, doesn’t she?”

“It was actually Parker.”

Out of everything that has almost made me cry today, those four words send me over the edge. Guilt sits heavy in my stomach as the tears start to fall, painting little tracks of amnesty down my cheeks. I don’t know if he did this as penance to prove his character to me, or if it was out of the goodness of his heart, but it seems that Parker Winters isn’t the villain I thought he was . . . he might just be the hero.

Cass grabs a tissue and hands it to me.

“I’m sorry,” I sniffle, trying to contain my waterworks. “I was such a shitty friend, and I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this.”

There isn’t an ounce of anger, irritation, or resentment on her face. All I see is the pure love of a friend who knew that my heart was in the right place and didn’t let my words impact our relationship.

She pulls me in for a hug, telling me that I shouldn’t apologize and that she loves me over and over again until a knock sounds on the door.

I peek in the mirror to check my makeup, silently thanking the engineers who invented waterproof mascara because my face still looks flawless. Nobody would ever know that I had crocodile tears streaming down my face a second ago.

Nobody except . . . Walker?

“What happened? Are you okay?” He glares at Cass as he walks toward me in his perfectly tailored tuxedo.

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