JJ wasn’t the type to care about wedding rules. Hell, the fact that he was even getting married still felt a little insane—him, of all people. But when you knew, you knew, and he knew her. That was all that mattered.

Still, weddings came with a lot of things neither of them gave a damn about. Fancy decorations? Pointless. A stiff, traditional venue? Not a chance. And the dress—well, she didn’t want the big, dramatic, Cinderella thing. She wanted something her—soft, flowy, covered in delicate little flowers, like a field in springtime.

Only problem?

It cost a ridiculous amount of money.

She never said it outright—never wanted to make a big deal about it—but JJ noticed. He saw the way she lingered over photos of her dream dress, the way she sighed before closing her phone, like she was already trying to convince herself it wasn’t that important.

And there was no way in hell he was letting his girl walk down the aisle in something that wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

So he figured it out.

No, they weren’t gonna blow a fortune on some overpriced dress. They were gonna make it themselves.

"Babe, trust me. This is gonna be sick."

She sat cross-legged on the wooden deck of the Château, frowning at the plain white dress spread out before them. JJ was next to her, shirt half-unbuttoned, rings clinking against the jars of fabric paint he’d somehow managed to get his hands on.

"JJ, if this goes wrong, I’ll have to walk down the aisle looking like a kindergarten art project."

He smirked. "Exactly. But, like, a hot one," he shot back, dipping his finger into the pale blue paint and dabbing a tiny dot onto the fabric.

"Too late now! No turning back."