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Yes, just packing my stuff. Going to pick it up after the wedding and bring it to yours.

Sure. Take as long as you need.

Can I bring my Samurai sword collection?

I have no way of knowing if you’re serious.

You’ll just have to wait and see.

Ha.

You’re sure about this, though? No second thoughts?

Nick. We’re good to go.

Stop being so needy.

There she is.

Really though, I appreciate you asking. If you have any questions before the wedding, you’re welcome to text me any time you want.

There isn’t a secret “no texting” clause I should know about?

I don’t believe the contract said anything about texting, no.

Good.

See you in a few days, PR girl.

Chapter 11

Sienna

I always wanted to get married, but I never dreamed of my wedding.

According to my mom, my parents’ wedding was a weekend-long bash. Cabin on a lake, local wine, live band, everything. My high school friends—those who have tied the knot, at least—all had beautiful weddings, too.

But, somehow, the party has never been important to me. I don’t fantasize about a dress, or a cake, or a dance. Instead, I imagine myself on the beach with a man I love, honeymooning and drinking out of a coconut. Just us two. Lapping waves and burning sunshine.

Party optional.

And yet here I am, seated in front of a wide mirror as a tattooed woman with thick glasses pats powder on my face, getting dolled up for a wedding I agreed to only a few days ago.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I tell Mason, who’s leaning against the wall in a dark green tux, watching. “All we need are the photos.”

It took some convincing, but both Lena and Mason will be in the audience for the wedding today. I had to promise Lena I’d take her out for the fanciest dinner possible, the kind with tiny portions and sauce served on a spoon. Mason asked for a Ferrari, but we compromised with a shopping trip.

“Oh, totally,” he deadpans, drinking from a giant tea mug with his brows raised. “I also want a whole wedding ceremony with Nick Harwood just for the photos.”

I huff a laugh. “Did you check to see if Nick and I’s picture from the diner was published online yet?”

“Yeah.” Mason pulls out his phone, scrolling. “It’s on Instagram. People in the comments are speculating that he’s finally settling down.”

“Good.”

In the picture, Nick and I are smiling at each other over the table, leaning forward like we’re being drawn together by gravity. I don’t remember sitting like that, but it makes good publicity, so I roll with it.

“Any way I can talk you out of this?” Mason says. “Signing your life away?”