Page 123 of Every Shattered Note
The wedding of doom has officially ended.
No one died.
No one fainted.
And—miraculously—no one sued.
Which, considering the coral-and-yellow apocalypse that nearly swallowed the Waterfront Hotel whole, it feels like divine intervention.The bride cried tears of joy instead of despair.The groom stopped scanning the exits like he was plotting a prison break.Jules didn’t strangle anyone with a satin sash.The cake stayed upright.The quartet showed up, miraculously in tune.And every guest left convinced it had been “magical.”
If only they knew.
Now that the ballroom’s cleared and the last crates have been hauled away, I’m standing outside in heels that feel like medieval torture devices and a dress I don’t remember putting on right before the ceremony started.The night air brushes against my skin, cool and unforgiving after hours drenched in perfume and panic.
Dex is beside me.
He never left.
Which is both ridiculous and dreamy in equal measure—because who stays through a seven-hour meltdown of color changes, crying brides, and floral casualties?
He leans against a sleek black SUV, sleeves rolled, shirt unbuttoned dangerously, looking like he belongs in another world—or maybe like he’s the only part of mine that finally stopped spinning.His hair’s tied back loosely, a few strands escaping to brush his temple.The top buttons of his charcoal shirt are undone, revealing just enough skin to make my pulse stutter.A faint trace of cologne clings to the air—something woodsy, warm, and unfairly grounding.
When he looks at me, his smile is soft, quiet, worn around the edges.
“You survived, wedding planner.”
“Barely, wedding crasher,” I manage, my voice hoarse from a day spent holding everyone else together.“No one ever told me coral had the power to ruin lives.”
“You can’t deny it added character,” he teases.“And I didn’t know brides could cry in four different octaves.”
That earns him a laugh—a real one.It slips out before I can stop it, fragile but free.I thought I’d used up every bit of energy hours ago.Turns out he’s still capable of wringing something human out of me.
“You have no idea what you walked into,” I say.“That might teach you not to crash another one of my events.”
“Oh, I knew,” he says, stepping closer, his voice low, amused.“I just didn’t care.What mattered was seeing you again.”
My breath stutters.For a second, everything narrows—the traffic hum, the hotel lights, even the ache in my feet.Just him, looking at me like I’m something he’s been trying to find for too long.
He opens the car door with a small gesture, his palm brushing my back as I climb in.The leather seats are soft and cool, and the faint scent of cedar and ocean air wraps around me.He slides in beside me, the door shutting with a muted thud that seals the world out.
Dex leans back, giving a quiet nod to the driver.The car pulls away from the curb, city lights streaking past like a half-forgotten dream.He exhales, long and low, like he’s finally letting the day drain out of him.
“While we’re on the way to my place,” he says softly, “you should sleep.”
“I can’t.”I tilt my head against the seat, watching his reflection in the window.“I’m too wired.Adrenaline.Or trauma.”
His mouth curves slightly.“Yellow-coral trauma,” he murmurs.“It’s real.You’ll need counseling.”
I snort.“Maybe you can recommend a therapist.”
“I already did.”His gaze meets mine, steady and warm.“Me.”
“Terrible idea.”
“Probably.”His voice drops, quieter now, almost tender.“But I’m not leaving you to recover alone.”
The car hums beneath us, the world outside reduced to blurred light and distant noise.He doesn’t reach for me, doesn’t crowd the space—but his closeness hums like a song I know too well.It’s been too long since someone’s silence felt this safe.
I close my eyes, pretending I’m not about to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.
