Page 53 of Fake To Forever

Christian reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “I know I didn’t. But I want to. You’ve been incredible, Haven, doing all of this for me, for Oliver, and for your mom. I wanted to give you something that feels real. Something that’s just for you.”

His words hit me right in the chest, and I’m speechless. It’s not just the trip to New York—it’s the fact that he’s paying attention, that he knows how overwhelmed I am and wants to make it easier for me. He sees me, and that’s something I didn’t expect in all of this.

“Thank you,” I whisper, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “You have no idea how much this means to me.”

Christian smiles, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. “You don’t have to thank me. Just enjoy it. Go to New York, find the perfect dress, and take some time to breathe. The rest will fall into place.”

I take a deep breath, letting his words settle over me.

“When do we leave?” I ask, a small smile creeping onto my face.

Christian’s grin returns, and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Friday morning. Everything’s already taken care of.”

I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. “You really had this all planned out, didn’t you?”

He shrugs again, but I can see the satisfaction in his eyes. “What can I say? I like to plan ahead.”

For the first time in weeks, I feel a weight lift off my shoulders. I’m going to New York with my best friend to find a wedding dress. I’m not going to think about the timeline, or the expectations, or the pressure. I’m just going to enjoy it.

***

The hum of the private jet's engines is a soft, constant background noise as we fly toward New York City. I'm glued to the window, watching the clouds roll by beneath us. It feels surreal, this whole situation—sitting in Christian's plush, leather-seated jet, a glass of champagne in hand, courtesy of a smiling flight attendant who seems to anticipate our every need.

Marie nudges me, her excitement palpable. "Can you believe this, Haven? We're flying to New York on a private jet to go wedding dress shopping. This is the life!"

I chuckle, the tension easing from my shoulders as I take another sip of champagne.

"It's definitely not how I pictured any of this going down," I admit, shaking my head in disbelief. "Christian really knows how to make a gesture, doesn't he?"

"He sure does," Marie agrees, her eyes sparkling. "And hey, you deserve this. After everything you've been through, this should be your moment to shine and feel like a princess."

Her words warm my heart, and I lean back, allowing myself to enjoy the luxury and the company of my best friend. The flight is smooth, and before I know it, we're descending into New York. The skyline comes into view, the towering buildings and bustling streets a stark contrast to the quiet small town feel of Blue Ridge. Once we land, a sleek town car is waiting to whisk us away to our hotel. The driver greets us with a polite nod, taking our bags and holding the door open for us. The ride through New York is like something out of a movie, the city alive and pulsing with energy.

We pull up to the hotel, which is every bit as lavish as I imagined. The doorman welcomes us with a bright smile, and we're quickly checked in and escorted to our suite, which has a breathtaking view of the city. The room is spacious, decorated in elegant, soothing tones, and there's a note from Christian on the bedside table next to another bottle of champagne on ice.

Haven,

Welcome to New York! I hope the flight was comfortable and you're settling in well.

This weekend is all about you—enjoy every moment of it. I've arranged everything so that you and Marie can experience the best of what the city has to offer without any stress. Remember, the goal is to find the perfect dress, one that makes you feel as special and beautiful as you truly are.

I can't wait to see what you choose. I have no doubt you'll look stunning.

Take care, and have fun—you both deserve it.

Christian

My heart flutters and I can’t help the small smile that curls my lips as I reread the short note.

"Okay, let's not get too comfy," Marie says, yanking me out of my thoughts and pulling me toward the door. "We have an appointment to keep, and I can't wait to see you in a sea of beautiful dresses."

The bridal boutique is a short drive away, nestled on a quiet street lined with other high-end shops. As we enter, I'm struck by the elegance of the place. Soft music plays in the background, and the air smells faintly of fresh flowers. A friendly consultant greets us by name—Christian made sure everything was arranged down to the last detail.

"Welcome, Miss Young. We've prepared a selection of gowns based on your preferences, but feel free to browse and choose anything that catches your eye," she says, guiding us toward a sea of white and ivory.

The dresses are stunning, each one more intricate than the last. I run my fingers over the fabrics—silk, lace, satin—each texture sparking a new dream of what could be. I try on several gowns, each bringing an 'ooh' and 'ahh' from Marie, but none feel quite right.

Then, the consultant pulls a dress from the back.

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