With those thoughts in mind, she grabbed a paper and pen from the kitchen and began to put her feelings down on paper. In the end she decided on two versions: one that was a set of vows she could recite in a timely manner; the other an outpouring of her thoughts and emotions in the form of a letter she would give to her new husband as a wedding gift later that night. Her husband. Would she ever get used to calling him that? A warmth spread through her at the realization that she would have a lifetime to find out.

When she was finally finished writing, it was nearly two o’clock. Hudson had said the ceremony was at four, which left her plenty of time to get ready. He’d offered to have the Grand Geneva Hotel send over a few members of the spa team to pamper and prepare her, but Allie had declined his sweet offer. Preserving the intimacy and privacy of the day was important to her, which meant keeping outside involvement to the bare minimum.

So instead of lying back while a bevy of white coats fluttered around her, Allie got ready for her wedding alone, with a thousand butterflies fluttering in her stomach and Frank Sinatra crooning from her iPod. She kept her makeup light and natural, the way she knew Hudson liked it, and arranged her hair in a pile of loose curls held in place with tiny, pearl-tipped pins. A few tendrils hung down to frame her face, and a pair of simple diamond studs adorned her ears. She sat back and admired her reflection. Even she had to admit she was glowing, although it had nothing to do with the bronzer she’d brushed over her cheeks and everything to do with the man she was about to meet at the altar.

Speaking of her mysterious man . . .

What the hell has he been up to all day?

There was only one way to find out, and with hair and makeup done, it was finally time to get dressed.

The walk-in closet was full of clothes, with everything from ski pants to lingerie lining both sides. At the very back hung a row of long, white garment bags. Allie unzipped them one at a time. There was no denying that the wedding dresses the store had delivered were absolutely stunning. Elegant gowns in fabrics ranging from silk to tulle, some with elaborate beading and others more simple in their stylish sophistication. Any one of them would have been a wonderful choice. But instead Allie selected a white angora sweater that hung with the more casual outfits and paired it with her favorite dark jeans. And instead of crystal Jimmy Choos she donned a pair of fur-lined boots that laced to her knee. The outfit was a far cry from the gown she was to have worn when she married Julian, and it couldn’t have been more perfect. Because today, Alessandra Sinclair wasn’t becoming the Marquise Laurent in an elaborate ceremony that was nothing more than a glorified merger. Today, Allie Sinclair was becoming Mrs. Hudson Chase in a simple exchange of vows with the man who was not only her first love, but her last.

But when she emerged from the bedroom she found the house was still empty. Hudson was nowhere to be seen, and there certainly wasn’t an altar. Perhaps he was outside again? When she reached the kitchen she opened the French doors that led to the deck. It was empty and the lanterns on the posts remained unlit. She was about to go back inside when she heard the unmistakable neigh of a horse. She followed the deck as it wrapped around to the front of the house. There, at the foot of the stairs, sat a horse-drawn sleigh. The majestic Clydesdale greeted her with a whinny and a shake of his head, causing a giggle to escape her lips.

“Right this way, Miss Sinclair,” the driver said, gesturing to the small set of stairs waiting alongside the gleaming white sleigh.

“Let me just grab a coat.”

“No need.” He reached for a white parka and held it open for her. She might have been getting married in jeans and a sweater, but her thoughtful fiancé had made sure to provide outerwear that was bridal white. “There’s a blanket on the seat,” the man added as he helped her into the coat.

Allie took his hand as she climbed into the sled. Sure enough, a luxurious, white faux-fur throw sat folded on the crushed-velvet seat. Hudson’s attention to detail astonished her, right down to the bouquet of white roses hand-tied with a wide satin ribbon.

With a snap of the reigns, they were on their way, the sleigh gliding through the woods behind the house. The sun had nearly set and the fresh snow glittered a silvery blue beneath the runners. After a few moments a small, rustic barn appeared in the distance. Through the frost-covered windowpanes, Allie could see the flicker of candles. She smiled to herself, knowing inside that barn stood the man she loved, waiting for her to walk down the aisle and into his arms. But when the door swung open, her breath caught and her steps faltered. Though she’d been thinking about this moment all day, nothing she’d imagined came close to the sight that greeted her as she walked into the barn.

Candles covered nearly every flat surface, casting the barn with a soft, warm glow. Above them tiny lights twinkled like stars stretched across the night sky, and white blooms cascaded from the hay lofts, creating the feel of an indoor winter wonderland. A white runner dotted with rose petals formed an aisle that ran from the door to the far side of the barn, where more flowers formed an arch over the minister. But it was the sight of Hudson that had her frozen, barely able to breathe, let alone walk. His eyes met hers and the smile that stretched across his face told her he felt it, too, the longing that had pulsed between them since the day they’d first met. It was a tangible force, a magnetic pull bringing them together no matter the obstacles or odds. Only now it was even more than attraction and lust and desire and need. Now it was love.

Chapter Nineteen

Fucking breathe, Hudson had to remind himself. His heart pounded in his chest like a jackhammer. Ten years and inconsequential months, hours, days, minutes, and seconds blurred into I-don’t-give-a-shit.

This was it. Showtime, Chase.

He stood at a makeshift altar under a canopy of flowers and strands of lights, surrounded by dozens of candles that cast the vintage barn in a warm glow. Beside him, the minister stood ready to perform the ceremony, while outside snow flurries had begun to fall. Hudson looked at his watch, then stole a glance through the frosted window. The woman he loved was out there somewhere in a horse-drawn sleigh. Any minute now the doors would swing open and she would walk down the white runner that stretched the length of the floor.

The thought of her standing in the doorway did nothing to ease the tightening in his chest. Hudson lifted his arm to run his hand through his hair, but caught himself. When Allie showed up, he didn’t want to look like he’d just rolled out of bed. Goddamn, he was nervous. If he’d been wearing a tie he would have straightened it, repeatedly. But in true form, Allie had surprised him yet again. So instead of a monkey suit, he stood waiting for his future wife in jeans and a cashmere sweater. His wife. The words hit him hard. He rocked back on his heels and blew out a deep breath. He was throwing off anything but cool, calm, and collected, and he needed to get a grip ASAP.

The minister chuckled. “Relax, son. It’s just you and your bride up here.”

No shit. It was just him and his bride in the whole place. Hudson rubbed his brow and a slight frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. Under different circumstances, Nick would have been standing at his side, busting his chops or cracking jokes about losing the rings. Truth was he felt like a bastard for not telling his brother what he was doing, but it was mission critical that their nuptials remained a secret. It was necessary; didn’t mean he liked it. In fact, he hated that a minister and a cellist would be the only two people to witness the moment when Alessandra Ingram Sinclair became his wife.