HERMIONE
The moment Dylan announced we were officially engaged, everything changed. Suddenly, the whirlwind of planning a wedding swept me off my feet in ways I hadn't expected — a dizzying mix of excitement, nerves, and pure joy.
Today, we were meeting Vivienne Rousseau, Dylan's wedding planner — the kind of woman whose reputation preceded her like a royal herald. She entered Dylan's office with the confidence of a queen, radiating power and elegance, carrying a leather-bound portfolio that promised magic.
I settled on Dylan's lap as Vivienne introduced herself, her French accent curling around every word. Dylan's hand wrapped possessively around my waist, and I let myself relax, feeling safe and loved.
"We're going to create a wedding that will be talked about for years to come," Vivienne said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "A celebration of your love — grand, elegant, unforgettable."
I smiled against Dylan's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. His fingers traced slow patterns along my back, and I couldn't help but think: this was real. We were really doing this.
Vivienne pulled out a sleek tablet filled with stunning images: sprawling gardens with glowing lanterns, glittering ballrooms dripping with crystal chandeliers, and tables dressed in the richest reds and golds I had ever seen.
"Our venue will be a historic estate just outside the city," she explained, scrolling through pictures. "The kind of place where time seems to pause — perfect for a sunset ceremony in the garden, with lanterns lighting the way."
Dylan kissed the top of my head and whispered, "You'll be the most beautiful bride anyone's ever seen."
I looked up at him, heart fluttering. "And you'll be the most handsome groom."
Vivienne laid out more details — over three hundred guests, lavish floral arrangements of deep red roses, and a custom gown from a Parisian couture house. I swallowed hard, imagining a silk and lace dress with a cathedral-length veil embroidered with my family's crest.
The thought was almost overwhelming. I'd never dreamed I'd have this — a celebration worthy of the love we'd fought so hard for.
"Transportation will be in style," Vivienne said, glancing at Dylan with a knowing smile. "Your brand-new car will be waiting to escort you, and a fleet of luxury vehicles for your guests."
I tightened my grip on Dylan's hand. He grinned, his eyes dark with tenderness. "Every detail perfect. Just like you."
Throughout the meeting, Dylan's whispered promises never stopped.
"Mrs. Voss," he murmured once, and I laughed softly, nuzzling closer.
Outside the window, the city moved on, but in that room — on Dylan's lap, wrapped in his arms — the world shrank down to just us and the beautiful future we were creating.
Later that evening, as we reviewed the guest list, Dylan brushed a stray hair from my face and said softly, "I can't wait to call you my wife."
My heart swelled. "And I can't wait to be yours."