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ANTON

She looks like a princess.

There was never any doubt that my baby sister was going to look anything other than spectacular on her wedding day. As a former Miss Georgia, she has the dressmaker on hand, plus all the other tools in her arsenal. But something about today is different.

Standing in this ballroom, leaning against the bar, watching as she dances with her new husband, I can honestly say that Willa looks like she stepped straight out of a fairy tale. Glowing, ethereal, and radiating a happiness that is palpable.

Nash doesn’t look half bad either.

I take a long, slow sip of my beer, keeping my attention on the newlyweds as they show off on the dance floor. Everyone around us does the same for the most part—a few side conversations taking place—as dinner winds down and we wait for the real party to start.

“When’s cake?” I ask, turning to Ewan as he nods at the bartender handing him a drink.

Little brother shakes his head, shoving some cash in the tip jar. “No clue. Why, you trying to figure out if Willa is going to smash the cake in Nash’s face or vice versa?”

I wasn’t, but now that he brought it up…

“Nope, I just want cake.”

Because if I have cake in my hand, I can quickly shove a bite in my mouth and avoid answering questions like “Where is that pretty brunette you were with at movie night?” because my mouth is full.

It’s rude to speak when your mouth is full, and we don’t want to be rude.

Miss Belle raised me better than that. Simple as that.

Truth is, I haven’t come up with a good answer to that question yet. Not one that anyone is going to believe at least. Because I’m certainly not about to broadcast the real answer of I’m the world’s biggest asshole to everyone.

News of Sawyer’s departure rippled through my family rather quickly.

And every last one of them has had an opinion about it.

One they haven’t been shy about sharing.

Especially Miss Belle. I think I would take every single one of my childhood punishments combined all over again over the look on her face and the sound of her voice telling me she expected better of me.

That’s going to haunt me for the rest of my life.

The only small silver lining is that Hux kept his commentary to a minimum, proving that he’s a better man than I am. Because if the roles were reversed, I probably would have rubbed his nose in it.

“Nash totally goes for it,” Jace comments, appearing by our side.

Ewan and I both look at him, questioning the confidence in his voice.

“Errrrr,” I say, wondering whether or not I really want to go there. Nope, sure don’t.

“You don’t think?”

I turn away from the bar, walking back to our table, trying to avoid the conversation. This is not going to lead anywhere good.

“I think he gets anything on that dress, Willa will have his guts for garters,” Ewan quips, joining me.

“I’ll take that bet.” Jace holds out his hand, but Ewan simply stares at it, like it’s three-day-old fish. After a few seconds of not getting the response he wants, Jace turns to me. “Anton, little double or nothing?”

Absolutely fucking not.

“Nope. Hard pass.”

“C’mon…take the bet…”

“Another bet?” Hux asks, stopping short as he walks by. “Didn’t learn your lesson the last time?”

Oh, no, I fucking learned it…

“There is no bet,” I say, my words terse, so they know I mean it.

I know they are getting a kick out of this. That they are enjoying every single second of their torment. Fine. Live it up.

I’ll just be over here with my broken heart.

Wishing that I could rewind time and not be a complete jackass to the most perfect woman I’ve ever met.

The only one I’m pretty sure is ever going to be willing to tolerate my ass.

Well, maybe not. I found exactly where the line is. I pushed too hard and crossed it.

The worst part of it all isn’t my own pain.

It’s knowing that I hurt her. That I broke her heart too.

Or at least I think I broke it. But even if I didn’t—even if she didn’t share those feeling for me—I know I hurt her.

I was mean. And what I said cut deep. That knowledge will haunt me just as closely as my mama’s disappointment.

In fact, that’s what we can put on my tombstone. Here lies Anton Hayes—he disappointed his mama and hurt the woman he loved. He was a jackass .

“I’m still trying to figure out if we can squeeze you into one of Willa’s pageant dresses,” Jace quips.

“What?” I whip my head around, looking at him. Now he has my full attention.

An impish grin takes over, and somehow I know he’s been planning this since day one. “Yup. Not sure of all the details yet. Gonna depend on if we can get your ass in one of those babies or not.”

“No way,” Milo says. I spin in my chair, watching as he takes a sip of his beer, a contemplative look replacing his normal shit-eating grin. Where did he come from? “He’ll bust the sequins right off one of those things. Then Willa and Mama will both have your asses.”

“Even one of the ones with the lace-up thingy?”

“Corset,” Hux offers. “And they’re a lot tougher than you think…”

Milo nods, giving Hux a knowing look, then holds out his fist. The two tap their knuckles, and I chuckle to myself, not wanting to know what silent message they just shared.

“Because you’ve conquered so many corsets?” Jace snarks.

“Dolly’s wedding dress,” Hux answers, so deadpan and matter-of-fact I’m surprised that he doesn’t also mimic dropping a mic. Until he leans in, lowering his voice. “Twice.”

There it is.

Jace shrugs. “So maybe a pageant dress is out. I still got some other ideas brewing.”

“I haven’t officially lost yet! The agreement was the anniversary dance, and we haven’t done the anniversary yet.”

They all stop, four sets of eyes instantly trained on me. Because my pointing out the technicality I weaseled into the bet at the eleventh hour as a last-ditch effort is not helping my argument.

It’s a lost cause. I know it. They know it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not holding out hope. She could still show. She could have read the letter of recommendation I sent—the one that Gus and Margeaux helped me wordsmith—and recognized that it was more. That it was my heart poured out onto the page.

Then again, she could also be somewhere burning an effigy of me.

Frankly, after the way I acted, it’s probably the latter.

“As the family romantic, I’m all for the keeping the faith,” Jace comments. “But…”

He looks down at his watch, then back up at me, his face full of something I can’t name. Wait, nope. Sure I can. That’s pity. Pure, old-fashioned, sucks to be you, pity.

And he’s not wrong. It does suck to be me right now.

Without Sawyer, it’s going to suck to be me for a very long time. Like forever.

“If I could get all the couples out on the dance floor for the anniversary dance,” the DJ announces.

Fuck me…the hits just keep on coming…

My insides recoil as if someone actually hit me.

Since when is the anniversary dance before cake?

And why haven’t we cut the fucking cake?

I suck in a breath, trying to remind myself that I have to behave—this is my sister’s wedding.

Doesn’t matter that internally I want to die.

Externally, I need to be having the time of my life. And to do that, I need cake.

Pushing to my feet, I walk away from my brothers without a word.

Not that they care where I’m going. Milo and Hux are too busy grabbing their girls to take them to the dance floor—for the point six seconds that they’ll be out there since neither are married yet.

Ewan is wrapped up in conversation with Emily Barrowcliff, the two of them leaning in to each other whispering something.

And Jace, well, who cares. Right now, not me.

I need some air .

“Anton Hayes!”

For fuck’s sake!

I stop, steeling myself for whatever is coming. Because even over the music, I know the voice of Hattie Burch, Dolly’s great-aunt, and maybe more importantly, the top of Hickory Hills’s rumor mill.

“Mrs. Burch,” I greet. I can see the doors to the vestibule over the little old lady’s head—so close, yet so far. Just a few more steps and I would be out of this ballroom and have some room to breathe.

“Where are you going?”

She might have framed it as a question, but there is no doubt in my mind that those four words are an accusation. One that she feels I need to repent for.

“Just getting some air.”

“But it’s the anniversary dance.”

I blink, trying to figure out why the old lady in front of me, dressed in her Sunday best, pillbox hat and all, is chastising me about not participating in a made-up ritual for which I do not qualify.

Maybe this is it. The moment we’ve all secretly been waiting for. Hattie Burch has officially lost it.

I open my mouth to start to answer her, but she cuts me off.

“I don’t have time for whatever smart mouth excuses you come up with. Grab your girl and get out there. Don’t embarrass your sister at her own wedding!”

Grab my girl? Yeah, this is it. Hattie Burch has cracked.

“Mrs. Burch, I think you have me confused with my brothers. I don’t?—”

“Don’t you dare tell me that I have you confused, Anton Hayes! I know which one of you troublemakers is which!” She huffs, acting like she’s offended. “And your girl, Lawyer, was just in the bathroom with me. So get your backside in gear, and get back in there before you mess this up.”

“Sawyer,” I correct her instinctively.

Wait…did she just say…

I stare at Mrs. Burch, trying to process everything. She said Sawyer was in the bathroom with her. Which means Sawyer is here.

Sawyer is here.