Page 3

Rhys

W hat did I think? That she’d be glad to see me again?

Of course not. I’m not an idiot.

The last time I was in a room with her, it was a courtroom. And a judge was delivering her a litany of bad news.

I couldn’t look at her, at the grief and hurt and frustration on her face. If I looked, I might’ve broken all my promises to myself.

All my obligations to my client.

All my ethical principles, the ones keeping me from touching my client’s ex in ways I’d dreamed about. The ones that had kept me, all those weeks, from screwing over my own client so Eden came out with more.

The ones that had mostly kept me from screwing over my own client…

So I kept my eyes fixed on the judge’s bald spot, as I had for weeks. There was a birthmark on it in the shape of Bugs Bunny.

Now I pin my eyes on a point on Hanna’s desk where someone has written too hard and left an impression in the wood.

Footsteps sound in the hallway, and a tall, sandy-haired man stumbles into the doorway, classically handsome in a Connecticut country club kind of way. But there’s nothing country-club polished about him right now. He’s sweating, flustered. He looks like he ran a mile to get to us.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he says.

He addresses this to me, not to Eden. In fact, he doesn’t look at Eden at all.

The lawyerly alarm bells go off.

Squirrelly.

I’ve met with a few other couples before this. Some are starry-eyed, others fight like cats and dogs. But I haven’t seen anyone who couldn’t make eye contact.

Don’t do it, I want to tell her. Something’s wrong .

I turn my attention to Eden. Her head’s cocked as she watches Paul: She sees it, too. But she doesn’t look worried.

Didn’t you learn anything from the last asshole? I want to demand of her.

But I think of the terms of the letter— all of them must actually culminate with the planned ceremony— and keep my mouth shut. Because no matter what I owe Eden, I owe Hanna and my other siblings more.

“Paul,” Eden says. “This is Rhys, Hanna’s brother. He’s taking over the wedding for her.”

“Ah,” Paul says. “Everything all right with the baby?”

“Everything’s fine. Rhys is just…” She looks to me.

“My grandfather’s will has some unusual terms, and one of them is that I have to take on some of Hanna’s weddings,” I explain.

Obviously, I tried to talk Weggers out of giving me Eden’s wedding. Hanna even intervened on my behalf, pointing out that the arrangement would also suck for Eden. But Weggers is like a dog with a bone. And when he saw how much I didn’t want this, he doubled down.

My grandfather could not have chosen a better proxy for his mischief.

“Welcome to the fray,” Paul says. He seems to have settled himself. “Paul Graves.”

His handshake is firm, but he doesn’t look me in the eye, either.

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.”

There’s no other form, but luckily no one asks what it is.

Paul thanks me and leaves.

Eden watches him go.

I want to tell her There’s something wrong .

But on top of the fact that I owe my siblings this wedding, unimpeded, she has absolutely no reason to believe a word I say. I’m Public Enemy Number One to her.

Instead I say, “You didn’t tell him who I am.”

“You’re the wedding planner. That’s all he needs to know.” She shrugs. “No point in making him hate you, too.” She scowls at me. “Where’s the form?”

“No form,” I say. “I just wanted to ask you if Paul knew that you and I know each other.”

“We don’t know each other,” she says. “You don’t know anything about me.”

She picks up her purse and leaves.

I lean back in Hanna’s chair and exhale for what feels like the first time in an hour.

It’s good that Eden hates me. The worst thing in the world would be if Eden’s mouth curved in a small, pleased smile for me .

Then I might?—

I might?—

I don’t know what, exactly, I would do.

But luckily, she hates me, so there’s no danger of that.

I want to pick up one of the pretty knickknacks on Hanna’s desk and hurl it against the wall.