Chapter 15 The sunlight spilled through the windows of my studio, scattering golden light across bolts of fabric, finished gowns, and unfinished sketches. I was kneeling beside a mannequin, adjusting the hem of a white lace dress I had finished last night-my own design. My hands trembled slightly, but not because of nerves. No. Because for the first time in a long time, I was happy. Truly happy. "Next week," I whispered to myself with a breathless smile. "I'm getting married." "Talking to mannequins again?" Scott's teasing voice made me turn, and he leaned on the doorway holding two cups of coffee and a freshly baked pastry from the café down the street. "I have to rehearse my vows somehow," I said, laughing as I took the coffee and bit into the flak treat. "Besides, she listens better than I do." He walked toward me and pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Your shop looks amazing. I still can't believe the opening is tomorrow." My stomach fluttered at the reminder. Tomorrow. After all the planning and tears and countles: nights doubting myself, the store would finally open. I had a team. A brand. A future. All the things I once gave up for a man who never truly saw me. Scott, though he always did. "I'm nervous," I admitted, tugging on the sleeve of my blouse. "What if no one shows up?" "They will," Scott said without hesitation. "Because you're Taylor. The Taylor. People remembe you-even if you think they don't. And besides, I'll be there, cheering the loudest." I looked up at him, my heart swelling. "I don't deserve you." "Yes, you do," he said firmly. "More than anyone else." The next day arrived in a flurry of ribbons, flowers, and soft chatter from my new staff. I stood near the door in a pale blush jumpsuit, welcoming the first guests, heart pounding. And then… they came. Faces I hadn't seen in years. Former clients. Bloggers. Fashion students. Customers who used to follow my work before I disappeared into silence. They had heard I was designing again-and they showed up. The boutique buzzed with life. Cameras clicked. Compliments flew. "I thought you were done designing!" one woman gasped. "I was," I answered truthfully. "But I found myself again." More accurately, someone helped me find myself again. Scott stayed by my side, giving little waves to guests, helping with champagne glasses, guiding press toward the PR rep we hired. He looked so natural beside me, like he had always been a part of this dream. Like it was never just mine. As the evening wore on, I finally found a moment to breathe in the back of the boutique, behind a curtain of satin gowns. Scott walked in, loosened his tie, and leaned against the wall with a grin. "Told you they'd come." "I'm still in shock," I whispered, pressing my hand to my chest. "I thought I lost this world. That once I gave it up, I couldn't come back." He crossed the room, took my hands, and gently kissed my knuckles. "They didn't forget you. And even if they did, I would've reminded the world who you are." I smiled, leaning forward until our foreheads touched. "You're kind of annoyingly perfect, you know that?" "I get that a lot." He chuckled. "But only from you." I kissed him, soft and sure, and he kissed me back, arms wrapping tightly around my waist like I was something to be held, not hidden. "You're going to be famous again after this," he whispered against my lips. "Are you ready?" "I am," I said. "Let them find me. Let them see me. But they can never be with me again.. because next week, I'm marrying you." His smile was boyish and crooked and so full of love, it knocked the air out of me. "God, I can't wait to say my vows," he murmured. "Then practice now," I teased. "Alright," he said dramatically. He cleared his throat, placed his hand over his chest. "Taylor, m queen, the light of my life, the reason I now believe in fate-will you let me be the man who brings you coffee every morning, helps hem your gowns at midnight, and flirts with you until we're old and wrinkled?" I laughed, shoving his shoulder. "That's your opening line?" 'I'm still editing," he grinned. "But you smiled. That's a win." He leaned in again and kissed me slower this time, deeper. Like the world didn't matter, like the ghosts of the past couldn't touch us anymore. The next morning, we were back at it-this time, for our wedding. Invitations had already been sent, and now I stood barefoot on the boutique floor, staring at the list of final tasks we had tc accomplish. Scott held up two bow ties in front of the mirror. "Navy or champagne?" tilted my head. "Champagne. Matches your eyes better." He smirked. "Nice try, but my eyes are brown." 'Still works," I teased. My gown was almost done. I had stitched every inch of it by hand-every bead, every layer of fabric, like a vow in itself. I wanted it to be perfect. Not for the crowd. Not even for Scott. But for the version of me that once gave up everything, thinking she had nothing to offer. Now, I was offering myself in full. "Florist called," Scott said, checking his phone. "Peonies confirmed. Cake arrives Friday. Band's confirmed. Guest list… still small." I smiled softly. "Small is good. Just people who matter." He leaned in, brushing a stray thread from my shoulder. "Everything's going to be perfect."