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Vivian took a delicate bite of her muffin, chewed thoughtfully, then nodded in approval of her own baking.

“My grandson watched his parents’ marriage implode spectacularly throughout his most developmental years to the point where he had to come live with me because his parents couldn’t parent.

My son was a serial philanderer with the emotional intelligence of a turnip.

Cal’s mother was a social climber who married for money and status, then acted shocked when the marriage was empty.

They hated each other but stayed together for appearances until Callan was older, at which point they had the most vicious, public divorce Manhattan had seen in decades. ”

I’d known the broad strokes of Callan’s parents’ divorce, but hearing the details from Vivian made my heart hurt for the child who’d witnessed it all.

“And then there was his grandfather,” Vivian continued, her voice hardening. “He was charming, handsome, and utterly faithless. We were married for far too long before I discovered he’d been maintaining a second family in Boston.”

“That’s awful.”

“It was. Devastating, actually. I loved that man with everything I had, and he betrayed me in the most fundamental way possible. But do you know what I didn’t do?”

“What?”

“I didn’t stop believing in love,” Vivian said simply. “I was hurt, yes. Furious, absolutely. But I never concluded that love itself was a fiction just because the man I loved was a lying bastard. That’s like swearing off oxygen because someone farted in an elevator.”

A startled laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Vivian smiled, clearly pleased with her analogy.

“Callan saw two formative examples of marriage fail spectacularly, and being the analytical, pattern-seeking genius that he is, he drew a conclusion: love is not real. It’s safer, you see, to believe love doesn’t exist than to admit it exists but might not last. One is a philosophical position; the other is a risk. ”

“And he hates risk,” I said, remembering his calculated approach to nearly everything.

“Only in matters of the heart. In business, he’s practically reckless. He’ll bet millions on a startup with a ten percent chance of success if he believes in the product. But with people? With feelings? He battens down the hatches and prepares for the worst.”

“I understand why he believes what he does, but understanding doesn’t change anything. He still doesn’t believe in love, and I still need someone who does.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I need that and he said very clearly that–”

“No.” Vivian shook her head. “Are you sure he doesn’t believe in love, or is he simply terrified of calling it by its name?”

“He explicitly stated?—”

“Words,” Vivian dismissed with a wave. “Focus on actions, darling. My grandson flew you to his private island, which he’s never done for any woman.

He left a date with a seemingly perfect candidate to help you in a crisis.

And before you say anything, yes, I know about Ms. Angelina.

Don’t forget that he also brought you to meet me, his only family he still has connections with.

Those are not the actions of a man having ‘just a good time,’ are they? ”

Put like that, it did seem like there was more to Callan’s feelings than he’d admitted. But still...

“If he felt something real,” I argued, “why wouldn’t he just say so? Why insist so vehemently that love doesn’t exist?”

“Because admitting love exists would mean admitting he’s vulnerable to it,” Vivian explained patiently. “And vulnerability terrifies him more than bankruptcy ever could. My grandson built an empire on being in control. Love is the ultimate loss of control.”

“So what am I supposed to do with this information?” I asked, frustration seeping into my voice. “Wait around hoping he’ll eventually overcome decades of emotional baggage? Settle for someone who can’t or won’t say they love me?”

“Absolutely not. You deserve better than that. You deserve someone who can meet you where you are, who shares your values, who isn’t afraid to name what they feel.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“Because,” Vivian said, leaning forward, “I like you. And, I believe my grandson might be ready to be that person. Not because he’s magically fixed all his issues.

God knows that would take several lifetimes and more therapy than Manhattan could provide.

But because losing you has forced him to confront what matters most.”

“And what’s that?”

“You. He’s choosing you over his fear. At least, he’s trying to. He’s a toddler taking their first steps—wobbly and terrified, but desperately wanting to reach what’s on the other side.”

I swallowed hard, hope and skepticism warring within me. “How do you know?”

“Because he’s still going through with the wedding.”

I blinked, certain I’d misheard. “Excuse me?”

“The wedding. At Rhodes Estate. Tomorrow at four o’clock. He’s going through with it.”

“But...” I sputtered. “Who did he choose? Who is he marrying?”

“There’s no bride. Just him, standing at the altar. Waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.

“For you, darling. He’s hoping you’ll show up.”

Shit. Callan was going through with the wedding. The one we’d planned together. And he was, what, going to stand there like an idiot on the off chance that I might come. The man was clearly delusional.

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “He can’t seriously think I’ll just... what? Show up and marry him after everything that happened?”

“I don’t think he knows what to expect, but he’s taking a stand. Literally, at an altar. He’s hoping the right person shows up.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

“Then he looks like a fool in front of two hundred of Manhattan’s elite,” Vivian shrugged. “Which, between us, might do his ego some good. But I don’t think that’s what will happen.”

“You seem very confident.”

“I’m old, darling. At my age, you learn to recognize the real thing when you see it.

” She reached across the desk to pat my hand.

“What you and Callan have, whatever you want to call it, is the real thing. Messy and complicated and terrifying, yes, but real. Sometimes love isn’t a pretty gift box with a neat bow on top.

Sometimes it’s a disaster in a three-piece suit with commitment issues and a god complex.

Sometimes it’s the man whose been by your side through thick and thin. ”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Part of me wanted to believe her, to rush to Rhodes Estate and find Callan and.

.. what? Forgive everything because he was making a grand, romantic gesture?

Another part, the professional, practical part that had protected me since Austin, warned that nothing fundamental had changed.

Callan still didn’t believe in love. He still saw relationships as transactions.

Standing at an altar didn’t change that.

“I appreciate you coming here, and the muffins. But I don’t think I can do what you’re asking.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything,” Vivian clarified, rising from her chair with the same elegant grace with which she’d sat down.

“I’m merely providing information. What you do with it is entirely your choice.

The wedding is at four o’clock tomorrow.

Rhodes Estate. The staff has instructions to let you in if you decide to come. ”

She moved toward the door, then paused, turning back to me. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re exactly what my grandson needs. Not because you’ll fix him, no one can do that but himself, but because you make him want to be better. That’s rare, Anica. Rarer than you might think.”

With that, she swept out of my office, leaving me alone with a basket of delicious-smelling muffins and a head full of confusion.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a daze, going through the motions of work while my mind replayed Vivian’s visit on a loop. Callan was going through with the wedding. He would be standing at the altar tomorrow, alone, all because he hoped I might show up.

It was insane. Irrational. Completely contrary to the calculated, controlled man I thought I knew.

Which was exactly why it kept worming its way into my heart, past all my carefully constructed defenses.

By six o’clock, the office was empty except for me.

Mari had left with a suspiciously knowing smile and a “Don’t stay too late, boss.

Big day tomorrow. Lots of... stuff happening.

Wedding stuff. For other people. Not you.

Unless...” to which I’d thrown a stress ball at her head with enough force to qualify for a junior varsity javelin team.

Devonna had left too, but not before placing a sealed envelope on my desk that she instructed me not to open until she was gone.

Inside, I’d found a detailed schedule for tomorrow, including a 2:00 PM hair appointment at my usual salon that I definitely hadn’t booked, with a note in Devonna’s handwriting: “Just in case. Wedding planners should always have a plan.”

I was gathering my things to leave when the front door chimed, indicating a delivery. Assuming it was the new letterhead I’d ordered last week, I called out, “Come in, just leave it by the front desk!”

“Delivery for Anica Marcel,” a voice responded. “A signature required.”

Sighing, I made my way to the reception area, where a delivery person waited with a large white box tied with a simple blue ribbon.

“I’m Anica Marcel,” I said, accepting the electronic signature pad. “What is this?”

“Special delivery,” the woman replied with a shrug. “All I know is I’m supposed to hand it directly to you and no one else. Though the guy who arranged it tipped me five hundred dollars to make sure it got to you tonight, so it must be important.”

Curious despite myself, I carried the box to my office and set it on my desk. There was no return address, no identifying information of any kind. Just my name in elegant script on a small card attached to the ribbon.

With trembling fingers, I untied the bow and lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled in layers of tissue paper, was a dress. Not just any dress, but the dress—the one I’d tried on weeks ago. The simple, elegant ivory silk gown that had made Callan look at me like I’d punched him in the gut.

Beneath the dress was a small envelope. I opened it with unsteady hands, instantly recognizing Callan’s handwriting.

Anica,

This belonged on you from the moment I saw you in it. I’ll be waiting at Rhodes Estate tomorrow at 4pm. No expectations, no pressure. But know that there’s only one bride I’ve ever imagined standing across from me, and that’s you, Anica Marcel.

Sometimes you have to stand where you’re meant to be and hope the right person shows up. I’ll be standing there tomorrow, whether you come or not, because it’s where I’m supposed to be.

Because I love you.

Yours (if you’ll have me), Callan

I sank into my chair, the note clutched in one hand while the other rested on the smooth silk of the dress. Tears filled my eyes, blurring the words.

With shaking hands, I lifted the dress from the box and held it against myself, moving to stand before the full-length mirror I kept in my office for last-minute client adjustments.

The woman who stared back at me looked nothing like the controlled, professional Anica Marcel who planned other people’s happy endings while keeping her own heart safely locked away.

This woman looked raw, vulnerable, full of hope and fear in equal measure.

She looked like someone on the verge of the biggest decision of her life.

“The thing about love,” I whispered to my reflection, echoing something I’d told countless brides but never fully believed for myself, “is that it’s a verb. A choice. One you have to make every day.”

I had less than twenty-four hours to decide if I would be at that altar tomorrow. Less than twenty-four hours to decide if I believed what Vivian had told me. That Callan was trying, in his own flawed way, to show me that he’d changed.

Less than twenty-four hours to decide if I was brave enough to risk my heart again.

To make that choice.