CHAPTER NINETEEN: WEDDING PREPARATION

Sunlight spilled lazily through the curtains, casting golden ribbons across the white sheets. Lily stirred first, the softness of the pillow cradling her cheek, the warmth beside her steady and familiar. A sleepy smile played on her lips before her eyes fluttered open. She blinked once. Then again.

Her gaze dropped to her left hand resting on the blanket.

The ring was still there.

Not a dream.

A giddy laugh bubbled in her throat as she lifted her hand, watching how the diamond caught the morning light and scattered it in tiny rainbows. She wiggled her fingers just to be sure it wasn't a hallucination. Still there. Still real. Still hers.

She turned over and immediately wrapped her arms forcefully around Lance, burying her face against his chest. He gave a soft, confused grunt, halfway between sleep and wakefulness.

"Lily?" His voice was rough with sleep, his arms instinctively pulling her closer. "Everything okay?"

"You're real. This is real," she murmured, grinning into his skin. "I'm engaged."

"Mmm," he said groggily, nuzzling into her hair. "You are. And I'm the lucky one."

She stayed there a moment longer, content to bask in it. Then her eyes lit up with new urgency. "Wait—I need to tell Dad and Auntie Claire!"

She rolled away reluctantly, grabbing her phone from the nightstand and dialling her father. As it rang, she glanced at Lance, who was now watching her with an amused, half-awake expression.

"Dad!" she exclaimed the moment he picked up. "I'm engaged! Lance proposed last night!"

There was a pause. Then came her father's calm, smiling voice: "I know, sweetheart."

"You—what?"

"We've known for a while. He asked us for our blessing weeks ago."

She blinked, speechless. Then quickly switched to another call. "Auntie Claire?"

"Let me guess," Claire said, barely holding back a laugh. "You said yes."

"You knew too?!"

"We've all been waiting for you to catch up."

Lily turned slowly to Lance, who was now fully awake and propped up on one elbow, trying and failing to look innocent.

"You planned this and already went to my family? How come I didn't catch on?"

He gave a lazy smile and reached out to pull her back into the crook of his arm. "Because I know how to keep a secret. And because I wanted it to be a bit of a surprise."

Lily stared at him, stunned for half a second—then burst into laughter, burying her face in his shoulder. "You sneaky, romantic bastard."

"I try," he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "And for once, the plan worked."

Later that morning, after a lazy breakfast on the balcony and a few more kisses than either of them counted, Lance folded away his phone and looked at Lily with a quiet smile.

"I spoke to the hospital. Finch and Lin can cover me for another week if we want to stay longer."

Lily paused mid-sip of her espresso. "Really?"

He nodded. "If you're up for it… I thought maybe we could go exploring. There are places here I've always felt drawn to."

Lily set her cup down slowly. "You still have the memory of the life you stayed behind in Italy. It must have changed a lot. It will be fun to find traces of what was."

The next few days passed in a sunlit blur of cobblestone streets and forgotten alleyways. They wandered through crumbling monasteries and quiet seaside villages, Lance occasionally pausing with a strange look on his face—like déjà vu that never fully surfaced. Lily watched him with quiet fascination, sometimes scribbling notes in her little journal, as if writing down fragments of a memory neither of them could fully grasp.

They returned to Brookehurst a few days later, sun-kissed and quieter. Not from sadness—but from a strange peace, as if the deities had finally given their approval. A thread had been tugged at in Italy, the continuation of a story that took centuries scripting.

The taxi ride from the airport was cozy and quiet, Lily leaning her head against Lance's shoulder, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her engagement ring.

When the cab slowed in front of her apartment building, Lily straightened and turned to him.

"This is me."

"I know," Lance said with a faint smile, already unbuckling his seatbelt so he could walk her to the door. "You sure you don't want me to come up?"

She smirked. "You just spent weeks with me, Dr. Davis. Are you getting separation anxiety already?"

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Maybe."

She lingered at the open door, one foot on the curb, and looked back at him. "Call me when you get home?"

"Always."

With a last smile, she stepped out. Lance pulled her suitcase behind her to her door and waited until she was safely inside the apartment before going back to the car and the taxi rolled on toward his apartment, the city of Brookehurst slowly blooming around him.

Back in their own spaces—but no longer alone.

* * *

The soft clatter of Lily's keyboard filled her sunlit living room, a half-drunk mug of tea going cold beside her. A new manuscript file sat open, its title already decided, but her fingers hovered hesitantly above the keys. For once, she wasn't rushing to escape into a story.

Her phone buzzed, and she leaned over to answer it.

"Hey, Marla," she said, smiling as her editor's voice came through.

"Hey, stranger. Back from your romantic European getaway?"

Lily laughed. "Back and very much engaged."

"Oh my god, finally!" Marla squealed. "You know I read The Garden Where Time blooms and knew. I could tell something was different with you. Like, emotionally elevated."

Lily twirling her ring with a grin. "Anyway, how's the manuscript? Are you still crying over the second-last chapter?"

"I was, but now I'm crying over how close we are to press," Marla said dramatically. "We've moved into final copyedits. It's looking beautiful, Lily. Really—your best work yet."

That pulled a soft breath from her chest. "Thanks. I poured a lot of old dreams into that one."

"And from what you sent me last week," Marla continued, "it looks like you're already working on your next one? The tone's… quieter. More patient. Almost like you're not in a rush anymore."

"I'm not," Lily said honestly. "This time, I want to take my time. I've got a wedding to plan."

"Oh, that's why I haven't gotten a midnight draft dump in two weeks."

"Exactly," Lily said, chuckling. "You'll get pages eventually. But right now, I'm learning to be present in the life I always dreamed about. No fast-forwards."

Marla's voice softened. "You deserve it."

"I think so too."

As the call ended, Lily turned back to her laptop. The blinking cursor waited, patiently. This time, she'd let it.

Later that week; lily could not hold her nerves as they went to meet Lance's family. The air smelled of sea salt and jasmine as they stepped out of the car in front of a coastal house with wide windows and blooming hydrangeas. Lance led Lily by the hand, his pace slowing slightly.

"She's… a lot," he warned, meaning his mother. "In a good way. And Ellie is probably going to scream when she sees you."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Scream?"

"You're her favourite author."

The door burst open before Lance could knock.

"LANCE!"

A dark-haired teenager practically flung herself out the door, arms flailing. "You didn't tell me you were bringing her!"

Lily blinked. "Hi, you must be Ellie."

"You're Lily Storm! I read Midnight Encounter twice! I cried in the lunchroom!"

Lance's mom appeared behind her daughter, brushing flour off her apron. "Ellie, let them inside." Then she beamed at Lily. "You must be the miracle. We've heard everything about you."

Lily flushed as the woman pulled her into a warm hug.

His dad followed, less expressive but kind-eyed, offering a handshake. "We're glad you're here," he said. "Our son's been different—happier."

The afternoon passed in laughter, photo albums, and storytelling. Ellie insisted on reading Lily a passage from one of her books out loud, voice trembling with excitement. Lance's mother brought out an old baby photo of Lance in a duck costume, which Lily vowed to hold onto forever. His father grilled in the backyard while Lance snuck glances at Lily like she was made of sunlight.

Later that evening, with the stars stretching across the horizon, Lance whispered, "This is what I always imagined. A life with you."

Lily looked at him, the echo of lifetimes in her eyes.

"And we're finally living it."

Over the next six months, life unfolded like petals in spring, slow and beautiful. Every weekend brought a new decision — floral arrangements, guest lists, dress fittings, venues, and colour palettes. Lance wasn't much help with colours ("What's the difference between blush and rose again?"), but he made up for it by attending every food tasting, laughing through each one with exaggerated chef critiques.

"We should definitely serve the beetroot risotto," he said once, eyes wide with faux seriousness. "Because nothing says eternal love like pink rice."

Lily snorted into her wine. "You're lucky you're cute."

Their planner joked they were the least stressful couple she'd ever worked with. But what helped most was that they kept sneaking away from the pressure—on little dates, and sometimes longer escapes. A weekend in Kyoto during cherry blossom season.

A cabin by a lake where they cooked together and read books beside a fireplace.

A spontaneous road trip with no destination—just winding roads, old songs, and each other.

They had picnics in hospital courtyards. Late-night takeout in Lance's office when he couldn't leave. Love bloomed in between it all—in pockets of time, in quiet understanding.

Lily's book launched in early spring.

It exploded.

The story—about two souls separated by time and healed by love—resonated deeply with readers. The media loved the timing of it: the author, a cancer survivor herself, now engaged to her real-life doctor. She blushed through every interview.

Her book tour was a whirlwind of travel and fan events. In every signing, someone cried.

"You gave me hope," one woman whispered, clutching the book like it was sacred.

"You reminded me what love can be," said another.

At one crowded event, she caught sight of Lance in the back, arms crossed, smiling softly. He never wanted the spotlight but he was still showed up… always there.

Lance, meanwhile, was a constant figure at the Oncology Centre. He took on cases with his usual focus, combining evidence-based medicine with complementary therapies from Dr. Lin. He was known for sitting with patients longer than most surgeons ever did. Some said the hospital itself had become warmer since Lily entered his life. Children painted murals in the pediatric ward now.

Lily had even donated her time to run a creative writing session for survivors.

And patients who were too sick to travel got signed copies of The Garden Where Time blooms delivered with herbal tea kits.

But what Lily didn't know—what no one knew—was that every other evening, after hospital rounds, Lance would drive out to the suburbs.

Tucked beyond the city's edge, hidden behind a row of pine trees, was a plot of land slowly transforming. He had gotten it way earlier and only recently did he start his mission.

There, foundation beams rose from the earth.

Workers came and went, swearing secrecy.

Architectural plans were rolled tight in Lance's bag—ones he never showed to Lily.

He stood on the edge of the construction site some evenings, coat fluttering in the wind, eyes thoughtful.

When his phone buzzed — "Coming soon?" from Lily — he always smiled and typed back:

"On my way. Always."

Weeks before the wedding, Lance picked Lily up just after sunrise. He didn't tell her where they were going, only that she should dress comfortably and bring nothing but herself.

They drove in easy silence, music humming low, fingers intertwined across the centre console. The city slowly gave way to stretches of quiet suburb, roads flanked by pine trees and wildflowers.

Lily leaned against the window, watching the scenery shift. "You're being suspiciously quiet," she teased.

"I'm just enjoying the moment," Lance said, but the little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth gave him away.

Eventually, he turned down a long, freshly paved driveway. Nestled between tall trees and climbing roses stood a newly built two-story house, soft cream with pale stone accents and wide windows that gleamed under the morning light. Flowerbeds framed the pathway—sunflowers, lavender, white lilies, forget-me-nots—all still catching morning dew.

Lily stepped out slowly. "What is this place?" she asked.

Lance said nothing at first. He walked to one of the garden beds and plucked a small bloom, tucking it behind her ear.

Then he held out his hand. "Come inside."

The door opened into a light-filled foyer that smelled faintly of cedar. The floors were a warm wood tone. The walls were a calming ivory, not bare but waiting. Tall bookshelves lined one side of the living room already half-filled with medical texts and blank journals. The kitchen had golden brass fixtures, a centre island with dark green cabinetry, and a sunlit nook with space for two mugs and lazy Sunday mornings.

Lily turned slowly, taking it all in. "Lance…" she whispered. Her voice cracked slightly. "This is exactly how I imagined it."

He stepped beside her, watching her face more than the house. "Is that why you kept asking me what I wanted our future home to look like?" she asked, half-laughing, half-sobbing. "You were building it the whole time?"

He nodded. "I thought we'd start the house later, after the wedding…" she trailed off.

"I didn't want to wait," he said simply. "Not a day, not a second. I want to wake up here with you. I want our life to begin right here, right now."

Lily wiped at her cheeks with the sleeves of her cardigan. "It surpasses anything I imagined."

"You can change anything," Lance added quickly. "Paint colours, furniture, layout. It's our house."

She turned and wrapped her arms around him. "It already feels like home."

He led her through the kitchen and opened the back doors.

The backyard was enormous, lush and filled with wildflowers—violet, coral, butter yellow—rolling gently in the breeze. Toward the back, a wooden terrace extended out, wide and inviting. It held a cozy set of outdoor couches arranged around a stone fire pit, cushions in soft earth tones, with a low table made for late dinners under the stars. Twinkle lights curled around the beams above.

Lily walked barefoot onto the terrace, the wind lifting her hair. She turned; eyes glassy. "You built us a dream."

Lance walked over, slipped his arms around her waist from behind, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

"I built us a beginning."

They sat together on the outdoor couch as the sun began to dip below the trees, casting the garden in amber light. Lily had her head on Lance's shoulder, her hand resting over his heart, feeling the steady beat that had once only been part of a dream.

The silence between them was soft, like a favourite song winding to a close.

Lance turned his head slightly, speaking into her hair. "Are you ready," he murmured, "to be Mrs. Davis?"

Lily lifted her eyes to meet his, her smile small but luminous. "I've never been so ready for anything."

He grinned, brushing his thumb along her jaw. "Good. Because I've never been so impatient for something in my entire life."

Lily laughed, tilting her face up so their foreheads touched. "Just one more week."

"One week too long," Lance whispered.

They sat there as the sky turned to twilight and the stars began to gather, wrapped in quiet joy and the promise of forever.

In the final week, between final dress fittings and seating chart edits, Lily and Lance took time to deliver invitations personally — wanting to look each friend in the eye and say, you've been part of our story.

Nurse Ayesha squealed when she opened the envelope, hugging Lily so tightly it made her laugh.

Dr. Kael winked and said, "About time," before pocketing the invite and reminding Lance he owed him a dance.

Dr. Lin teared up quietly, pressing her hands together in prayer.

Dr. Finch grumbled good-naturedly, "I'll only come if there's cake."

At Lily's publishing house, her editor burst into tears the second she saw the envelope.

Her assistant started planning a matching outfit immediately.

Even the janitor, who always read her books in the breakroom, smiled and said, "You're going to be late if you cry this much."