Mr. Denver: The Version You Didn't Hear

Chapter 13

Wedding dresses.

If you’d told me last month I’d be sitting in a boutique surrounded by satin, lace, and Swarovski tiaras, watching my former secretary try on bridal gowns, I would’ve laughed and had you drug tested. But here I am, standing beside Catherine as she ran her fingers across racks of ivory elegance.

“This is a lot,” I muttered under my breath. She didn’t hear me. One of the staff—Anny—greeted us and asked what we were looking for.

“A simple wedding dress,” Catherine replied like it was just another Tuesday. When she introduced me as her fiancé, I flinched, just slightly. No ring. No truth. Just a title.

“Fiancé, huh?” I whispered as Anny stepped aside. “No ring though.”

“I’ll buy a cheap one later,” she murmured back, brushing me off.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you one.”

“You don’t need to do that.” But I would. Because even if this marriage was fake, people were watching. And Catherine was the kind of woman who shouldn’t walk into a room with an empty hand and a fake fiancé beside her. She started scanning the racks with hawk-like focus. I trailed behind her, watching.

Calm and composed. Like this didn’t mean anything, but it did. It was beginning to mean too much.

***

She picked three dresses and told Anny she was ready to try them on. I was ushered to the plush waiting area in the fitting room lounge. It was quiet, decorated like an antique dollhouse. Not my usual habitat. I sat, legs crossed, staring at the curtain.

I knew what was coming and I still wasn’t ready.

“Mr. Williams,” Anny called out. “Ms. Ashton is ready.”

The curtains opened and I instantly forgot how to breathe. She stepped out slowly, standing on a small stage beneath golden lights. The dress was a classic off-shoulder look, elegant lines, subtle shimmer at the waist, but it wasn’t the fabric that stunned me.

It was her. She looked like a woman I’d never seen before. Not the fierce Catherine. Not the sweet Dakota. But something… in between.

Something real.

“What do you think?” she asked.

I swallowed. “You look beautiful.”

She turned slightly to show me the back, her voice surprisingly tentative. “Do you like it?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You look… really beautiful.” She asked me to take pictures. I fumbled with my phone and snapped a few, pretending I wasn’t sweating through my shirt. Anny asked if she could step out to get some tiaras.

Suddenly, we were alone. She faced me again, smoothing the skirt. “So… Do you like it?” I nodded, stood up and walked toward her without even thinking.

And then I said it.

“Seeing you in this dress… makes me realize this is actually happening. That it’s going to be real. Are you sure you’re not backing out?” She blinked, stunned. I wasn’t sure why I asked it. Maybe I was fishing. Maybe I wanted her to say she was scared too. Maybe I just needed to hear that I wasn’t the only one losing control.

She nodded, so I kissed her. Softly at first and then deeper because I couldn’t stop myself. Her lips moved against mine without resistance. And for a moment, I forgot the pretense. Forgot the script. Forgot that this was supposed to be fake until we heard footsteps.

She pulled away, face flushed, and retreated toward the curtain just as Anny returned. I sat back down, breath shallow, pretending nothing had happened. She asked to try on the second dress.

I nodded like a robot as she disappeared behind the curtain. And I sat there, staring at my phone, heart pounding, brain spiraling. What the hell are you doing, Jacob?

This was fake, right? But the kiss? The way her lips lingered? The way I didn’t want to let her go? That part felt very real, and I wasn’t sure if that scared me more than the wedding itself.