What are you hiding, Paul Graves?
“So,” he says. “Where do we stand?”
“You brought the marriage license with you, yes?” I ask him. Hanna always has couples apply online, then bring the license to the last big planning meeting. She says she’s learned from past disasters.
“I—no,” he says. “I’ll, um, pick it up tomorrow.”
I give him a sharp look. His eyes dart, settling everywhere in the room except on mine.
“Or I can,” Eden says brightly. “I know you’ve been super busy with work.”
“It’s been a cluster,” Paul says—to me. “Haven’t had a minute to breathe. But the marriage license is obviously more important than any of that. I’ll grab it on my way out of here. You have plenty on your plate, darling.”
And now he gives her a fond look. Which should fill me—as reluctant wedding planner and Hanna’s dutiful brother—with joy.
Instead it makes me feel like my scalp is too tight.
I turn away from them and make a show of digging for the two-week checklist I need to run through with them.
“Let’s make sure we’ve got everything we need.” Eden’s wedding isn’t the first one I’ve taken over, and Hanna has spent so much time training me, you’d think lives were at stake.
Seating—check, music—check, photos—check, video—check. Check, check, check.
“Honeymoon—everything booked and confirmed?”
Eden shifts in her seat, leaning forward. “We’re delaying the honeymoon a month. I’m curating an exhibit of art quilts at Five Rivers Arts and Crafts.”
“It’s a big honor,” Paul says. He’s packed his voice full of pride, but I don’t believe it. I don’t believe anything about him, and there’s fuck all I can do about it. I hate that I’m back here, powerless to protect her.
“Well done,” I say, and it comes out like a shrug, like indifference, which is exactly what I was aiming for—and now I straight-up hate myself. But I didn’t spend all those months in that conference room and that courtroom keeping an iron thumb on my self-control so I could blow it now. My job is to make sure that Paul marries Eden two weeks from Saturday, that the wedding comes off flawlessly, that Weggers can find no evidence that I haven’t done my job to the best of my ability.
I can’t fail. Not at the expense of my family’s land and my sister’s business. No fucking way.
Which means I can’t let myself feel one goddamned thing about Eden Becker. Not about her shoulder-length yellow-blond hair or her big green eyes or her pretty plump lips. Not about her slim form and delicate curves. And definitely not about the way her mouth tips into a smile when Paul praises her.
I’m already good at this. I had months of practice. I’m a pro at ignoring Eden Becker.
Two weeks, Rhys. Get through two weeks, and you never have to see her again. You can forget she exists.
Fat fucking chance.
I look down at my checklist. There are checkmarks next to every item except the marriage license. I’m relieved…and also disappointed.
It’s a familiar feeling. I felt it every time we reached the end of a meeting with Teller, Eden, and her lawyer, Sally. I felt it every time I walked out of the courtroom, leaving Eden behind. Like I couldn’t get out of there fast enough and also like I wanted to run back in and say all the things I’d never be able to say because she was—for legal purposes—my enemy.
“Then we’re good?” Paul asks.
“We’re good,” I say. “You just need to show up for your final fittings and make sure you pick up the marriage license and be here two weeks from Saturday.”
“We can do that,” he says. “I’d better get back to the office.”
“Paul’s an oral surgeon,” Eden says.
“Ah.”
“It’s a lot of wisdom teeth,” he says. It’s self-effacing in a way that seems genuine but that I also don’t believe.
“Rite of passage,” I say, and Paul grins. He gets to his feet and holds out his hand; I take it and we shake. “Nice to meet you,” I lie. And then, the words getting ahead of my judgment: “Eden, actually, if you could stay behind for a minute, I’ll just have you fill out this one other form.”
