“Please enjoy,” I say, leading the guests around to the reception hall for cocktail hour. Then I walk around for bit, observing them enjoying spirits and oysters before I sneak away.
The sunset photos with the family and bridal party look like something out of an upscale magazine feature highlighting the Black upper echelon of society. The welcome toasts are warm and lighthearted, filled with joyful stories of togetherness and beautiful reflections of the love Hailey and Donovan share. By the time we raise our glasses to toast, the tone is set for a joyful—and wildly hilarious—celebration.
All my expectations for a bougie, elitist, and quiet dinner with tasteful dancing go right out the window. Between the groomsmen doing a full-out choreographed pop-and-lock dance, and the bridesmaids peeling off their shoes and half their dresses for a super-risqué lap-dance routine on the groomsmen in the middle of the wooden dance floor, I can’t believe this is the magic of the grand balloon chandelier. But who knows, maybe the Ellswood elite has grown more progressive.
“What in the world?” I say, laughing.
Well, maybe we wouldn’t say they’ve progressedthatfar.
Meanwhile, the Livingston brothers are all smiles now, defying the matriarch.
Quickly, I run over to the deejay and request a few playlist changes leading up to the cake cutting. He’s bent over in stitches. “I’ve got you. Don’t worry.”
But I do.
Even though the night is winding down, I’m still looking out for the hitch, the thing that could ruin it all, and silently praying that with any luck, the more conservative guests will start to filter out before the sparkler send-off.
Hopefully.
Except when I glance over at Cornelia, dressed in all black—in protest of the way she’s been treated by “this new generation,” as I heard her say to one of her snooty Zion & Zara board members—she beelines straight for me, her precision-arched eyebrows shooting up to the edges of her neatly coiffed, curler-set gray hair.
“Bring it on,” I say under my breath just before she reaches me. “Cornelia—”
“You think you’ve won?” she scoffs, teeth clenched. “Watch me make your life hell if you don’t—”
“Don’t what, Cornelia?” I cut her off, standing firm. Then, for optics, I fake a loud, exaggerated laugh, before I lean in, wrapping my arm around her, my mouth mere centimeters from her ear. “Listen closely. I know how much you love to make threats,” I whisper as she struggles against my hold, but I don’t let go. “Everyone saw theslap heard ’round the worldonThe Morning Tea. And believe me, most of Ellswood is tired of you trying to rewrite this city’s history. You’ve publicly slandered the divorcétante’s character—and, well, I could sue for defamation and libel, couldn’t I?” I pause, letting the weight of my words sink in. “Or I wonder how people would react if they knew your involvement in conspiracy to commit arson and insurance fraud?”
I release her, letting out another cheery laugh. “Oh, thank you, Cornelia, for that little reminder. Everything’s turned out so lovely, hasn’t it?” Then I lock eyes with her. “Stay away from Linc and me. Stay away from our businesses. And stay the hell away from our families.”
She mutters something I can’t quite make out.
“And please, do let me know if you need any tips on rebranding,” I say as I walk away, hiding in the corner for the best vantage point to suss out trouble, but then my phone vibrates from the outside pocket of my Ever After Essentials Kit. When I pull it out and look at the new message, my heart rams against my chest.
Lincoln
I’m done thinking.
Then the tiny ellipses pop onto the screen, and I can’t breathe.
“Hey!” Hailey startles me when I look up and discover her directly in my face. “Do you think you can help me with something in the foyer? Someone said there’s something wrong with the door…” She shrugs, like it’s no big deal.
And to her, it probably isn’t. How could she know that my heart is playing a snare drum in my ears because the love of my life is being terrifyingly vague right now?
Still, I say, “Sure,” because first things first, right? I’m a professional.
We move at a brisk pace, weaving through the guests, out through the double doors to the reception hall, and into the foyer, where…
“Linc?”
Moisture gathers in my mouth.
I study his handsome features, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, his easy charm as his gaze sweeps appraisingly over me. He’s standing in the doorway in a sharp, sleek black tuxedo looking like a devastatingly handsome prince.
My prince.
His Adam’s apple bobs, and he traces his tongue over his lower lip.
For a moment, I allow myself to feel the electricity buzzing over my skin. To believe he’s here because we want the same thing. But only for a moment.
