"Venice," came her father's familiar voice, warm and steady. "I've landed safely in Los Angeles."
"I've already spoken with Adam. He'll be waiting for you tomorrow at the Pearl Tower."
"Oh, and I brought your wedding gown—the one you chose for yourself back then."
Venice's fingers tightened around the phone, trembling slightly. "That's good, Dad. But... I've run into a bit of trouble here."
Her father had been away from Los Angeles for years; many of his old connections had gone cold. It took time and effort to pull enough strings.
By six o'clock the next morning—the day of the wedding—her father, Ronald, finally broke into the villa with a group of men, pushing past layers of guards to take his daughter away.
All the way to the venue, makeup artists and stylists worked on her frantically, racing against the clock.
...
Pearl Tower truly lived up to its reputation as Los Angeles's most exclusive Michelin-starred restaurant.
The banquet hall glittered in gold and crystal. Roses, airlifted from overseas, filled the air with fragrance, and chandeliers cast diamond-like light across the marble floors.