4
Bethany's POV
The rhythmic hum of my sewing machine filled the room, the sound was comforting as it tuned out every other sound. I was in my element, surrounded by swatches of silk and lace materials, pins,thread and needles scattered across the table in a total mess.
The design on my sketch pad was finally coming to life—a bold evening gown with intricate beadwork that I sincerely hoped would catch the attention of Kensington & Co, one of the most prestigious fashion houses in New York.
This was my shot, my chance to take my career to the next level,,to be a high rated fashion designer like I have always wanted.
My phone buzzed on the edge of the table, pulling my attention. It was a spam email from some company.
"So annoying…" I muttered, my eyes rolling slightly.
Shaking off the annoyance, I turned my attention back to the gown. I wasn't going to let a random email get on my nerves. Not when I was so close to finishing this piece. I needed to stay focused.
The phone buzzed again.
This time, it was Mason. I could feel my face turn pink from blushing at his text.
Mason: "Dinner with your mom tonight, right? I'll pick you up at 7."
Me: "Yep! I can't wait babe." I typed back
I sat down and continued sewing. It was still four hours till 6pm though, and I had no idea what I was going to wear and I still had to fix my make-up so I had to round this up as fast as I could.
By late afternoon, my hands ached from hours of stitching tiny beads onto the bodice. The delicate work had left my fingers stiff, the tips slightly tender from the needle pricks, but the dress was worth every ounce of pain. I leaned back in my chair, flexing my fingers and letting out a satisfied sigh as I looked at my work. The gown was nearly finished, and it was stunning—layers of shimmering fabric, intricate beadwork catching the soft light.
A knock at the door startled me out of my thoughts.
"Who's there?"
"Meeee," came the unmistakable sing-song response. I didn't even need to see her face; I'd know that voice anywhere.
"Do you want to stand by the door forever? Get your ass in here!" I called, smiling.
The door creaked open, and Lily's head popped in, her sharp eyes sweeping across the room before landing on the gown. Her jaw dropped.
"Wow," she said, stepping fully inside. Her voice was hushed like she was standing in front of a masterpiece in a museum. "Holy Moly, I love this. This is… beautiful."
"I know, right?" I said, unable to hold back a grin. "It's for the Kensington submission. I really hope they like it."
"They'd be insane not to like this," she said, flopping onto the couch like she owned the place. "I mean, if I could design and sew like you, Queen Elizabeth would've been my exclusive client. No offense to your other customers." She winked, earning a long laugh from me.
"Please," I said, rolling my eyes, though I couldn't hide the blush creeping up my cheeks. It felt good to be appreciated. And deep down, I knew she wasn't wrong. I'm a badass at what I do.
"So," she said, crossing her legs and leaning back. "How's everything else? Wedding chaos under control yet?"
I hesitated, letting out a small huff. "Not really. It's harder than I expected, honestly. It feels like I'm the only one who cares about the whole preparation. But it'll be fine," I added quickly, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.
"And Mason?"
I stiffened.
"He's fine," I said lightly, avoiding her gaze and busying myself by tidying up the fabric scraps on my work table.
"Uh-huh," she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. "Fine, huh? And how, exactly, is he helping? Because, babe, you shouldn't be going through all this stress alone."
"He helps," I said, sharper than I intended.
Her brows shot up. "Yikes. Okay, sorry I asked."
I sighed, dropping the fabric in my hands. "Lily, please don't start."
"Start what?" she asked, feigning innocence and raising her hands like she was surrendering. "Listen, I'm just saying, I'm worried about you. You look exhausted. I mean, you're juggling a wedding, your career, and this masterpiece of a dress. You've gotta slow down, my love."
I nodded, avoiding her piercing gaze. "It's just… a lot. You know how it is."
She studied me for a moment, her playful demeanor softening into something tender. "Okay, babes.. But if something's bothering you—really bothering you—you'll tell me, right? We'll figure it out together, no matter what."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. "Of course."
She stood and pulled me into a hug, her arms warm and comforting.I let myself relax in her arms .
"I love you, Lily," I mumbled into her shoulder.
"Prove it by sending me fifty percent of Mason's wealth after the wedding," she said, her voice muffled against my hair.
I snorted, pulling back to slap her arm. "You're the worst."
"Ouch!" she cried dramatically, clutching her arm. "I hate you."
We burst into laughter, the kind that made my sides ache and my heart feel a little lighter.
When Mason arrived to pick me up, I was practically buzzing with excitement. It had been one of those long, dragging days where the hours seemed to stretch endlessly, but now, as I caught sight of his sleek black car pulling up to the curb, the day's weariness melted away.
He stepped out before I could even reach the car door, rounding it with his usual confident ease.He opened the door for me, a small, warm smile playing on his lips.
"Hey, beautiful," he said, leaning in to kiss my cheek as I slid into the passenger seat. His cologne—woodsy and clean—wrapped around me.
"Hi," I managed, my voice just a touch too soft, betraying the butterflies that had taken flight in my stomach. He gave me a quick once-over, his smile widening. "You look stunning tonight."
"Thanks," I replied, brushing an imaginary speck of lint off my dress in an effort to distract myself from the way his words made my heart race.
He shut the door gently and moved back to the driver's side.The engine purred to life, and we were off.
For a while, we drove in comfortable silence. Mason rested one hand on the steering wheel, the other casually draped over the gearshift. I stole glances at him, admiring the sharp angles of his face, the way his jawline caught the light.
"How was your day?" I asked eventually, breaking the silence.
"Busy," he said with a small chuckle. "You know how it is—meetings, emails, more meetings. But I've been looking forward to tonight all day."
My heart fluttered at that. "Me too."
The rest of the drive passed quickly, and before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of my mom's house. She'd been looking forward to dinner with Mason for weeks now, and I couldn't blame her. He had this way of charming everyone he met, and my mom was no exception.
Inside, the evening unfolded exactly as I'd expected. Mason was his usual attentive, engaging self—laughing at my mom's jokes, asking her thoughtful questions about her garden, even complimenting her cooking with genuine enthusiasm. I watched him from across the table, feeling a swell of pride and affection.
He was so good at this—at making people feel seen, heard, and valued. It was one of the things I loved most about him. My mom, of course, adored him. By the end of the night, she was practically glowing, and I couldn't help but feel a little silly proud for choosing to spend the rest of my life with him.
As we said our goodbyes, my mom hugged him tightly, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh softly. When she turned to hug me, she gave me a knowing smile.
The drive back to my apartment was quieter. Mason reached over at one point, taking my hand in his and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Tonight was nice," he said softly, his eyes briefly darting to mine before returning to the road.
"It was," I agreed, squeezing his hand back.
When we pulled up outside my building, he shifted into park but didn't immediately cut the engine. His phone buzzed in the cupholder, breaking the stillness.
I glanced at it instinctively, catching a glimpse of the screen before he flipped it face-down.
"Work," he said casually, his tone light but his jaw tightening ever so slightly.
I tilted my head, studying him. "Always busy," I teased, forcing a small smile to my lips.
"Occupational hazard," he replied, matching my smile but not quite meeting my eyes.
"Goodnight," I said softly, my hand resting lightly on his cheek.
"Goodnight," he replied, his voice equally soft.
I slipped out of the car and walked up to my apartment, the cool night air brushing against my skin. I didn't turn around to watch him drive away, but I heard the engine rev and the sound of his car pulling away, the noise echoing down the quiet street.