Page 93 of The Wedding Wrecker

"Emma's nothing like Katie," I had said. "She makes me want to be better. To believe in something real."

There had been a long pause before my father said, "Then don't screw it up like your brother did."

It wasn't exactly a warm blessing, but it was something. A bridge, maybe, to whatever came next. I knew they had recently fallen out with Chase because he tricked them into lending money that was actually meant for Katie. It had been a final straw after so many that let them see how far gone he was. As much as I hated it for him, I wondered if it was finally an open door to start fixing things in my own family.

My phone buzzed with a text from Emma:

Emma:The blue dress you like is making my boobs look huge tonight. Are you sure you’re going to be able to control yourself around me?

Me:Absolutely not. Even more reason for you to wear it.

Emma:What’s the restaurant?

Me:It's a surprise. Trust me?

Emma:Always. Even if you did ruin my career that one time.

I laughed out loud, earning curious looks from our staff. That joke had become something of a running gag between us—a reminder of how far we'd come.

When I met Emma in Ireland, she was just starting out as a wedding photographer turned planner. In Breckenridge, she was a small-time wedding planner who was coming out of her comfort zone for the sake of her sister’s wedding. And now?

Our businesses had merged in an unexpected pairing that was shockingly successful. Turns out there was a huge market for couples who wanted more than just a perfect wedding. They wanted tools to build a lasting marriage.

My phone buzzed again:

Emma:Speaking of trust... Derek just walked by my office whistling and looking very suspicious. Should I be worried?

I made a mental note to kill Derek later. He had one job: get everything set up at the restaurant without being suspicious. But apparently, my oldest friend was incapable of acting normal.

Me:Just a coincidence. See you at 7.

I arrived at the restaurant early to check Derek's work, relieved to find he'd at least done his part right. The photos were arranged exactly as I'd planned—a timeline of our relationship starting at the entrance to the terrace. Ireland, the ski resort, and a few candid moments I’d managed to collect of us by begging everybody in attendance to look through their camera rolls for me. I’d had each photo printed out and included a handwritten note about what that moment or place meant to me.

Once I was sure everything was in place, I drove back to pick Emma up from our apartment. I had to dodge a hundred of her questions on the ride as she tried desperately to ruin the surprise. I also had to avoid pulling the car over and missing out on the plan because she looked so insanely sexy in that bluedress. She hadn’t been exaggerating about what it did for her curves.

I helped her out of the car once we arrived, smiling as I looked her over and reminded myself for the millionth time that she was mine. Somehow, some way, this gorgeous woman had picked me. And tonight… Tonight I was going to make it permanent.

"You're beautiful." I caught her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Ready for dinner?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you look nervous?"

"Do I?"

"James Carter, I’m beginning to suspect you’re about to —

"You'll see," I said, cutting her off. I led up the stairs past the indoor dining room and toward the rooftop terrace. "Close your eyes."

"Really?"

"Humor me."

She did, though her smile was suspicious. I guided her outside to the terrace, positioning her at the start of the photo timeline.

"Okay," I said softly, "open them."

Emma's hand flew to her mouth as she took in the first photo. It was the wine cellar in Ireland. Granted, it was empty, but I’d flown out just to get this one because I knew the collection wouldn’t be complete without it. I had put a little note card labeled “Emma” on the table and positioned a second labeled “Me,” just for the humorous touch.

"How did you..."

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