“We need more wine. And red roses. Lots of them,” I explained, feeling a strange rush of excitement despite everything. “And plenty of wine since I plan on drinking half of it.”
“Wine? And roses?… Zoey, this is a real emergency, not the time to get drunk!” Annie protested.
“Trust me.” I gripped her shoulders.
Annabelle glanced at the clock.
“What do we have to lose? But where am I supposed to find wine and roses?”
I couldn’t help a small smile, even in this chaos.
“Annie, where are we?”
She froze, blinked, then smacked her own forehead.
“A vineyard! Of course. That solves the wine problem.” She frowned again. “But what about the roses?”
“Find Vivian.”
Annabelle nodded with determination and disappeared out the door, leaving me alone with my frantic thoughts and the wreck of a dress.
I stood and walked to the window. Below, the guests were already seated, murmuring among themselves. Joseph was in the front row, looking healthier than he had in days, chatting animatedly with my father. Isabelle and Lawrence sat on the opposite side, impeccable in their formal clothes but visibly tense.
And at the makeshift altar among the ancient vines, Christian waited. Even from this distance I could see his rigid posture in the tailored suit. He didn’t look nervous-brides were often late, after all. But Vivian had been adamant about punctuality. “The Kensingtons are punctual even in death,” she’d said. Well, looked like I was about to break that tradition on day one.
I bit my lip, trying to contain the rising anxiety.
The door burst open again and Annabelle charged in like a hurricane, carrying a bottle of red wine and a bouquet of roses.
“Okay, what exactly is your plan?”
“Help me out of the dress…” I instructed, feeling a strange confidence take hold.
Annabelle helped me slip it off while I pulled a needle and thread from the little emergency pouch I always carried. “You never know when you’ll need an emergency kit,” my mother always said. I never imagined a wedding -day emergency kit would involve wine.
“What are you doing?” Annabelle asked, horrified, as I began dripping more wine onto the dress.
I grinned, mischief sparking in my eyes.
“Customizing.”
Annabelle watched, torn between horror and fascination, as I worked. With a skill I hadn’t known I possessed, I turned the random stain into a deliberate pattern, as though the wine had been artistically applied. Then I started dismantling the roses, stitching crimson petals along the wine’s path.
“This is insane,” Annabelle muttered-but she couldn’t hide her growing admiration as the transformation took shape.
“It’s genius,” I corrected, tongue caught between my teeth as I stitched the last petal in place.
“A Zoey Kensington original. Bold. Unexpected. Perfect.”
When I finally stepped back to assess the work, I couldn’t hold back a gasp of surprise. The dress was now a work of art. What had once been a disastrous stain now looked like an intentional, daring design-as though wine and roses had been deliberately applied to create a dramatic effect. The red petals sewn down the length of the skirt gave the illusion of movement, as if they were gently falling.
“Zoey… it’s incredible. Now let’s get you back into this dress before the Kensingtons decide you’ve bailed.”
Getting dressed again was tricky with the rose appliqués, but we managed. When I stood before the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me. She was no longer the traditional bride in flawless white. She was something bolder, more dramatic. More… me.
The door swung open without warning, and Vivian entered, her face freezing in utter shock at the sight of the dress.
“What have you done?!” she hissed, looking from the gown to Annabelle, then to me. “The dress was a classic! A designer piece! Now it’s… it’s-“
“A masterpiece,” I cut in, surprising myself with the confidence in my voice. “And if you say another word about it, I swear I’ll run as far away from this vineyard as I can.”
Vivian snapped her mouth shut, eyes still wide, but she gave a slow nod.
“The guests are getting restless,” she finally said, her voice tightly controlled. “Your father is waiting at the garden entrance.”
I followed Vivian down the mansion’s halls, struggling to steady my breathing. Each step felt heavier than the last not just because of the nerves that came with the ceremony, but because of the weight of what I was about to do. A fake wedding. A contract. Six months of pretending to be something we weren’t.
When we reached the entrance to the garden, my father was there, handsome in his dark suit. His eyes widened at the sight of my dress, but then his expression softened into a proud smile.
“You look beautiful,” he said simply, offering me his arm.
The music began, the doors opened, and every gaze turned toward me. I could see the shock ripple through the crowd as they took in the dress-the raised brows, the rushed whispers. Isabelle looked like she had swallowed an entire lemon. Joseph was beaming, his eyes gleaming with what seemed like genuine approval.
And then, my eyes found Christian’s. He stood utterly still, his face a complex mix of emotions I couldn’t read from a distance. I took my first step onto the aisle, gripping my father’s arm for strength.
A murmur ran through the crowd as I advanced, but I couldn’t tell if their looks were admiration or pity. I kept my head high, focusing only on the man waiting for me at the altar. The man I was about to marry, even if it was only for six months.
A contract that, strangely, my heart seemed less and less willing to believe was temporary.
Christian’s eyes never left mine as I walked down the aisle, my father at my side. The mix of emotions on his face was indescribable-surprise, admiration, and something deeper I couldn’t quite name. When I finally reached the altar, my father gave my hand one last squeeze before placing it in Christian’s.
“You are the most beautiful-and most unexpected-bride I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, his genuine smile lighting up his eyes.
“I thought it suited the Kensington wine theme,” I replied, trying to sound casual despite my racing heart.
Christian chuckled softly, a sound only I could hear.
“Always surprising, Zoey Bennett. That’s what I admire most about you. I never know what to expect-only that it will be extraordinary.”
The officiant began the ceremony, his calm voice echoing between the vines. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over us, creating an almost magical atmosphere. I kept my gaze fixed on Christian, afraid to glance at the crowd and see Isabelle and Francesca’s disapproving faces-or Elise’s smug smile.
When it was time for the vows, Christian surprised me again. Instead of reciting something generic and rehearsed, he spoke straight from the heart, without notes.
“Zoey, when you walked into my life, it was like a storm-unexpected, powerful, and utterly impossible to ignore. “His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed genuine emotion. “You’ve challenged every convention, questioned every certainty I had, and somehow, you’ve become the most constant person in my chaotic world. I admire your courage, your authenticity, your ability to turn the unexpected into something extraordinary.” His gaze swept over my one-of-a-kind dress, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I promise to honor you, respect you, and support in every dream and every crazy adventure you decide to embark on. I promise to be your safe harbor when the world feels too heavy, and your biggest fan when you shine-which happens every single time you walk into a room.”
you
Tears slipped down my cheeks. His words felt far too sincere for an arrangement, far too tender for a business contract. When it was my turn, I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. The vows I had rehearsed felt inadequate, pitiful next to his.
“I…” I tried again, but the tears now flowed freely. “I don’t…”
The crowd laughed gently, and Christian squeezed my hands, encouraging me with his gaze.
“I think what I’m trying to say is… yes. Yes to all of it.” It was all I managed, drawing warm laughter and smiles from the guests.
When the officiant declared us husband and wife, Christian hesitated for a heartbeat. His eyes met mine, a silent question hovering between us. Suddenly, Annabelle’s words at the pool flashed in my mind: Live every day as if it were real.
So I silenced every doubt, every fear, every wall I had built and leaned in. Christian understood instantly, pulling me closer, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was anything but staged. It was real, deep, almost desperate-as if both of us were trying to say something words could never capture.
The eruption of applause pulled us back to reality. When we finally pulled apart, both slightly breathless, I caught a glimmer in Christian’s eyes I had never seen before. An unspoken promise. A possibility we didn’t dare name.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.