THE WEDDING WRECKER

PENELOPE BLOOM

PROLOGUE - JAMES

My wife looked stunning in her white wedding dress as she moved across the reception hall. Occasionally, she stopped to mingle, give a soft smile, or say something that made people laugh.

My wife.

"Strange, isn't it?" my best friend, Derek, said.

"What's that?" I asked, eyes still locked on Katie as I tried to memorize the way she moved tonight. She noticed me looking, tucked a hair behind her ear, and winked before turning back to our guests.

Logan shifted in his chair, his dark eyes clouded as he considered his next words. "Forever. That's the idea, right? But can you really love one person forever? People change all the time. What happens if you two change in different directions?"

I gave him a soft punch on the arm. "Save it. It's my wedding night. I'm planning to enjoy forever, not sit around wondering how it'll go."

"Right. You're right," he said, but there was something in his eyes I didn't particularly like.

I licked my lips, considered asking him, and then let the topic drop as I got up to circulate around the room with my drink in hand.

"Another scotch?" The bartender held up the bottle as I passed.

I shook my head, raising my still-full glass. "Thanks. Trying to remember this night."

He smiled knowingly. "First day of the rest of your life, right?"

"Something like that."

What was it with people saying that like it was a prison sentence instead of something to celebrate?

My brother Chase clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly making me spill my drink. "There's the man of the hour." His words were slightly slurred. "Did I mention how honored I am to be your best man?"

"Only about fifty times." I smiled, used to Chase's drunken affection. He'd always been the emotional one between us.

He stumbled slightly and caught himself on my shoulder. “Dude. Did I show you the fish I caught last weekend?”

“You told me about it,” I said, grinning. Chase was an obsessive fisherman, and always had some new trophy to brag about.

“Forty pounds,” he said, opening his phone and fumbling for his camera roll. I was watching the screen as a text popped up.

A text from my wife.

On my brother’s phone.

Only an hour after we said our vows.

I leaned forward as the world shrank in around me.

Chase’s eyebrows rose, and he drunkenly tried to swipe it away. Instead, he tapped the message and opened it for both of us to see.

I saw Katie in what looked like a bathroom stall. She had her tongue out, almost casually. She was winking at the camera and she had her wedding dress pulled down so one of her breasts was in plain view. My blurring eyes drifted to the message below.

Katie: Your turn. You look hot in that tux, so send me something for later.

Everything suddenly felt too tight. My tie. My suit. The air pressing in around me and the laughing, dancing people.

I blinked through a suffocating tangle of emotions just as I saw Katie come walking out of the bathroom hallway. She gave her dress a little tug, as if readjusting it, spotted me, and blew me a kiss.

I felt numb as I looked at my brother, eyebrows drawn together. I realized I was waiting for him to explain, as if there was any possible way to explain what I’d just seen on his phone.

His face was pale. “James⁠—”

"How long?" My voice sounded strange, distant.

He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair—a nervous habit we both shared. “I’m sorry, James, I⁠—”

“How long?” I asked again. Numbness was starting to be tinged with rage.

"Eight months, maybe?"

Eight months. They'd been sleeping together while she helped me pick out wedding bands. While she wrote her vows. While she promised forever.

"Is she..." I had to force the words out. "Is she with anyone else?"

His silence was answer enough.

I laughed then, a sound that held no humor. "Who else?"

"Come on, man... Do you really want to know?"

"Who else, Chase?"

He told me three names. All friends. All people who'd been at my wedding, smiling and congratulating me while knowing exactly what kind of woman I'd just pledged my life to.

"You deserve this," I said simply before punching him across the jaw hard enough to knock him on his ass. "If I see your face again tonight, I'll punch it again. In fact, consider that a running promise. Show me your face, and you're going to get knocked on your ass. Forever."

People gasped and backed away, giving us space. The general air of light conversation hushed in a moment.

"James, please," Chase said, touching his reddening jaw as he lay sprawled on the floor. "She said you wouldn't even care. She said you probably cheated on her, so it was⁠—"

I stopped in my tracks, turning to face him. "I never fucking cheated. I never would."

I walked toward Katie, moving through the crowd like a ghost. Everything looked different now. Faces that had seemed friendly hours ago now held secrets. Smiles that had seemed genuine now looked painted on.

In seconds, I moved through the people who had seen me punch Chase and entered back into the blissfully unaware—the ones who didn’t know this thing was already doomed.

Katie was by the cake, champagne flute in hand, laughing at something her maid of honor had said. She looked up as I approached, her smile faltering slightly.

"There you are! I was just about to⁠—"

"We need to talk."

She must have seen something in my face because she set down her glass and followed me without argument. I led her to a quiet corner, away from prying eyes.

"How many?" I asked simply.

"What?"

"How many men have you slept with while we were together?"

The color drained from her face. "James, I don't know what you⁠—"

"Don't." My voice cracked. "Don't lie to me. Not now. I already know, but I want to hear it from you. You owe me at least that much. How. Many."

She stared at me for a long moment, then lifted her chin. "Four."

"Including my brother?"

She flinched. "Who told you?"

"Does it matter?"

Katie's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry. I never meant to⁠—"

"To what? To fuck my brother? To fool around with half our friend group? To make me look like an absolute idiot in front of everyone we know?"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed.

I stepped closer. "Why? Worried what people might think? Worried they'll realize that while I was saying my vows, promising to love and cherish you forever, you were probably thinking about your next hookup?"

"It's not like that." She grabbed my arm. "I love you, James. I do. Things just... got complicated. I get nervous when you're away. You’re so handsome, and women always want you. I only do… that… because it helps me take my mind off the fear that you’re cheating.”

I jerked away from her. "Complicated," I repeated. "Right. For the record, I never laid a hand on anyone else while we were together. So let me uncomplicate things for you."

I turned and walked to the center of the dance floor and let out a sharp whistle for attention. The band stopped playing, confused. Three hundred pairs of eyes turned to me.

"I'd like to make a toast," I announced, grabbing a champagne flute from a nearby table. "To my beautiful bride, Katie. And to my brother Chase, who's been fucking her for eight months." I raised my glass. "Oh, and to Mike, Steve, and Zander. Thanks for making my wedding day so memorable. Have a great night, everybody."

I lowered my glass, considered it, and then smashed it on the floor.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I straightened my tie and walked out. Behind me, chaos erupted. People gasping, shouting, crying. Katie screaming my name.

I kept walking.

The worst part? I was stupid enough to try to make it work after that. For three months, I listened to her excuses, her promises that she'd changed. That it was just cold feet, that she'd been scared of committing. That she'd never do it again.

And like an idiot, I believed her. Right up until I found out she was still sleeping with my brother. But she had changed, she said. It was only with Chase, and since we were family, was it really so bad in the end?

My lawyer called the next day after I finally filed for divorce. Katie wanted half of everything.

"She already took half my family," I had told him. "Might as well take half my stuff too."

It took months to finalize the divorce. Months of lawyers and paperwork and well-meaning friends asking if I was okay. Months of watching other couples plan their perfect weddings or finding new love, knowing they might be heading for the same trap I'd fallen into.

It felt like something inside me died a little every day of it, and by the time it was final, I wasn’t the same James I’d been before. Maybe I still believed in silly things like love, but I knew better than to think a wedding could fix a relationship built on shaky ground.

That's when I decided it.

I sold my law firm and used the money to start a new business. A business that would allow me to help people from making the same mistake I made. If I did my job well, I could expose lies before they turned into legally binding vows. I could stop weddings that should never happen, and in the process, I could save men and women from getting destroyed the same way I had.

Some people said it was cynical and ridiculous. Others said worse things. But I was just a realist. Some weddings really shouldn’t happen, and I was the necessary evil in an industry built on blind fantasy.

I became the Wedding Wrecker, and I was damn good at my job.

1

EMMA

"Emma Marshall, if you tell me you're measuring light angles instead of enjoying Ireland, I swear I'll reach through this phone and strangle you."

I laughed, adjusting my camera strap as I climbed another winding staircase in Ashworth Castle. I had my phone connected to one earbud so I could use both hands on my camera. "Maggie, the perfect photo happens at the perfect moment in the perfect light. I can't just wing it."

"Yes, you absolutely can," my best friend said. "That's literally what candid photography is."

"This isn't just photography," I argued, pausing to peek into yet another room that definitely wasn't the one I needed. "This is my chance. My big break. If I nail this wedding, I go from 'Oh, you do weddings?' to 'Oh my god, you're the Emma Marshall.'"

There was a slight pause. “You’re not still working on that secret wedding Pinterest board are you? The one you claim is just for ‘research’ and definitely not all about your own dream wedding?”

I gasped in mock outrage. "You promised never to mention… The Board."

"The fact that you say it with that weird emphasis like it’s a holic relic is concerning. I can almost hear the capital letters.”

"I'm hanging up now."

"Wait!" Maggie's voice turned serious. "How are you really doing? And don't give me the 'I'm fine' bullshit."

I sighed, leaning against a stone wall. "Honestly? I'm terrified. This is a massive wedding. The venue is incredible. The couple is gorgeous. Everything needs to be perfect."

"You always make everything perfect."

"Yeah, well, easier said than done in a castle that apparently rearranges itself when I'm not looking." I pushed off the wall and continued my search. "I swear I've passed this same suit of armor four times."

"Maybe it's following you."

"Not helping." I checked my watch, then gave the suit of armor a nervous look over my shoulder. "Look, I need to find the west tower before I lose the light. Apparently, there's this amazing view of the sunset that would be perfect for⁠—"

"For the Golden Hour shots, I know." Maggie sighed dramatically. "You're hopeless. A total wedding junkie."

"Says the woman who cried at a toilet paper commercial because the puppy was 'wearing a tiny bow tie like a little gentleman.'"

"That puppy was adorable and you know it."

I rounded another corner, hoping to see something—anything—familiar. "I might be lost."

"Might be?"

"Okay, I'm definitely lost. And I really have to pee."

"Of course you do. You always have to pee when you're lost."

"It's a nervous bladder thing!" I protested, then lowered my voice as the sound echoed off the stone walls. "Oh god, what if I can't find my way back? What if I have to live in this castle forever, surviving off of tourist water bottles and wedding mints?"

"Emma."

"I'll become a legend. The Phantom of the Wedding. Haunting halls with my fantastic, minty breath and critiquing flower arrangements⁠—"

"Emma!"

"What?"

"Stop catastrophizing and find a bathroom. You always think better with an empty bladder."

She had a point. "Fine. But if I'm not back to civilization in twenty minutes, send a search party. With snacks."

"Deal. Love you, crazy."

"Love you too."

I hung up and surveyed my surroundings. The castle's corridors stretched out in three directions, each one looking equally medieval and impossible to navigate.

That's when I saw it—a small wooden sign with a universal stick figure that had never looked so beautiful.

I broke into what could generously be called a jog, my camera bag bouncing against my hip as I followed the signs. When I finally reached the bathroom, I nearly cried.

Out of order.

"No, no, no," I muttered, doing what my sister calls the 'pee pee dance.' "This isn't happening."

Then I saw it—the men's room. I glanced around. I pushed open the door, my bravery fueled only by how badly I needed to pee.

“Yoo hoo! Anybody in there?”

No answer.

"Desperate times," I whispered, then made a break for it.

I pushed the heavy wooden door open further, wincing at its dramatic creak. The men's room was small but clean—well, clean-ish. Medieval castle standards were different from modern ones, I supposed.

One lonely stall occupied the far wall, flanked by two urinals. I approached the stall with hope in my heart and a prayer on my lips.

That hope died a quick, brutal death when I saw the toilet. It looked like it had survived several wars, a plague, and possibly an exorcism. There was no way any part of me was getting anywhere near that thing. It wasn’t even suitable for a hover-pee-style attack.

Nope.

That meant I was left with the urinals, those strange, bafflingly not private things I sometimes thought only existed in movies and not real life.

I stared at them, hands on hips, weighing my options. "Okay, Emma," I muttered. "Cowgirl or reverse cowgirl?"

The porcelain gleamed mockingly in the dim light. I'd need good aim, a steady stance, and ice in my heart to pull this off. And if anybody walked in while I was mid-stream? Yeah. It was better not to think about that.

"Reverse it is." I hiked up my dress, grabbed some paper towels, and started my awkward backward approach. Just as I was perfecting my stance and mentally preparing for the feat of engineering I was about to attempt, the door creaked open.

I froze, dress bunched around my waist, underwear at half-mast, pasty ass exposed, and in what had to be the least dignified position of my entire life.

At least I hadn’t already started peeing…

The universe, apparently deciding I hadn't suffered enough, chose that moment to fully reveal my visitor. He stepped into view, and my brain short-circuited.

He was tall—the kind of tall that made you want to climb him like a tree. Dark hair fell across his forehead in that perfectly messy way hot guys across the world seemed to have a monopoly on. And his face was… chef’s kiss. A sharp jawline, strong nose, and eyes so blue they made the Irish sky look washed out.

A black sweater hugged broad shoulders and what had to be an illegal amount of muscle. He looked like he'd walked straight out of a magazine ad for "Rugged Rich Guy Casual Wear."

And for some reason, I was still frozen in position. That was also the exact moment the pee started to flow.

Just wonderful.

One of his thick, dark eyebrows lifted and he turned his back to me. “Good for you. A lot of people get gun shy at the range, if you know what I mean.”

I should have been mortified. Should have died on the spot. Instead, I found myself fighting back a laugh. "This isn't what it looks like."

"No?" I could hear the amusement in his voice and picture the smile on his full lips. "Is it at least what it sounds like? Because it sounds like you’ve got your ass out and you’re pissing in a men’s urinal.” He leaned to the side, then nodded. “With impressive aim, I should add."

"Okay, it's exactly what it looks like." I straightened up when I finished and tried to resurrect my long-dead dignity by fixing my clothing. "But in my defense, the women's room is out of order and that toilet"—I pointed to the stall—"is probably a portal to hell."

He took a quick look in the stall and grimaced. "Fair point." Then he smiled, and oh my God, that smile should come with a warning label.

"I'm James," he said.

"Emma," I managed, very aware that my face was probably bright red. "And I don't usually meet men like this."

"In bathrooms?"

"That, or with my panties around my ankles. But, um… do you mind turning around again? Sometimes, when I’m nervous, I have to go twice.”

His laugh was rich and deep, doing dangerous things to my insides. "I'll wait outside and guard the door while you... finish up."

"My hero," I said dryly, but couldn't help smiling.

He gave an exaggerated bow and backed toward the door. "Take your time."

As the door closed behind him, I heard him call out, "Don't forget to wash your hands!"

I burst out laughing, then immediately regretted it as my bladder protested. Right. Focus. I had a mission to complete.

A couple minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling Richardious, if slightly traumatized. James was leaning against the wall, looking unfairly attractive for someone standing in a medieval hallway. In fact, with a slight wardrobe change, I could’ve absolutely pictured him belonging in a place like this.

Prince James, Baron of Impeccable Genetics and heir to the throne of bedroom eyes.

"Successful mission?" he asked.

"Let's never speak of it again." I smoothed down my dress. "Though I do feel like I've really bonded with this castle now. Nothing says 'intimate connection' quite like peeing in ancient urinals."

"I'm pretty sure the bathrooms were added when they started using this place as a wedding venue. But don’t worry, I’m sure the castle still enjoyed the moment you two shared back there.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

I opened my mouth to respond with something witty—or at least something that wouldn't make me sound like a complete idiot—when voices echoed down the corridor. A group of men rounded the corner, and I recognized them as part of tomorrow's wedding party.

"Oh, Emma!" Mr. Harrison Senior called out in his booming Irish accent. "Checking the facilities for tomorrow, are you? That's dedication!"

I met James' eye, saw the laughter there. "Absolutely! Just making sure everything is..." I gestured vaguely, "up to standard."

"And?" Mr. Harrison asked.

"The urinals are excellent," I said with complete seriousness. "Very... architecturally sound."

Behind the wedding party, James had to turn away, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

I imagined Maggie’s laughter when I told her this story and found myself smiling. I wouldn’t even have to embellish it like usual. The real version was plenty ridiculous. But I doubted she’d believe me when I told her how gorgeous this James guy was. I was looking at him and I hardly believed it.

After the wedding party passed, leaving echoes of laughter in their wake, I turned back to James. "So, what brings you to Ashworth Castle? Are you with the wedding?"

Something flickered in his eyes—so brief I might have imagined it. "You could say that." His smile turned enigmatic. "Let's just say I'm here to make sure everything goes... according to plan."

"Mysterious," I said, trying to ignore the way his voice made my skin tingle. "Are you always this cryptic?"

"Only in castles." He checked his watch, and that flicker crossed his face again. "Speaking of plans, I should get going. I have a... meeting to prepare for."

"Right." I tried not to sound disappointed. "Well, thanks for being my bathroom bodyguard."

"Anytime." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Oh, and Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Save me a dance at the rehearsal dinner tonight." His grin was pure sin. "Since we've already shared a bathroom, it seems like the natural next step."

I watched him disappear around the corner, my heart doing a weird little flutter in my chest. A dance. With him. At the rehearsal dinner.

The proper professional part of me said there was no way I could. I had a million things to prepare for the big day tomorrow. I was way too busy. Way too stressed. Way too…

Tempted.

2

EMMA

Iwas good at my job. Really good.

Which is why I noticed immediately when the wait staff started bringing out the wrong appetizers.

In the immortal words of Maggie: Oh, hell naw.

I didn’t care if it was the wedding itself or the Uber one of my bride’s second cousins took to get the venue—everything had to be perfect.

I was on my way to intercept the appetizers when I felt it—that electric awareness that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

James had just entered the room.

Don't look, I told myself. Focus on the tiny quiches that absolutely should not be served to Mrs. Harrison's seafood-allergic aunt. I had been assured the allergy wasn’t deadly to her, but the gas it would give her might be fatal to the rest of the room.

But my body betrayed me. My head turned like it was drawn by a magnet, and there he was.

He'd changed for the rehearsal dinner. The casual sweater was gone, replaced by a suit that looked so good on him it made my mouth go dry. The jacket stretched across his shoulders like it was spanning the freaking grand canyon with how broad he was. His hair was still artfully tousled, like he'd just run his fingers through it, and⁠—

Oh god, he caught me staring.

I spun awkwardly, touching my fingertips to my eyebrow to halfway hide my face, as if that didn’t just make it more obvious.

Get it together, Emma! I carefully lifted my eyes to see if he was still looking.

His lips curved into that dangerous smile as our eyes met across the room. Heat bloomed in my chest and spread lower, making it hard to remember why I'd been so determined to keep things professional.

Right. The quiches. Allergies.

I forced myself to turn away, catching the nearest server just in time. I sent him back to the kitchen with the seafood and a reminder to double-check everything else from this point forward.

Once the crises were averted, I quickly scanned the room. Everything else seemed to be running smoothly, at least, even if I felt like a ball of chaos after seeing⁠—

"That was impressive."

I jumped at the sound of his voice. He was right behind me. How did someone that big move so quietly?

"The save with the appetizers," he clarified, though I could hear the smile in his voice. He knew exactly what effect he had on me.

I turned to face him, trying to ignore how good he smelled. "That's what I do. Notice things. Fix things. Keep the magic alive."

"Magic, huh?" He stepped closer, just inside the bounds of propriety. "Speaking of magic… did you still plan to save me that dance?”

God, his eyes.... Up close, they were even more intense—deep blue with tiny flecks of gray, like a storm rolling in over the ocean. For an irrational moment, I thought I wouldn’t really mind being ravaged by a storm that sexy… a storm with such wonderful, muscular glutes…

"I shouldn't," I said, but my voice came out breathier than I intended.

His fingers brushed my arm, barely touching but leaving fire in their wake. "One dance, Emma. That’s all I ask."

Emma. The sound of my name coming so deep and gravely from his mouth was perfect. It was like honey in my ears, which actually would be really sticky and inconvenient, but still.

I wanted to record it and listen to that sound on repeat all night.

Then the band chose to switch to a slow and sultry song at that moment. James' eyebrow lifted in challenge. “The dance floor beckons, Emma.”

"Fine," I said, trying to sound reluctant. "One dance. But I need to check on the⁠—"

His hand closed around mine, and the rest of my sentence evaporated. He led me onto the dance floor, then pulled me close—not inappropriately so, but close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his body.

Correction: simply being in the same room as a man like James felt inappropriate. My mind went to dark, dirty places the moment I laid eyes on him. My body hummed like it was some old generator that had finally been cranked into life after long years of inactivity. I was…

Being crazy.

Calm it down, Emma.

Technically, there shouldn’t be much for me to handle right now. The guests would be eating for the next half hour or so. Some of the family asked if they could give a few practice speeches. They wanted to dance and drink. None of it really required me, unless there were emergencies.

And what emergencies could there even be? It was just food, drinking, and dancing.

This is fine, I told myself. Calming it down is overrated, and why shouldn’t you get to live a little when the opportunity presents?

One of his hands settled on my lower back, the other still holding mine. My free hand found his shoulder, and I tried not to think about the solid muscle beneath my palm.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath stirring my hair. "You feel so tense."

“Sorry,” I said, letting him guide me through the music as the tension began to melt from my body.

The song changed, but neither of us moved to break apart. His hand spread wider on my back, and I had to bite back a gasp at how small it made me feel. How protected. How... wanted.

His thumb traced small circles against my spine, each touch sending sparks through my entire body. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, strong and fast. At least I wasn't the only one affected.

"Emma," he said, his voice rough. "I should tell you⁠—"

"Ms. Marshall?" One of the servers appeared at my elbow. "We have a situation in the kitchen."

Reality crashed back in. I stepped away from James, immediately missing his warmth. "I'll be right there."

I noticed him give the server a strange look, as if wondering why he was bothering me with problems in the kitchen.

Maybe he still didn’t realize I was the wedding planner? And why would he?

But I put the thought from my mind as I hurried toward the kitchen, my skin still tingling where he'd touched me. The kitchen crisis turned out to be minor—a dispute about wine pairings that took all of five minutes to resolve.

When I emerged, James was gone.

I told myself it was for the best. I had work to do. A wedding to coordinate. A career to build. I didn't have time for... whatever this was. Despite the still-lingering heat in my belly and the aching feeling of that magical potential fading, I got to work.

I threw myself into last-minute preparations, triple-checking details that definitely didn't need checking. As the dinner wound down, I found myself in the castle's wine cellar by myself, counting bottles I'd already counted twice.

"There you are,” a familiar, deep voice said.

I spun around to find James leaning against the doorframe, jacket off, dress sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. The dim lighting cast shadows across his face, making him look dangerous in a way that did nothing to calm my racing pulse.

"Here I am," I said automatically.

He pushed off the door and walked toward me. "It looks like you're hiding."

"I don't hide."

"No?" He was close now, too close. "Then why are you down here counting wine bottles at midnight?"

"It's my⁠—"

His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing my bottom lip. "I think you’re incredible."

"James..."

Something crackled in his eyes as he came closer. “Fucking. Incredible,” he said, voice a low whisper.

“You’re not so bad your⁠—”

Then he kissed me.

Everything else disappeared. The wedding, the castle, my carefully constructed professional boundaries—all of it vanished in the heat of his mouth on mine. His tongue swept past my lips and I moaned, my hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer.

He backed me up against the wine rack, bottles clinking softly as his body pressed against mine. One of his hands tangled in my hair while the other gripped my hip, fingers digging in just hard enough to make me gasp.

"Tell me to stop," he muttered against my neck as he trailed hot kisses down my throat. "Tell me this isn't what you want."

In answer, I pulled his mouth back to mine. He growled—actually growled—and suddenly I was in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist as he carried me to a nearby table.

"Here?" I managed between kisses.

He paused, breathing hard. "Anywhere,” he rasped, hands already greedily exploring me.

I rolled my hips into him, drawing a glorious groan from his lips. “Is this a bad idea?” I asked suddenly.

He paused, eyes practically smoldering in the dim room. “Only one way to find out.”

While I thought that wasn’t technically true, I was way, way past logic, so I shut up and kissed him like my life depended on it.

3

EMMA

His kiss was electric, consuming, the kind that made me forget everything except the way he felt against me. His hands explored my entire body with passionate urgency.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he muttered against my neck.

I laughed breathlessly. "You're one to talk."

His eyes met mine, dark with desire. "Fair point." He shrugged out of his shirt while I worked on his belt, both of us fumbling in our rush.

I ran my hands over his skin, tracing the hard planes of his stomach, reveling in the way his breath hitched when my fingers dipped lower.

Distantly, I wondered what the hell I would do if somebody happened to come down here and find us. Somehow, I couldn’t quite muster up the presence of mind to care.

James was consuming every spare inch of my brain right now, and I wasn’t sure I would’ve even stopped if I heard a bomb going off.

"Your turn," he said, voice rough as he reached for the zipper of my dress.

The fabric pooled at my feet, leaving me in black lace that made his eyes go even darker. "Christ, Emma." His hand skimmed up my side, thumb brushing the underside of my breast. "You're fucking perfect."

I pulled him back to me, desperate for another kiss. He obliged, pressing me against the table as his hands roamed my body with increasing urgency.

His mouth found my neck, alternating between soft kisses and gentle bites that made me squirm. "James," I gasped as he found a particularly sensitive spot.

"I love the way you say my name," he murmured, trailing kisses down my collarbone. His hand slipped beneath my bra, thumb circling my nipple until I arched into his touch.

When his other hand found its way between my legs, I nearly came undone right there. He smiled against my skin, clearly pleased with my reaction.

"Like that?" he asked, moving in slow, torturous circles.

"God, yes," I managed. Then, because two could play at that game, I reached down to stroke him.

He groaned, hips jerking forward. "Emma..."

"Yes, James?" I squeezed gently, loving the way his breath caught.

"You're going to be the fucking death of me."

I grinned. "I can imagine worse ways to go."

He captured my mouth again, and there was nothing gentle about it this time. His kiss was possessive, demanding, making promises his body was eager to keep.

Our few remaining scraps of clothing disappeared in a blur of desperate touches and heated whispers. He lifted me onto the table, stepping between my legs. His hands slid up my thighs, spreading them wider as he leaned down to trail kisses across my stomach.

"James, please," I whimpered, threading my fingers through his hair.

He looked up at me, eyes dark with need. "Please what?"

"I need you. Now."

He nodded, reaching for his back pocket. I watched impatiently as he dealt with the condom, then pulled him back to me.

"Now, she says…" His thumb traced maddening circles on my inner thigh. "You sure you don't want me to take my time?"

I tugged his hair in response, drawing a low chuckle from him. "Impatient," he murmured against my skin.

Then his mouth was between my legs, and all coherent thought vanished. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he worked me with his tongue, bringing me right to the edge before pulling back.

"James," I whined, earning another dark chuckle.

"Something you want?"

"You," I said. "Inside me. Now."

When he finally pushed into me, we both moaned at the sensation. He felt incredible—perfect in a way that made me wonder if I'd been ruined for anyone else.

How the hell was I supposed to enjoy normal sex after… this? Normal sex with mortal men—men who didn’t look like freaking gods who just descended from Mount Olympus to rail me until I forgot how to breathe?

I decided not to care. Right now, I just wanted to be here in this moment. I wanted to savor it.

"Okay?" he asked, showing remarkable restraint despite the tension in his muscles.

I wrapped my legs around his waist in answer, pulling him deeper. His control snapped. He set a rhythm that had me seeing stars, each thrust hitting exactly the right spot.

"Fuck, Emma," he groaned, one hand gripping my hip while the other supported my back. "You feel amazing."

I'd never felt anything like this—this raw connection, this perfect sync of bodies and breath and need. It was overwhelming. Intoxicating.

His movements became more urgent, and I knew he was close. His hand slipped between us, finding that perfect spot, and I fell apart in his arms, crying out his name.

He followed right after, burying his face in my neck as he came. For a long moment, we just held each other, breathing hard, neither wanting to break the spell.

Eventually, reality crept back in. The cool air on my heated skin. The distant sound of music from above. The fact that I had just had mind-blowing sex on an antique table in a castle wine cellar.

James pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder before stepping back to gather our clothes. I tried not to mourn the loss of his warmth as I pulled my dress back on.

"So," I said, still feeling pleasantly buzzed from what we'd just done. "I assume I don’t need to ask you not to tell any guests you technically just fucked the wedding planner while she was on duty?"

His movements froze. "You're the wedding planner?"

"Yeah. I thought you figured it out when the server asked for my help earlier," I smoothed down my hair, not noticing his change in demeanor. "But, yes. And this wedding is huge for me. If it goes well tomorrow, it could really launch my career. I mean, planning a destination wedding at an Irish castle? Talk about a dream gig. I was lucky to land these clients, so I have to make sure nothing goes wrong."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. When I looked up, James' face had gone carefully blank.

"James?" I stepped toward him, but he took a subtle step back. "Everything okay?"

"Fine." His voice was tight. "I just... I should go."

"Oh." I tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. "Well, maybe we could grab coffee tomorrow? Or if you're headed back to the States soon⁠—"

"Emma." He ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at me. "This was... but we can't..."

"Can't what?"

"Trust me," he said, voice rough. "After tomorrow, you're not going to want anything to do with me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He finally met my eyes, and the regret I saw there made my chest ache. "Just... I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I really am sorry."

Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the wine cellar with my ruined hair, swollen lips, and a growing sense of dread.

I touched my mouth, still tingling from his kisses, and tried to make sense of what just happened. But all I could think about was tomorrow's wedding and the way he'd said sorry—like he was apologizing for something he hadn't done yet.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. I still had a million things to check before morning, a career-making wedding to coordinate, and a heart I needed to stop from doing stupid things like hoping.

Besides, I had nothing to worry about. I had meticulously and obsessively planned and prepared for every possible disaster. I was ready for whatever tomorrow threw at me.

4

EMMA

"Tell me you didn't sleep with him," Maggie said through the phone.

I adjusted my earpiece as I checked the flower arrangements in the castle's courtyard. "I didn't sleep with him."

"You're lying."

"I'm working." I bent to straighten a slightly crooked rose. Perfect.

"Emma Marshall, I've known you since college. I can hear your 'I totally got laid' voice from a mile away."

"I don't have a voice for that."

"You absolutely do. It's all breathy and dreamy, like you're starring in your little movie. Although, sometimes it’s a little shameful, like you just stopped and had gas station sushi and you know the consequences are coming sooner or later.”

I glanced around to make sure none of the staff could hear me. "Fine. Maybe something happened. And it was more like five Michellan stars than gas station sushi."

"I knew it!" Her squeal made me wince. "Details. Now. And does it even go to five stars? Nevermind, don’t care. Just tell me everything!"

"Can't. Too busy making sure this wedding goes perfectly." I checked my watch. Two hours until the ceremony. "But it was... intense."

"Intense in a good way?"

"Intense like I'm pretty sure I saw God. And…” I looked around, once more, cupping my hand over my mouth to hide the sound of my voice. “It was big enough to have its own zip code, so there’s that." I smiled at the memory, then forced myself to focus. "But it doesn't matter. He got weird afterward and basically ran away."

"Weird how?"

"Like cryptically apologetic weird. Said after today I wouldn't want anything to do with him."

"That's... concerning."

"Yeah, well, I have bigger things to worry about. Like making sure a few hundred guests don't notice that the florist sent coral peonies instead of blush ones."

"No one will notice that."

"The bride's mother will. That woman has the eye of a hawk." I moved toward the altar setup, mentally checking off items from my list. "She already complained about the thickness of the paper stock we used for the programs. The programs, Maggie. As if anyone keeps those longer than⁠—"

I stopped short. James was there, talking to the bride's father. The charm he’d seemed to ooze yesterday was nowhere to be seen. He looked... tense. Grim, almost.

"Emma? You still there?"

"Yeah, sorry. Just..." I watched as James handed Mr. McNamara something that looked like an envelope. A chill ran down my spine, though I couldn't say why. "Hey, I should go. Ceremony starts soon."

"Good luck! And Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Try to enjoy it a little. Not everything has to be perfect."

If only she knew how wrong she was. In this business, perfect wasn't just the goal—it was the bare minimum. One mistake, one bad review, and your reputation was toast.

I hung up and retreated to the bridal suite, where the final preparations were underway. The bride, Sarah McNamara (soon to be Harrison), sat perfectly still as the makeup artist made final touches.

I lingered for a moment, lifting my camera to snap a candid picture of her there. I did hire a separate photographer, but as someone who got my start planning weddings by being a photographer, I had never been able to fully give up the camera.

Something about taking pictures had always spoken to me. It wasn’t just about the pictures, it was about walking through life with a different perspective. Being a photographer taught you to recognize and appreciate moments in a different way. They were fleeting, and if you didn’t capture them, they would be gone forever.

I tried not to think about my own fleeting youth and the chance of having my own perfect wedding someday. I was twenty-eight, and nearing prehistoric age as far as being the perfect bride was concerned.

“Oh,” Sarah said, eyes flicking to me in the mirror. “I didn’t see you there, Emma. You’re quiet as a ghost.”

"Everything's set," I told her, pushing thoughts of James aside and forcing a smile. "The flowers are perfect, the musicians are in place, and the lighting will hit exactly right during the ceremony."

Sarah's eyes met mine in the mirror. "And Michael? Is he ready?"

"The groom is with his groomsmen. Everything's on schedule."

She nodded, but something in her expression made me pause. Was that doubt in her eyes? Pre-wedding jitters were normal, but...

No. Focus, Emma. Details. That's what you're good at.

I gave her a reassuring squeeze on the shoulders, careful not to mess up her hair or dress. “Tonight is your day. Everything is going to be amazing. I promise.”

Sarah smiled, looking slightly more relaxed as I left to check on everything else.

I spent the next hour coordinating last-minute adjustments. The flower girl needed her sash retied. One of the groomsmen lost his boutonnière. A guest with a nut allergy wanted me to double check with the kitchen to know the cake was safe.

Through it all, I kept catching glimpses of James. He moved through the crowd like a shadow, speaking quietly to various guests. Each time I saw him, that uneasy feeling in my stomach grew stronger. Worse, he was either magically oblivious to my presence today or actively ignoring me.

I wasn’t sure which was more hurtful.

Last night felt like a dream now—the wine cellar, his hands on my skin, the way he'd made me feel both reckless and safe at the same time.

I pushed the thoughts away. I was a professional. This was my moment.

Finally, it was time. The guests were seated, the music swelled, and Sarah began her walk down the aisle. She was stunning in her custom gown, which caught the golden hour light exactly as I'd planned.

I allowed myself a small smile as I snapped pictures from my carefully selected place. I was already mentally running through the schedule—thinking about how I’d need to usher the bride, groom, and their family to the spots I’d mapped out in the castle to catch the light at the right times.

But so far, everything was going according to plan.

I spotted James in the third row, his face unreadable. He hadn't so much as glanced my way, but I forced myself not to care. This wasn't about me or my ill-advised hookup. This was about Sarah and Michael.

The ceremony proceeded beautifully. Sarah and Michael reached their vows, and I felt that familiar warmth in my chest.

Sarah's voice shook slightly as she promised to love Michael forever. Was she nervous? Emotional? I studied her face, trying to read the subtle signs I'd learned to recognize over years of watching brides.

"If anyone knows any reason why these two should not be wed," the officiant intoned, "speak now or forever hold your peace."

James stood up.

No.

My heart stopped as he stepped into the aisle, that envelope from earlier in his hand.

No, no, no.

"There’s something everybody here needs to know," he said, his voice carrying across the suddenly silent courtyard. "Michael has been cheating on Sarah."

The ground felt like it fell away beneath my feet. Gasps echoed through the crowd as James approached the altar.

"I was hired by the bride's father to investigate concerns about Mr. Harrison's fidelity," James continued, his professional tone a stark contrast to the way he'd whispered my name last night. "What I found was a pattern of infidelity spanning the last year, documented through texts, emails, and hotel receipts. Anyone who doubts it is free to come look through my evidence."

Sarah made a sound like she'd been punched. Her father moved to comfort her, but she pushed him away.

"Is it true?" she demanded, turning to Michael.

His silence was answer enough.

Chaos erupted.

Guests started talking all at once. Sarah's mother was shouting. Someone knocked over a flower arrangement I'd spent an hour perfecting.

And all I could do was stand there, watching my perfect wedding implode. All those months of planning, all those tiny details I'd obsessed over—none of it mattered now. But worst of all, my heart broke for Sarah.

One of my favorite parts of working in this business was bringing the bride’s fantasy to life. This was her dream day—the day she’d spent her childhood imagining. And now it was all going up in flames.

Sarah came storming toward me through the madness, dress hiked up and mascara streaming down her face. “You promised,” she said, voice thick with emotion.

“I—I didn’t know—” I stammered.

“You didn’t know?” she laughed. “You planned everything down to the last detail, and yet you just happened to miss the fact that this man was at my wedding? That my husband was cheating on me? Did he cheat with you, too? You’re definitely his type. I bet⁠—”

“Sarah,” Mr. McNamara said, cutting in with a hand on her shoulder. “This isn’t her fault. I’m the one who hired the wedding wrecker. I made sure he wouldn’t stand out on the guest list, just like he instructed.”

“Why?” she said, turning to face him.

But their words drifted into background noise as I watched the wedding continue to implode.

The groom looking grim as he hurried out of the courtyard with his father berating him.

Guests looking confused and shocked as they got up and left, several with phones in hands and fingers typing furiously.

Sarah and her father walked away, leaving me standing there as my carefully built reputation seemed to crumble with each whispered comment. I could already imagine the reviews, the social media posts, the industry gossip.

I realized I now understood James’ cryptic warning from last night. Now I knew why he'd looked so guilty.

He'd known he was going to ruin my career-making moment. He kissed me, touched me, and made me feel things I’d never felt before. And then he realized I was the wedding planner, and the experience we shared wasn’t enough to stop him.

That was why he’d looked so grim. He knew he was still going to go through with it. He hadn’t given a shit what it would mean to me or the bride.

I felt a decision form in my heart at that moment. I would keep planning weddings, if I could. I’d keep making magic happen. But I would never, ever let myself believe in the fairytale again—the childish idea that my work was part of what would set couples up for a happy, amazing future… That belief withered up and died.

Because some things couldn’t be fixed with the perfect flowers or the proper lighting.

Things like love were beyond my control.

I saw James standing in the middle of the chaos like a tall, dark grim reaper. He looked like the prince of fucking darkness, and for a moment, I almost walked up to thank him for showing me the truth. Instead, I turned my back on him and left, hoping I'd never see his stupid face again.

5

EMMA

THREE YEARS LATER

"So," Brad said, cutting into his steak. "Lily tells me you're a wedding planner?"

I took a long sip of wine, buying time. Lily—my traitor of a sister—had promised this wouldn't be a setup. Just a casual dinner with her, her fiancé Marcus, and his friend from work who "happened" to be in town.

“Totally not a double date,” she had said.

Right.

"I do small events," I said carefully. "Intimate gatherings. Twenty guests max."

"Really?" Brad's eyebrows rose. "Because Lily was showing me pictures of that castle wedding you did in Ireland. Looked pretty major to me."

I shot my sister a look that promised revenge. She just smiled innocently and snuggled closer to Marcus.

"That was a while ago." I stabbed a piece of salmon with more force than necessary. "I prefer a... different approach now."

"She's being modest," Lily cut in. "My sister used to do the most incredible weddings. Still could, if she'd stop playing it so safe."

"I'm not playing it safe," I protested. "I'm being practical. I can do more weddings this way and there’s far less potential for disaster. Sure, they’re not as… epic, but it’s just a performative ceremony anyway, right?”

“God, listen to you,” Lily laughed, but there was a touch of worry in her eyes. “What did you do with my lovesick big sister?”

Marcus chuckled. "Practical isn't always better. Sometimes you have to take risks." He squeezed Lily's hand. "Like asking out the pretty girl at the park even though she's way out of your league."

They shared one of those sickeningly sweet couples' looks. Three years ago, I would have found it romantic. Now it just made me want to check their phones for dating apps. I could almost see the ghost of James “The Wedding Wrecker” Carter standing behind them, smiling with sinister promise that it would all come crashing down before the end.

God, I was turning into such a cynic.

"Tell me about your events," Brad said, drawing my attention back to him. He wasn't unattractive—tall, nice smile, probably made good money based on the suit he wore and his watch. In short, there was no reason I should feel such a natural aversion to giving him a shot. In fact, I probably would’ve been thrilled to be set up with someone like him before…

Before James. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I still saw that image of him standing in the middle of the ruined Harrison-McNamara wedding. That image haunted me. He haunted me…

"Not much to tell," I said. "Small ceremonies. Simple receptions. No surprises."

"Sounds boring," Lily muttered into her wine glass.

"Boring is underrated." I gave her a pointed look. "Boring means no one ends up crying in the bathroom or finding out their fiancé has been sleeping with the entire wedding party."

Brad's eyes widened slightly.

"What my sister means," Lily jumped in, "is that she's incredibly talented but currently wasting that talent on backyard barbecues and courthouse ceremonies."

"They're not all backyard⁠—"

"When was the last time you did something that scared you?" Lily challenged. "Something that actually mattered?"

"I came here tonight, even though I knew you were probably going to try to set me up with some guy. Again.”

Brad choked on his wine.

"Sorry," I told him. "That came out wrong. I just... I like knowing what to expect these days."

“All good,” Brad said. “Somebody told me you agreed to a blind date. I didn’t realize you were caught off guard.” He gave Marcus a pointed look.

“Anyway,” Lily said carefully, cutting in with that way of hers. Lily was the baby of the family, and she’d been the cutest baby on Earth. Then she was the most adorable toddler anyone had ever seen. And now she was so eye-wateringly pretty that old men couldn’t help themselves from shuffling over to her and paying her creepy compliments wherever she went. In other words, she was used to batting her long eyelashes, smiling, and being forgiven for all her sins. “There’s something I wanted to ask you, Emma.”

I froze with my fork halfway to my mouth. "What?"

"Marcus and I want you to plan our wedding. At the Timber Vale Lodge in Breckenridge, Colorado."

"Lily..."

"It's perfect," she continued, enthusiasm building. "The resort is gorgeous, the views are incredible, and you know winter weddings are totally your thing. And I only know about the place because I snooped in one of your old ‘dream venue scouting report’ folders."

"One, I didn’t give you permission to go through my things. And two, Winter weddings were my thing," I said. "And you know I don't do destination weddings anymore."

"But this is different. It's me. Your favorite sister."

"You're my only sister."

"Exactly! Which means you have to do it."

I set down my fork, trying to ignore the way my heart rate had picked up. "Can we talk about this later?"

"No, because you'll just come up with more excuses." Lily leaned forward. "Em, it's been three years. You can't let one bad experience⁠—"

"Bad experience?" I laughed. "Lily, my career almost ended. Do you know how long it took to rebuild my reputation? How many tiny, perfect, absolutely-nothing-can-go-wrong weddings I had to do before people would trust me again?"

"And now they do trust you," she said softly. "Which means it's time to trust yourself."

Marcus cleared his throat. "If it helps, my family are all on board with you planning it for us."

I blinked. "You already talked to Marcus’ family about this?"

"The Wellingtons have certain... expectations," he said with a slightly apologetic smile. “Lily wanted to make sure they were okay with it before we asked you.”

Two years ago, Lily met Marcus and had no idea who he was related to for weeks. Eventually, she learned his family is old money. They had ties to the Rockafellers, apparently, and were heavily involved in the Standard Oil empire. According to my internet searches, they were multi-millionaires with gorgeous properties in their name across the country. Being hired by them to plan a wedding…

It made the Harrison-McNamara wedding look like a courthouse wedding by comparison.

"Did you know about this?" I asked Brad, who had been suspiciously quiet.

He held up his hands. "I just came for the steak. And you,” he added with an awkward smile.

Lily looked at me, eyes pleading. "No pressure. Just consider it."

Right. No pressure. Just my sister's wedding. At one of the most exclusive resorts in Colorado. For one of the wealthiest families in the country.

What could possibly go wrong?

"I'll think about it," I said, knowing I'd already lost this battle.

"Perfect!" Lily clapped her hands. "Oh, and one more tiny detail..."

"What?"

"The wedding's in six months."

I choked a little, coughing into my napkin. "Six months? For a winter destination wedding at the Timber Vale Lodge? That's impossible. I don’t even know if they’d still have an opening."

"Marcus’ dad called in a favor already. They’re holding our date until we can confirm. Besides, nothing's impossible for Emma Marshall," Lily said with complete confidence. "You're the one who taught me that."

Yeah, but that was the old Emma. The one who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. The one who hadn't watched a perfect wedding implode in spectacular fashion. The one who hadn't been stupid enough to fall for⁠—

No. Not going there.

I looked at my sister's hopeful face, then at Marcus's encouraging smile. Even Brad looked invested now, though that might have just been indigestion. He was going pretty hard on the greasy appetizers and bread.

"Fine," I heard myself say. "I'll do it."

Lily squealed and launched herself around the table to hug me. "I knew you would! This is going to be amazing."

"But," I added, extracting myself from her grip, "we do it my way. No surprises. No last-minute changes. And absolutely no uninvited guests."

"Of course," Marcus agreed smoothly. "Whatever you need."

I took another long drink of wine, trying to quiet the voice in my head screaming that this was a terrible idea.

"To new beginnings," Lily proposed, raising her glass.

We all clinked glasses. As I sipped my wine, I found myself studying Marcus for signs of trouble. Ever since Ireland, I’d had the irrational fear that every single wedding was going to blow up in my face. Somehow, I hadn’t had a single disaster in three years, but it was as if the scar left behind wouldn’t heal.

I couldn’t look at the “perfect, happy couple” and not wonder how it would all come crashing down for them.

But that was silly. I was just being paranoid. Marcus came from so much money he could have any girl he wanted. He was handsome, rich, and charming. And my sister wasn’t the kind of girl you let go when you got a hold of her.

I found myself smiling as we drank to our toast.

Maybe Lily was right. Maybe planning this huge, high-stakes wedding could actually be a good thing.

The only downside was I’d finally have to meet these mega-rich Wellingtons in the flesh for the first time. And I assumed it would also mean Marcus’ mother getting heavily involved with the planning process.

A multi-millionaire old money mother dipping her hands in my business… Yay.

I forced a smile in Lily’s direction.

Potential disaster, ghosts of the wedding wrecker, and a head-on-collision with old money and all the pretentious looks that would come along with it.

Yay. This might just be horrible.

6

JAMES

"Your nine o'clock is here," Derek announced, leaning against my office doorframe. "Fair warning—she's already crying."

I looked up from the stack of surveillance photos on my desk. Even after all these years, it was hard not to notice how Derek commanded attention just by existing. He had that kind of presence—tall, dark-haired, with the kind of face that made the office assistants constantly find excuses to deliver files in person. But his easy grin and perpetual bedhead kept him from looking too polished, which probably explained why women found him so approachable.

"They're always crying," I said.

"Yeah, but this one brought her own fancy monogrammed handkerchief. If you’re going to noisily cry, why not do it in style?" He dropped into one of my client chairs, propping his feet on my desk. "Also, Carol in accounting wants to know if you're ever going to turn in your expense reports, or if she should just assume all those hotel bar receipts are for 'investigating.'"

I knocked his feet off my desk. "They are for investigating."

"Uh huh." Derek had been my best friend since college, and somehow I'd let him talk me into handling the business side of my... unique enterprise. "And that bottle of Macallan 18?"

"Research."

"Into what? Liver failure?"

I ignored him, straightening my tie as I stood. "How much time do I have?"

"Enough to tell me why you're still wearing that tie."

I glanced down at the dark blue silk. "What's wrong with my tie?"

"Nothing. Except it’s the same one you wore yesterday.”

I made an effort not to touch it self-consciously. Oops.

Derek leaned forward, eyes searching my face. “You know, you always blow me off when I bring it up. But I still think you haven’t gotten over that girl you told me about. Your Irish flower.”

“Stop calling her that. I was drunk, and I was in my feelings. She’s not even Irish, so it hardly makes sense.”

Derek smirked. “Anyway… this Irish flower of yours rocks your world. Suddenly, my friend who is usually going home with a different woman every night has lost interest in dating. He’s ‘taking a break’. Well, James, I’m calling bullshit.” He spread his palms with a shrug. “I think you still have feelings for your little flower, and you’re saving yourself for her. Frankly, it’s adorable.”

“This is why I keep you in the office and don’t let you investigate weddings. You’re assuming a hell of a lot. And you’re completely wrong.”

“Am I?” Derek asked. His smug smile said it all.

I leaned back in my chair, arms folded. “Was there something you actually needed, or were you just here to annoy me?”

“Your nine-o-clock. Or did you forget because I mentioned your Irish flower, and all your thoughts went to your long lost love?”

“You can go,” I said firmly, but not without the faintest hint of a smile. “Send her in.”

Derek stood with a sarcastic salute. “For the record,” he said, leaning across my desk and lowering his voice. “You may be fooling yourself. But nobody else is falling for it.”

With a knock of his knuckles on my desk, Derek was gone.

The woman who entered looked exactly how I’d expected, complete with designer clothes and a monogrammed handkerchief she was currently twisting between manicured fingers.

"Mrs. Holloway?" I gestured to the chair Derek had vacated. "Please, sit. Tell me why you're here."

She perched on the edge of the seat. "It's about my daughter. She's engaged to... I think he's going to hurt her."

I kept my face neutral as she explained her concerns. The fiancé was too smooth, too perfect. Money disappeared from joint accounts. There were late-night calls he wouldn't explain.

"Have you told your daughter your concerns?"

Mrs. Holloway dabbed at her eyes. "She says I'm being paranoid. That I need to trust her judgment."

"And you understand how this works, right? They gave you the paperwork?"

“Well, yes,” she said, twisting that handkerchief again. “But I was thinking maybe we could save her the drama. If you… find something, I mean. Couldn’t we just show her quietly? Let her make her own decision?”

“No,” I said firmly. “That’s not what we do here.” I found my thoughts picking at old wounds—thinking of all the people who knew the truth and the obvious signs I’d ignored.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just⁠—”

“Let me help you understand, then,” I said, sounding more harsh than I intended. “Because I’ve tried it both ways. Let’s say we find out this guy is cheating or scamming her. We bring the evidence to your daughter. She’s going to do one of two things. One: she gives him another chance because he lathers on the perfect apology and promises to make it up to her. Meanwhile, he’ll go on lying and staying a snake. Two: she actually breaks it off, which almost nobody does.”

“Well,” she said, lips working quietly as she gathered her thoughts. “She wouldn’t stay with a cheater. And you said it yourself… she might break things off.”

“To put it frankly, I care deeply about preventing failed marriages, Mrs. Holloway. I don’t like investing my time to investigate couples if I don’t have assurances I can do things my way. I’m not interested in leaving it up to the bride or groom to do the right thing, because most of them don’t. So if you hire me, you’ll have to sign that you understand exactly how I operate. If there’s cause, I’ll wreck the wedding. It’s as simple as that. Of course, there’s a chance I’ll find nothing. In that case, you only have to pay to cover my investigation expenses, and no one ever has to know you hired me to look into their relationship.”

After Mrs. Holloway left, Derek reappeared with coffee. "So? Taking the case?"

"Yeah." I accepted the cup. "And the guy's definitely hiding something."

"You always say that."

"I'm usually right."

"Usually." He dropped a stack of papers on my desk. "But not always. Remember the Richardson wedding last month? Guy was clean as a whistle."

I scowled. That had been... disappointing.

"You almost looked sad about it," Derek continued. "Like maybe you wanted him to be guilty. Which is kind of fucked up, if you think about it."

"I'm helping people."

"Are you? Or are you just spreading your own trauma around like a party favor? Do you ever wonder if this business of yours is just keeping the wound open? I mean… Katie was years ago, man. And you still haven’t ever seemed the same since that day. One guy can only suffer so many wounds before he bleeds out, you know. You’ve either got to close them up or stop letting yourself get hurt."

I shot him a look. "Am I paying you to be my therapist, or handle the bullshit paperwork I don’t want to handle?"

"Fine, avoid the subject. But you know I'm right." He headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, almost forgot. This came for you."

He tossed an envelope onto my desk. Heavy cream paper, expensive. The return address was for a law firm I didn't recognize.

Inside was a single sheet of paper:

Dear Mr. Carter,

My daughter is engaged to marry a man I don’t trust. I heard about what you do from my older daughter, and I never thought I’d need your services, but here I am. Her fiancé is part of a very influential and powerful family, so I would need to know that every aspect of our arrangement could stay completely confidential.

Is that possible?

The man I want you to investigate is Marcus Wellington III, and my daughter is Lily Marshall. They’re planning to get married in five months at an exclusive resort in Breckrenridge, Colorado. I’m sure I could get you invited to the wedding by claiming you were an old friend, or something of the sort. Would that work?

Please get back to me as soon as you can.

Martha Marshall

I read it twice, something nagging at the back of my mind. I wasn’t sure I recognized the names, but something about the letter was setting off warning bells.

"Hey, Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"Run a search on Marcus Wellington III."

He pulled out his phone, fingers blurring across the screen. Then he whistled low. "Damn. Old money. Like, really old money. Getting married in December at some fancy resort in Colorado. Lucky bride. Hm.” More typing and a few clicks. “Actually, maybe he’s the lucky one. That bride looks like a supermodel, but more down to Earth. Like the girl next door on steroids. Sheesh. No wonder he wants to tie the knot."

My blood ran cold as I saw the photo on the page Derek had pulled up.

Marcus Wellington III and his fiancée, Lily Marshall, smiled up at me. But it was the second picture that caught my eye. Lower down on the page, there was a photo of a slightly younger version of Lily with her sister beaming at the camera. The caption below said Lily’s own sister was planning the wedding.

Of course she was.

And of course I recognized the face of her sister. Her sister was Emma Marshal. My Irish Flower, as Derek liked to tease.

Fuck.

7

EMMA

The Timber Vale Lodge looked like something out of a fairytale—if fairytales had valet parking and rooms starting at two thousand dollars a night, at least.

I stepped out of my rental car, immediately grateful for the heated driveway keeping the snow at bay. Between the puffy, snow-coated trees, the mountains blanketed in white, and the chill in the air, I knew I was definitely not in San Francisco anymore. Thankfully, the sun was bright and warm in a way that cut through the cold a little.

I’d been warned, but I was learning first hand about altitude adjustment as well. We were around nine thousand feet high, and even lifting my carry-on out of my Uber’s trunk had me winded. Supposedly, it could improve in as quick as a day, or it could take months.

Yay. As if I need any help feeling unathletic.

A group of guests glided past in designer ski wear, all smiles and happy faces. Meanwhile, I was pretty sure my nose had turned an attractive shade of red from the cold. My only “heavy” jacket was definitely not rated for this kind of cold, either. I had considered upgrading before the trip, but the good ones cost too much for my budget, which was currently fueled by very small wedding planning. I did occasionally pick up a few extra dollars doing freelance photography gigs, but those weren’t anything I could count on.

"Miss Marshall?" A uniformed attendant appeared at my elbow before I even approached the main steps leading up to the lobby. "Welcome to Timber Vale. May I take your bags?"

"Only if you promise to give them back!” I joked.

The attendant stared at me until I cleared my throat awkwardly.

“Sure,” I said quietly, handing over my carry-on and suitcase.

The man headed off with my bags, leaving me to lift my eyes to the resort itself. It was hard not to feel intimidated by the massive log and stone structure looming before me. It managed to look both rustic and obscenely expensive. Thick, natural wood beams and countless architectural details covered the outside of the lodge. Somewhere above, smoke curled from multiple chimneys into the crystal-clear mountain air.

An actual honest-to-god sleigh with horses stood near the entrance, apparently waiting to take guests on rides through the surrounding winter wonderland. Because of course it did.

Some deeply buried, definitely romantic and fantasy-land version of me squealed a little bit. I suppressed it as much as I could.

Fantasies set people up for disappointment, Emma. You know that.

Before “the wedding wrecker” and the subsequent Irish disaster, I probably would have already asked if I could sit in the sleigh or pet the horses. Instead, I let out a weary sigh and averted my eyes, heading for the main entrance.

My phone buzzed. Maggie.

"Are you an ice cube yet?" she asked when I answered. “Are you absolutely freaking out because your sister’s wedding is only like… two weeks away? Or is it one?”

"I'm here,” I said, laughing softly at her barrage of questions. I followed the attendant with my bags through carved wooden doors into a lobby that took my breath away. An ornate stone fireplace dominated one wall, while antler chandeliers cast warm light over leather chairs and plush sofas. A full wall of windows gave a sweeping view of the snow-capped peaks and one of the ski slopes outside. I was already daydreaming about curling up in one of the comfy chairs with a good book so I could drink in the ambiance—if planning the wedding of my life didn’t keep me too busy, at least. "It's..."

"Overwhelming?" Maggie asked.

"I was going to say perfect." I lowered my voice as I passed the group in the fancy ski wear, who were now complaining about the champagne selection at the slope-side bar. "But also that."

"How's the altitude treating you?"

"Like I aged fifty years overnight." I paused to catch my breath. "Walking up a couple stairs makes me feel like I just ran a marathon.”

"Just wait until you try skiing,” Maggie said.

"Bold of you to assume I'm going anywhere near those death slopes. I've seen way too many movies where the girl tries to ski to impress some guy and ends up taking out half the resort."

"Speaking of guys trying to impress you..."

"Please don't."

"Three texts this week! That's commitment."

“If I was responding? Maybe. But I’m not, so I’d call it harassment.”

“Come on. It’s kind of sweet.”

“I went on one date with him over a month ago now. And I told him in completely clear, unambiguous terms that I didn’t think it was going to work out.”

“Didn’t think,” Maggie chirped, as if she had discovered a vital clue.

“Oh, come on. I was just trying to put it nicer than saying ‘we have literally nothing in common and we have about as much chemistry as a lukewarm glass of water.”

“Hey, water has chemistry. Hydrogen bonding with oxygen. It’s basically the building block of all complex chemistry.”

“Bad example,” I sighed. “But I’m really not interested in Kyle. At all. Yesterday he sent me a photo of his lunch with the caption 'wish you were here.' It was a protein shake."

"Men are weird." Maggie paused. "Though you could do worse. He's stable, successful⁠—"

"Not interested. Just like I told him," I finished. "Besides, I'm here to work. No distractions. I already had to block him on Instagram after he liked every single one of my posts from the last year."

"Right. But I feel like it’s my duty as your closest friend to point out the obvious.”

“Why do I feel like your point is neither going to be obvious or necessary?”

“Which is,” Maggie continued, unbothered by my question, “that you haven’t been the same since Ireland. Before that, you would’ve been daydreaming about these guys you’ve dated. You would’ve been adding to your little ‘secret’ wedding board. And now? You’re like a crotchety old woman who can’t be pleased by any guy, no matter how acceptable he might be.”

“Acceptable?” I laughed. “Is that the bar we’re aiming for here? Because what’s the point of hitching my wagon to a guy if it’s not right? So we can get to our wedding day and watch it all fall apart?”

There was a long pause. “You realize that’s not⁠—”

“Hey, Maggie,” I said, cutting her off as it was my turn to step up to the counter and check in. “I gotta go. Bye.”

“This isn’t⁠—”

I ended the call and gave the staff member my information and waited while she clacked away at her keyboard while wearing an odd smile.

Did rich people get offended if staff didn’t look like they were enjoying themselves while doing menial, tedious tasks? Or maybe this girl just… loved typing?

My thoughts drifted back to Maggie, and the point she was trying to make. It wasn’t the first time she’d tried to broach the subject of my… distance. But I knew there was no point in trying to explain it to her. She just didn’t understand.

I spent so much of my life romanticizing love and weddings. I let it get to the point where I was completely blind to reality—where I thought all I needed to do was reach the wedding, as if it was some kind of finish line. It was, of course, ridiculous.

The wedding was hardly even the beginning, and people who reached that point with the wrong person were only setting themselves up for failure and heartbreak.

So, sure, maybe guys like Kyle and Brad weren’t terrible, but they also weren’t good enough. They weren’t perfect, and I wasn’t going to waste my time or risk my heart on anybody short of perfect. I’d just keep focusing on my own career, my professional goals, and… well, if Mr. Perfect never came along? So what? At least I’d be spared the heartbreak of forcing it to work with the wrong guy.

“There,” the woman said, her artificial smile widening. "You're in the Mountain View Suite." She handed over a satisfyingly heavy black and gold keycard. "Mr. Wellington specifically requested it for you."

Of course he did. I'd only spoken to Martha Wellington over the phone so far, but her husband's reputation preceded him. Richard Wellington III didn't do anything halfway. According to my research (okay, late-night web searches), the family owned properties across five continents and had some connection to actual royalty that I couldn't quite figure out.

It was all oddly vague and hard to pin down, actually. When I had tried to look at exactly which properties they owned or who they were related to, I kept finding myself in circular loops that wouldn’t say where or what they were. But it wasn’t shocking. With money like that, it probably wasn’t hard to buy privacy, even on the internet.

But how dare they? Didn’t my idle curiosity and nosiness have rights, too? Damn them and their endless supplies of money.

I wove my way through hallways decorated with landscape paintings, over-the-top custom-made wood slab furniture and things like… ornamental root balls encased in epoxy, because of course that’s a thing.

When I reached my suite, I couldn’t help but squeal and do a little happy dance.

The huge window theme continued, giving me my own personal balcony view of the Rockies. A stone fireplace was already crackling and giving off delicious heat while an actual platter of sweet pastries, cheeses, an assortment of crackers, and all kinds of fancy sliced meats were set out on my bed.

And there was champagne.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said to myself in a crappy British accent.

I stuffed some cheese in my mouth as I gently touched the petals on a bouquet of pure white roses in a crystal vase. I tipped back some of the champagne as I read the note on my pillow.

Welcome to Timber Vale, Emma. Dinner at seven - RW

I set the note down with a smile, and then my stomach dropped. Even though the major parts were already in motion for the wedding next week, I felt like I was in way over my head. This place… these people…

Panic started to knock at the door, asking nicely if I’d mind letting it in.

Nope. No. “You’re Emma Marshall. Cool as cucumbers. You got this, girl.” After some deep breaths, I indulged in a little bit of food therapy.

Okay, a lot a bit.

I ate almost half of the platter, which I was pretty sure might have been meant for a larger group. I also drank half the bottle of champagne and earned myself a pleasant little buzz.

With a glance at my phone, I realized it was already closer to seven than I thought. I brushed the crumbs from my dress and used my insanely fancy ass private bathroom to freshen up. There was a towel warmer, which I might have wasted some valuable time playing with. There was even a frothy thing that dispensed shaving cream, so I gave my armpits a little touch up, just because.

I tried on the comfiest robe I’d ever felt in my life, tested the acoustics in the shower, and liberally scuffed my feet around in the “Timber Vale” slippers they had waiting by my door.

Even the freaking floor was heated, which put me in a dilemma between my slippers and bare feet—both of which were highly enjoyable.

Leaving my perfect room and entering into the chaotic world of wedding planning was hard, but I eventually pulled myself out of the room and back to the hallway.

I headed to the resort restaurant where Mr. Wellington was waiting and only got lost a few times on the way. Once I arrived, the hostess led me to a private dining room where a distinguished-looking man in his sixties rose to greet me.

"Emma Marshall." Richard Wellington's handshake was firm, his smile genuine. He had salt-and-pepper hair that was slicked back from tanned and lightly lined features. His jaw was strong and his shoulders were broad, and he had the look of somebody who used to be in great shape but had finally relaxed on his strict diet and exercise routine.

His silver eyes sparkled, drawing me from my rambling thoughts as he let go of my hand. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Martha speaks very highly of your work."

She does? All my interactions with Martha Wellington left me feeling like I was a bit of old cheese she’d found underneath her fingernail. "Thank you for having me," I said, hoping I sounded more confident than I felt.

"Nonsense. You're family now." He gestured to the chair beside him. "Or you will be. Speaking of family..." He looked toward the door. "Ah, perfect timing. Emma, I'd like you to meet my younger son, Richard the Fourth. Though everyone calls him Dick."

A man around my age approached, wearing an expression that suggested he found everything beneath him. Including, apparently, buttons—his shirt was undone halfway down his chest despite the December chill. A gold chain nestled in his chest hair, catching the light as he moved.

Objectively speaking, he was attractive. He had blue eyes, sharp eyebrows, an aqualine nose, and a chin and jaw I found slightly too proud. Features aside, his body language was practically radiating “douche” energy at such high levels I thought I might choke on it if I breathed too deeply.

"Dick," his father continued, "this is Lily's sister. The wedding planner I was telling you about."

"Charmed to meet you." Dick's eyes roamed over me in a way that made me want to button up my own perfectly appropriate neckline. "You know, I always say wedding planners are the most... passionate women. A career dedicated to love has a way of… greasing the wheels, if you catch my implication."

Was he actually wiggling his eyebrows? And implications were hardly the first thing I was worried about catching from “Dick.” I’d probably start the list with gonorrhea, or maybe just everyday germs. He struck me as the kind of guy who didn’t wash his hands when he used the bathroom.

"Dick's between relationships right now," Richard said meaningfully.

"How... convenient," I managed, reaching for my water glass. Maybe if I drank enough water, I could drown myself before this got worse.

"Very convenient." Dick slid into the chair next to mine, way too close. His cologne was probably expensive and smelled like he'd bathed in it. "You know, I have a suite with an even better view than yours. I'd love to show it to you. The sunsets are... magnificent. Not that you’d be paying them any attention if I had you alone in there."

He actually licked his lips after saying "magnificent."

Disaster alarm bells began to ring. The situation here was painfully clear. Mr. Wellington’s prized son, Marcus, was marrying my sister. Whether it was some kind of rich person fetish, or just a wild idea that had popped into his head, he wanted to keep adding my family to his.

He was hoping to set me up with this walking ball of ick, and I couldn’t think of a single way to shut this down without making things very awkward.

My mind raced with half-baked ideas. I could lie? Lying wasn’t always bad, right? I could claim I lost my ovaries in a tragic car accident back in 1982. No. You weren’t even alive in 1982, Emma! That plan sucks!

Maybe I could say I was the one with gonorrhea? No. Dick probably already has that, and he’d just see it as an excuse to say we already had something in common.

Think, think, think…

Instead of speaking or coming up with any kind of coherent plan, I stared at Dick with my eyes wide and my mouth half-open. I felt the sinking certainty that in a few moments, I was going to get talked into some kind of date, and that I’d have to endure Dick’s advances for the remainder of my time here.

I was about to scream in panic when a familiar voice made my heart stop.

"Sorry I'm late, sweetheart."

Strong hands settled on my shoulders. A pair of lips brushed my temple.

I looked up into eyes I hadn't seen in three years.

James. The wedding wrecker in the flesh.

"Traffic was terrible," he continued smoothly, sliding into the chair on my other side. His arm settled around me possessively. "I hope you weren't waiting long."

I stared at him, my brain short-circuiting between what the actual fuck and holy shit he somehow looks even better than I remembered.

"I don’t believe we’ve met,” Richard said, cocking his head toward James.

“James Carter,” he said, reaching to shake Richard Wellington’s hand.

“Ah, I see. I believe I saw your name on the guest list.” He snapped his fingers, as if trying to remember an obscure detail. “Was it a family friend of Lily’s parents?”

“That’s right,” James said.

"I didn't realize you and Emma were..."

"Together?" James smiled, but there was steel behind it as he looked at Dick. "Very much so. We only started dating recently. Though you wouldn’t guess it with how crazy we are for for each other. Right, babe?”

He planted another kiss on my temple, then brought his lips to my ear. “Might want to release the bomb you look like you’re holding up your ass, or they’re going to see through the lie.”

I was going to kill him.

“Uh, huh,” I managed, smiling.

Yep. He was a dead man. And I was going to do it with my own hands.

Right after I figured out how he got here.

And maybe after I stopped noticing how good he smelled.

And definitely after I figured out why my heart was doing that stupid flutter thing again.

8

JAMES

OOPS…

The single word summed up the last half hour pretty well. From the way Richard Wellington had seemed downright pissed that Emma was supposedly in a relationship, to how he’d snapped his finger and suggested something I was sure Emma was going to hate me even more for.

“This presents the perfect opportunity,” he had said, eyes sparkling with… something. Had that been genuine excitement, or was it thinly veiled anger? I still wasn’t sure.

But he had smiled as he told us about his “opportunity”. “My Aunt Martha wasn’t happy with the views in her room,” Richard had said, “and Emma’s room has amazing views. I’m sure you two wouldn’t mind giving her Emma’s, since the views in hers are superior. That way, you both can cozy up together in James’ room like a proper couple.”

That was half an hour ago, and Emma hadn’t really spoken to me since then. Instead, she was busy storming. She’d walked calmly enough out of the restaurant while we were in view of the Wellingtons, and then she’d practically torn herself off my arm and began embodying the female equivalent of a hurricane, or maybe a tornado.

Her pissed off energy seemed to seep into the air around her.

Honestly, it was kind of adorable watching her. She was a small woman, and something about small things rampaging and raging admittedly tickled at my amusement.

Even with much longer strides, I had to pick up my pace to keep up with her as she stormed into the elevator, down the hallway, and even stormily used her keycard. To her frustration, it hadn’t worked until I helpfully showed her she was holding it backwards.

Now she was rage-packing her suitcase with her ass pointed right at me.

Accident? Maybe. But I had my hands stuffed in my pockets as I fought my natural impulse to stare at the absolutely mouth-watering view that put the Rockies to shame. Yeah. With a woman like Emma, you could save a few bucks booking hotel rooms. Why would you give a shit what was out your windows when you’d want nothing more than to stare at her?

“Are you going to offer to help?” she asked, voice muffled as her ass wiggled with the force of her packing. She was trying to gather all of her things from her room—which was definitely way nicer than mine. If she thought she was pissed now, I wondered how much worse it would be when she saw the comparatively shit room I’d been given.

“Did you want help devouring this welcome platter of food and champaign? Because it looks like you were doing pretty well on your own.” I grinned, picking up a piece of cheese with a small bite taken from it. I popped it into my mouth and chewed. Tasty. “This thing looks like a pack of wolves went at it.”

Emma whirled, still crouched as she glared with one hand in her suitcase. "This is your fault," she said, turning back to shove more clothes into her bag with impressive force. "All of it. If you hadn't shown up playing hero⁠—"

"You'd be fending off Dick right about now.”

"I could have handled Dick just fine on my own."

The joke was right there. So easy. So perfect.

I bit my lip to stop from speaking, because I only needed one look at her face to tell me humor wasn’t going to soften her. No. There was real hurt beneath her anger, and it was very possibly a bridge between us I wouldn’t ever be able to mend.

"Since when are you a 'family friend' anyway?" she demanded, turning to face me. "Because I think I would have remembered someone like you hanging around family gatherings."

I kept my face carefully neutral. "Your mother⁠—"

"My mother?" She dropped the shirt she was folding. "What about my mother?"

Shit. I probably should’ve been more vague. "I just meant⁠—"

"Did she hire you?" The color drained from her face. "Is that why you're here? To wreck another wedding? To wreck my little sister’s wedding?"

I met her gaze, keeping my expression neutral. "Maybe I knew you’d be here. Maybe I wanted to see an old friend."

"We're not friends." The words had an edge sharp enough to draw blood. "Friends don't destroy each other's careers."

"I didn't try to destroy⁠—"

"Save it." She yanked open another drawer and dumped the contents in her concerningly stuffed suitcase. “Tell me why I shouldn’t go to Mr. Wellington right now and tell him exactly who you are and what you do."

“Well…” I hesitated, wishing there was a way to word this that wouldn’t sound like a threat. “Because he’s probably going to want to know why the wedding planner didn’t notice someone like that on the guest list? And now he’ll also wonder why you’re dating me. At the very least, he’ll wonder why you didn’t tell him the moment I showed up back there.”

Emma’s face scrunched in an adorably terrifying mask of anger. “So you’ve entrapped me. Perfect. Was this all part of your plan?”

“No,” I said. “I happened to overhear some creep hitting on a girl. I stuck my head in and was coming over to help even before I knew it was you. But considering our… history, we should at least be pretty good at making it look like we’re attracted to each other. So I’d call it a happy accident.”

“Okay,” she said, voice slow and dangerously quiet. “Maybe I should just ask why I shouldn’t strangle you in your sleep tonight? Hm?”

“That is probably a better question,” I admitted. “But even if I was working this wedding, which I’m not…” Liar, liar. “It’s not like I ruin every wedding. People hire me to investigate. Sometimes, there’s absolutely nothing going on, and I just enjoy the free drinks and festivities.”

“I’m not going to believe you aren’t working this wedding for a second.”

Smart girl.

“Well,” I said. “That’s your choice. But I’m just here to have a good time and watch an old family friend get married.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “A good time, huh? Planning to fuck another wedding planner the night before you destroy her wedding? Oh, wait. It would be the same wedding planner this time, and she’s not going to fall for your charms again.”

I cleared my throat. Even her furious mention of what we’d done in that wine cellar was still enough to make my skin flush hot. She had been the best I’d ever had. By far. I would be a dirty liar if I said I didn’t think about her nearly every day.

“That was a mistake.”

“Fantastic. So you ruined my career and thought sleeping with me was a mistake. Is there anything else you’d like to say to deepen my hatred of you before night falls? Because this is helping. I wasn’t sure I’d have the willpower to murder a sleeping man, but I’m getting there.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Uh, no. I think I’ll stop digging the hole deeper there. Here, let me help you zip that.”

Emma was struggling to close her overstuffed suitcase, so I put a knee on it and tugged the zipper shut.

“You really made the most of this suitcase, huh? Didn’t feel like carrying two?”

“Ever since Ireland, I’ve been doing much smaller weddings. They don’t pay as well, and I wanted to save the bag fees.”

“Oh,” I said, feeling myself wither a little more on the inside. I couldn’t say a single thing right around her. What the fuck was my problem?

We were both kneeling over the suitcase when she met my eyes. “You're here for a reason, and it's not because you're suddenly best friends with my family."

She was right, of course. Lying about why I was here was stupid, but I also thought it might make her less inconsolably pissed if she just heavily suspected it versus having it outright confirmed. Honestly, I was actually a little scared she might really try to kill me in my sleep if I made her any more angry.

For now, the full truth could wait. It hardly mattered, anyway, considering she didn’t believe a word I said.

The walk to my room was silent, broken only by the wheels of her suitcase on the hardwood floors. She had nearly bit my hand off when I offered to carry it for her.

I tried not to notice how the light from the wall sconces caught in her hair, or how she still smelled like vanilla and something uniquely Emma. I did notice the way her perfectly plump ass swayed as she walked, and how every little movement brought me back to the way it had felt to have my hands on her skin—to hear her soft moans and hot breath in my ear.

I felt the impending reveal of my room drawing closer like a small time bomb.

My room was… cozy. That was the polite word for it. The less polite word might be cramped and depressing compared to the luxurious place she just gave up for “Aunt Martha”.

Emma stood in the doorway, taking in the single queen bed, the small sitting area, and the distinct lack of space for two people who weren't actually dating.

"No," she said.

"It's not that bad."

"There's one bed."

"I don’t snore, and I’m a very sound sleeper. I’ll stay on my side.”

She set down her bags and pulled out her laptop. "We need rules."

"Rules?"

"Yes. Rules." She opened PowerPoint with terrifying efficiency. "If we're going to survive this week without killing each other or ruining my sister's wedding, we need structure."

I leaned against the wall, watching as she typed with fierce concentration.

"Are you actually making a presentation about this?" I asked. “Because we could try just talking.”

"Relationships require clear communication and boundaries." She didn't look up. "Even fake ones. And I’m going to do as little actual talking to you as I can manage, thank you very much."

"What happened in Ireland…” I said slowly. “That was real to me.”

Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. For a moment, neither of us breathed.

"That was a mistake. You said it yourself."

For some reason, her words and tone felt like a punch in the gut. God damn. I’d known Emma Marshall had been lingering in my head for years now, but I hadn’t realized how easily she could still get to me.

I tried to talk to her a few times, but she just hushed me and continued letting her fingers fly over the keyboard. Apparently, I had to sit patiently while she made this ridiculous presentation.

I poured myself a water, ate some nuts from the mini-bar, and mostly observed her as she sat cross-legged on my bed.

My bed.

Emma Marshal—the girl I was dead-sure had gotten away and would never come back—was currently sitting on my bed, looking like every sexual fantasy I’d ever had all wrapped into one small, curvy package.

Fuck.

“Okay,” she said, surprising me after several minutes of silence. “It’s ready.”

I tried not to roll my eyes when Emma turned her laptop toward me and began the presentation.

The title slide read: "Cohabitation Guidelines and Relationship Parameters for Surviving the Next Seven Days Without Committing Murder (or Destroying Any More Careers)."

"Really?"

"Rule number one," she said, clicking to the next slide. "No touching unless absolutely necessary to maintain our cover."

"Define necessary."

She glared at me. "Rule number two: You stay on your side of the bed. Incursions into my territory are grounds for liberal physical retribution.”

“I already said I⁠—”

"Rule number three: No talking about Ireland."

"Emma—"

"Rule number four,” she said. “No using that voice."

"That one isn’t even in the presentation,” I noted. The laptop was still sitting on the Ireland slide. “And what voice?"

"That one. The one that makes me want to—" She stopped, cheeks flushing.

I stepped closer. "Makes you want to what?"

She slammed the laptop shut.

“It took you that long to make up three rules and put them in a powerpoint? Or were there more?”

She inched away from me, voice coming out rushed and breathy. "Rule number five: No standing that close to me. And rule number six: you tell me right now why my mother hired you."

Our eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. “Do I get to make any rules?”

“No,” she said.

“Rule number seven,” I said, eyes on hers. “You need to… look less good. Because rule number one is going to be hard for me when you look like this.”

Emma’s breath came faster as she brushed a hair out of her face. “Too bad,” she said.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Emma? James?" Richard's voice called through. "We're having drinks in the lounge. Join us?"

Emma's eyes held mine, a clear message in them: This isn’t over.

"After you, babe," I said, opening the door and putting a hand on the small of her back.

She muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "you’re going to die tonight" as she passed.

If nothing else, this would be interesting.

9

EMMA

The resort's lounge was lit by fancy sconces and warm lighting, making the snow-covered mountains out the many windows the perfect backdrop. It was all timber beams, stone fireplaces, and animal furs draped over comfortable couches and chairs. The kind of place that made you want to curl up with hot cocoa and pretend you were in a Hallmark movie.

If this was my Hallmark movie, though, I would be here with the divorced bartender who was a father of two adorable, rascal kids. They’d call me aunt Emma, and my plaid-shirt-wearing bartender would fall for me when I read them bedtime stories one night. Oh, and we’d have sex in a hot tub, but none of the usual underwater logistical concerns would apply. It’d just be great.

But this wasn’t a Hallmark movie.

Because I was curled up against James and resentfully pretending the two of us were in the early weeks of a new, budding relationship and sickeningly in love. Because if the wedding planner wasn’t happy in her relationship, how the hell could you trust her to handle your big day? And if we weren’t in a relationship, I just lied to Mr. Wellington’s face while making my first impression.

So, yeah. I was completely, thoroughly, infuriatingly stuck playing along with this fake relationship.

James had his arm draped casually over my shoulders as we listened to Richard and one of his friends talk business. I was currently stiff as a board with anxious nerves. So far, the “gathering” was only people I didn’t really know—people who had no reason to be shocked to find me cuddled up with a gorgeous man.

But my mom and Lilly were at the hotel bar grabbing drinks, and they hadn’t spotted us yet. What the hell was I going to say to explain this?

Oh, hi Lily. Silly me. Did I forget to mention I’m dating a male model? Yeah, it’s so like me to just not ever say a word about that and have the guy show up at your wedding!

I sank a little lower into the chair, which had the unintended side effect of making me curl closer to James. Big, stupid “wedding wrecker” with his big, stupid, muscles…

Why couldn’t he smell bad or be repulsive? That would’ve made this a lot easier. This was like being served a perfectly cooked five-course meal by my worst enemy.

Every so often, his thumb would trace small circles on my arm, sending unwanted shivers down my spine.

Rule number one? Already broken. Fantastic.

And then the moment came. Lily spotted us as she was walking over with her head turned toward our mom. My little sister froze, eyes going wide as she let out a squeal. “What in the actual fuck? Who is this? What is this? I need to know everything. Shower me in details and spare none!” She nearly dropped her fruity cocktail in her hurry to sit beside us. She also didn’t seem to mind that her outburst had interrupted Richard’s talk.

Both older men were now watching us with renewed interest.

Oh, nothing to see here, old rich guys. The fact that my own sister didn’t know about this doesn’t make our relationship suspicious at all.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, sitting up and trying to shrug James’ arm off me with a subtle gesture. He either didn’t take the hint or didn’t care. He just gave me a little squeeze and smiled.

"So?" Lily asked, practically bouncing in her seat as Marcus and a few other members of his family arrived. I spotted Aunt Martha as well.

Hope you’re enjoying the views from my former room, Aunt Martha…

My sister had always been a romantic, but her excitement about my supposed relationship was bordering on manic. “Well?” Lily asked, not even turning to look at Marcus as he sat between her and my mom.

My mom was watching the two of us with a very keen expression—the kind that said she knew exactly who James was and was also wondering what in the holy hell was going on. Except my mom’s curiosity had even more ammunition than my sister’s. After all, she’d probably hired this guy to wreck Lily’s wedding. So what the hell was I doing with his arm around me?

Nearly a dozen pairs of eyes were all on us now, making me feel like I might just burn up in a poof of embarrassment, never to be seen again. Actually, I thought I’d take that fate if somebody offered it to me right in that moment. Better than sitting here and trying to explain this.

"Well," I started, having no idea where I was going with that sentence.

"I ran into her at a coffee shop," James cut in smoothly. "Literally ran into her. Spilled her drink all over both of us."

I dug my nails into his thigh. He didn't even flinch.

"She was furious," he continued, smiling down at me with a warmth that felt disturbingly real. "But I convinced her to let me buy her a replacement. And then dinner. And then⁠—"

"And then he wouldn't leave me alone," I finished, keeping my voice sweet while squeezing his leg harder.

"If he does leave you alone, let me know," Dick cut in from across the room. "I’d be happy to show you around the resort. Give you the… insider perspective."

I hadn’t noticed Dick, but the sound of his voice and creepy eyebrow wiggles was already making me feel nauseous.

I felt James tense beside me. "You’ll have to keep dreaming," he said. I thought the words were meant to be light and dismissive, but I didn’t miss the edge in his tone. It seemed to say one more word and I’ll punch you in the face, asshole.

Fake or not, I had to admit I appreciated having James to shut Dick down for me. At least I wouldn’t need to worry about unwanted advances while this farce played out.

Lily sighed dreamily. "You two are so cute together. Aren't they cute?" She turned to Marcus, who was focused on his phone. "Babe?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. Adorable."

I caught my mother still watching us from across the room, her expression unreadable. When our eyes met, she quickly looked away.

"Anyone want another drink?" James asked, standing. His absence left me feeling oddly cold. "Emma?"

"Please," I said, hoping for something strong enough to make me forget I had to share a bed with him later.

As he headed to the bar and the rest of the guests got distracted with a conversation about business, Lily leaned in close. "Okay, spill. How is he in bed? Because those hands look like they know what they're doing."

"Lily!" I hissed, grateful James was out of earshot. Though my traitorous mind immediately flashed to exactly how good those hands were.

"What? I'm engaged, not dead. I can root for my big sister to get some satisfaction, can’t I?”

“Use your imagination,” I said.

“Already there,” Lily said with a smirk.

I couldn’t help smiling as I whacked her arm. “Behave,” I laughed softly.

James returned with our drinks just as Richard started telling some story about his college days. I was only half listening, too aware of James settling back beside me, his thigh pressed against mine.

"Cold?" he whispered when I shivered.

"I'm fine."

He pulled me closer anyway, his scent and presence making my head spin. Or maybe that was the alcohol.

The night stretched on, a blur of fake smiles and careful touches and stories we made up about our relationship. James was surprisingly good at weaving truth with fiction—like how he claimed our first kiss was in a wine cellar.

Every time his stories skipped across the truth, I felt the confusing blur of our lie mingling with truth. By the end of the night, I had to keep pinching myself to remember this was fake. We were just playing the part—selling the lie.

Finally, people started drifting off to bed. My mother left without saying goodbye, but I caught her watching us again as she went.

"Ready to turn in, sweetheart?" James asked, his voice carrying just enough for others to hear. “We should get you to bed before you get too tired. You know how you snore when you stay up too late.”

What?

I forced a smile, wincing at the amused and confused expressions of the others watching me. “Yep,” I managed in a small voice. “Wouldn’t want to snore tonight! We should get going.”

James wore a shit-eating smile as we walked out of view. As soon as we were alone, I punched him hard on the arm. “What was that for?” I demanded. “And is that even a thing? Snoring because you’re tired?”

“No idea,” he said. “But it was funny. And it’s the kind of weird detail real couples know about each other. I’m just trying to make sure nobody has any reason to doubt how deeply in love we are.”

I thought about arguing more, but I frankly didn’t trust myself to speak anymore. The reality of our sleeping arrangement was starting to sink in.

The elevator ride was silent. So was the walk down the hall. James opened our door.

I stared at the bed like it was a snake. At first, I’d been nervous about this, but the truth hadn’t fully hit. Was I really going to sleep next to him? What if he tried something? What if I let him?

"Are you alright, Em?” James asked as his hand easily slid across my lower back.

“Rule number one,” I muttered.

James let his hand fall, features dancing with amusement. “Right. I forgot for a moment.”

“And don’t call me pet names when we’re alone.”

“You’d prefer I use your full, proper name, then?” he asked.

“Yes…”

“Alright, Emma…”

I swallowed hard. How the hell did he make my goddamn name sound so erotic? Just hearing it on his mouth made me feel like he’d slipped the strap of my dress down and pressed his lips to my neck, like⁠—

I cleared my throat. "I'm going to change."

The bathroom was tiny, because of course it was. I changed into my pajamas—silk shorts and a matching camisole that suddenly felt way too revealing—and tried to give myself a pep talk in the mirror.

It's fine. You're fine. It's just one night. With the man who broke your heart. In a bed. Sharing a pillow.

When I’d finished my nighttime routine and emerged, James had changed into sleep pants and nothing else. Because apparently the universe hated me. Despite trying very hard not to look, my eyes skidded across everything, burning the image into my mind where it might never fade.

A dusting of chest hair on a broad, defined chest. Sharp rows of abs, arms that looked good enough to lick, and… well, his sleep pants were thin gray material. They did almost nothing to hide the shape of his package, which⁠—

I jerked my eyes up. “Would it be too much to ask for you to wear a shirt?”

“If you want me to toss and turn all night, I can. I was being kind by wearing pants. I usually don’t.”

“What do you usually wear?” I asked, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

James’ lips twitched. “Nothing. I get hot at night, so I usually sleep in the nude.”

Of course he does.

“I like your little sleep suit,” he said, gesturing. “Looks comfortable. But cold,” he added, eyes lingering on my chest.

I folded my arms, realizing my nipples had gone hard after seeing his shirt off and those freaking pants that were thin and partially see-through. I could actually see the full shape of his toned legs outlined by the moonlight coming in through the window, and even…

Nope. Nope.

I rushed into bed and pulled the comforter up to my neck.

“Good night,” I said with my back to him.

“Night, Emma,” he said, and he did that damn thing with my name again that made me feel like his hands were all over my body.

I shivered, pulling the comforter tighter as I heard the bathroom door shut and the water start to run.

When he returned to bed, he smelled fresh and minty—maybe the scent of his toothpaste or mouthwash. He slid under the blankets and I immediately felt his warmth radiating outward. It was impossible not to think about his body so close to mine—to think how nice it would feel for him to wrap his arms around me, especially since this room was freezing.

I curled in a little tighter, trying to gather some warmth from the blankets, but they seemed to hold the cold, making it impossible to warm up.

I lay there willing myself not to shiver.

Sleep seemed impossible. Especially when he shifted and some part of him brushed against my ass.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"Rule number one and two," I reminded him, but my voice sounded breathless even to my own ears.

"Right." He moved away slightly. "The rules."

I lay there in the dark, listening to his breathing, remembering another night when we'd been much closer. When his hands had⁠—

No. Not going there.

"Emma?"

"What?"

"I really am sorry. About Ireland."

I squeezed my eyes shut. "Rule number three."

He fell silent. But I could feel him there, solid and warm and far too close.

How the hell was I going to survive this? Evenings full of touching and cuddling to play the happy couple, and nights like this? I had half a mind to roll over and kiss him—to tell him to fuck me right now so we could just get this awkward, annoying tension out of the way.

I bit my lip, pressing my thighs together as I tried to squeeze my eyes shut.

No. There was absolutely no reality where I was going to let James “the wedding wrecker” Carter fuck me. Even if…

Nope.

I folded my arms, curling into an even smaller ball, as if I could maybe just compress myself into nothing and evaporate out of this whole situation.

To take my mind off his tantalizing proximity, I forced myself to think about all the important details of the coming days. Floral deliveries, meetings with staff to make sure events were going smoothly, and all the fun excursions I’d planned for the wedding party to enjoy in the days leading up to the wedding.

The distraction was working until I realized all those fun excursions were now going to be filled with James and pretending to be madly in love with him.

He rolled over to his side and I felt what I was almost certain was his ass lightly pressing against my back.

Oh God.

I opened my mouth to tell him to move it, but I couldn’t find the words.

Instead, I squeezed my eyes shut tighter and lay there wondering what I had done in a previous life to deserve this kind of perfect torture.

10

JAMES

Iwoke up to two very… large issues.

Emma was draped across my chest like a silk-clad blanket, her leg thrown over my hips in a way that put her directly in contact with my second, more urgent problem.

Morning wood was normal. Having the woman who'd been starring in my fantasies for three years grinding against it in her sleep was not.

A small puddle of drool marked where her face pressed against my chest. Her shorts had ridden up during the night, and her squirming had crumpled the comforter and sheets around our ankles.

Light streamed in through my small window, highlighting the tantalizing view of her exposed leg and half of her ass in perfect, buttery morning light.

Every few seconds, she was making these small but very real movements with her hips that were going to drive me insane. It was almost as if she was grinding on me in her sleep.

I wished I could pay a visit to whatever dream she was having.

I tried to ease away, but she just followed, pressing closer with a sleepy murmur. Her leg tightened over my hips, creating friction that made me have to bite back a groan.

"Emma," I whispered. No response except her nuzzling deeper into my chest.

This was fine. I just had to carefully extract myself without waking her. If she woke to find herself like this, I had no doubt she’d somehow convince herself this was my fault. But fuck, I’d behaved, despite the overwhelming temptation to suggest otherwise last night. I’d hardly slept because of how hard it had been to keep my hands to myself.

And now this?

But it was alright. I could do the right thing. I would quietly fix this without waking her, and she’d be none the wiser. Easy.

I started to slide sideways, moving inch by torturous inch. Emma made a small sound of protest and shifted again. Like a baby monkey unwilling to release its mother, she reached out, grabbed my shoulder, and fully slid on top of me, straddling me and my morning wood.

Her legs were spread perfectly, positioning her warmth right over my hard and throbbing cock.

Fuck.

Not better. Definitely not better.

Her silk shorts did nothing to hide the heat pressed against me, and my thin sleep pants might as well have been tissue paper. When she rolled her hips, seeking comfort in her sleep, I had to grip the sheets to keep from grabbing her.

"James..." she moaned softly, hips rocking as she grinded herself against me ever so slightly.

Jesus Christ.

"Emma," I said louder, desperation making my voice rough. "Wake up."

She responded by grinding down again, this time with purpose. Her head tipped back, exposing the elegant line of her throat.

"Emma!"

Her eyes flew open. For a moment, she just stared at me, clearly confused about why she was on top of me. She looked down at her hands, which were each clenched on one of my pecs like she was holding on for the ride of her life.

Then understanding dawned, followed quickly by horror.

She scrambled off me so fast she nearly fell off the bed. One hand pressed between her legs while the other crossed over her chest, where her nipples were clearly visible through the fabric.

"I... you..." She backed toward the bathroom. Then her eyes fell on my very much erect cock, which was outlined against my thin pants. “Why is it like that?!”

“Hey!” I said, pulling the blankets up. “I was minding my own business. If a beautiful woman starts humping me in her sleep with barely any clothes on, it’s going to stand up at attention. I’m innocent, here.”

“Beautiful wo—” she cut herself off, shook her head and closed her eyes. "This didn't happen."

The door slammed. A moment later, I heard the shower start.

I fell back against the pillow, trying to think about anything except how she'd felt against me. How she'd moaned my name.

"Fuck," I muttered, pushing my hands through my hair. And then I had the torture of laying there and trying not to picture her naked body in the shower for the next fifteen minutes. I mostly failed, which wasn’t helping the whole morning wood situation.

The water finally shut off, and a few moments later, I heard her voice come muffled through the door. “We’re seriously never talking about this. Ever.”

I couldn't help smiling. "Which part? The drooling or the grinding? Or maybe how you moaned my name? Because that raises some obvious questions about what kind of dream you were having. I mean, with the grinding and the moaning, a man would be forgiven for thinking⁠—"

"James Carter, I swear to God⁠—"

"I have to say, your technique was impressive, even while unconscious."

Something thudded against the door. "I hate you."

"That's not what your moans implied.”

"I'm going to murder you in your sleep."

"So you said last night. And I have to say, if what I woke up to was your attempt at murder? Well, consider me far less scared. In fact, I’d welcome any future attempts on my life.”

"Do I need to get out the PowerPoint and go over the rules again?

“For your benefit or mine? Because I’m pretty sure dry humping me in your sleep breaks all the rules, sweetheart. Then again, there’s something on my pants… Maybe it wasn’t so dry."

"I did not—" She made a sound of pure frustration. "That was an unconscious accident."

"So you're saying you can't control yourself around me?"

"I'm saying I was asleep and my body betrayed me in ways I will never forgive it for."

I watched the door, trying to imagine the look on her face right now. "If it helps, you weren't the only one enjoying it."

Silence. Then, so quiet I almost missed it: "Really?"

The vulnerability in her voice made my chest ache. "Emma..."

"No. Nope. Forget I said that." I heard her moving around the bathroom. "We're going to pretend this morning never happened. And you're going to wear a shirt to bed from now on."

"What about pants?"

"Those too!"

"But you seemed to like⁠—"

The door flew open, catching me off guard. Emma stood there in a towel, hair dripping, cheeks flushed. "One more word about what I liked, and I'll tell Dick you're actually my gay best friend who's just pretending to date me."

I held up my hands in surrender, but I couldn’t help noticing the mirror in the tiny bathroom behind her wasn’t even steamed up in the slightest. I smiled, pointing. “Looks like somebody took a cold shower. Did it help?”

She threw her wet hair towel at my face and stormed past me to her suitcase.

“So,” I said, watching the shape of her ass press against the white towel as she bent down, one arm holding the towel from falling. “What’s on the itinerary for today?”

“I’m meeting with some vendors to iron out a few details.”

“We’re meeting with vendors, you mean?”

She glared over her shoulder. “No. You’ll screw something up.”

“We’re the happy couple, Em. I think we should probably do this together. Besides, maybe I can help.”

“Don’t call me Em. And I highly doubt that.”

I shrugged. “I might just surprise you.”

“Last time you surprised me, it was by sabotaging a wedding and my career.”

“Rule number three,” I said softly.

She stood with her clothes clutched in one hand and waved them at me. “Don’t you rule number three me, Mister.”

I smirked. “You’re adorable when you’re mad. Also… pink thong.” I flashed a thumbs up. “Great choice. Your ass is amazing, so why hide it?”

She looked down at the thong nearly falling from her hands and tucked it tighter into the ball. Then she made a strangled sound and stormed back into the bathroom.

I watched the door after it closed and wondered what the hell I was doing, exactly.

Things between us would never, ever work. That much became clear in Ireland. So why was I playing with fire? Especially when I still had to do some work investigating this Marcus Wellington guy. Depending on what I found, I might even have to wreck yet another Emma Marshall wedding.

11

EMMA

The resort's private tasting room, like every other space in this building, was stunning. Dark wood panels lined the walls, framing massive windows that stretched from the hardwood floors to the exposed beams above. Winter light spilled across elegant place settings, making the crystal glasses and fine china sparkle against crisp white tablecloths. Outside, snow-dusted pines swayed in the morning breeze, completing the picture-perfect mountain retreat atmosphere.

I glanced down at my phone, which had been buzzing all morning with texts from Maggie. So far, I hadn’t wanted to step into that rabbit hole. She’d sense drama in the air the moment I spoke to her. Hell, she’d probably sense it via text. I wasn’t quite ready to unload the whole situation on her. Not this morning, at least.

I left the room while James was getting ready, deciding less contact was better. I’d hoped to avoid him all day. Considering I had some critical elements of wedding planning to handle in person today, I hardly needed him around looking distractingly good and causing chaos.

"Everything okay?"

I looked up to find James sliding into the chair beside me, and my breath caught despite myself. He'd dressed in a charcoal sweater that hugged his broad shoulders and dark jeans that made his legs look impossibly long. His dark hair was still slightly damp from his shower, falling across his forehead in twisted black clumps I was tempted to reach up and touch. Between that and his stubbled jaw and those intense blue eyes, he looked like he belonged in this luxurious setting—dangerous and refined all at once.

Not that I was noticing.

“How the hell did you find me here?” I asked.

I was sitting at an empty table with plans to meet the head chef of the whole resort to talk about the menu. I hadn’t told anyone—especially James—where to find me.

“Easy enough,” James said. “First, I asked if anyone had seen a pretty girl who was probably glaring and stomping her away around the hotel. It took a few tries, but that got me close. After that, I just followed the scent of your shampoo.” He made me flinch by reaching to grab the ends of my hair, lifting it to his nose and sniffing softly. “Strawberry and vanilla. The scent left an impression on me back in…” He paused, making a lip-zipping motion. “Rule number three prevents me from finishing that thought.

I blushed furiously and shifted my chair away from him, which only made him grin.

“So, you never answered my question,” James said, leaning his elbows on his knees and tilting his head slightly, eyes piercing as ever. “Everything okay?”

"It’s fine," I said, pushing my phone away slightly. “Just a nosy friend.”

“Ah, I see. So you told her about the sleep-mounting this morning?” he asked, voice all mock seriousness and concern.

I fixed him with my best death glare, trying to ignore how good he smelled. How did someone manage to smell like a mountain forest and sin at the same time? Mountain forests didn’t sin, and they certainly weren’t sexy. So why? Just why?

"We agreed never to speak of that again."

"No, you agreed. I was perfectly happy to talk about it. Frequently. Hell, I think I’ll be telling the other old-timers at the retirement home about the time this woman pretended she didn’t want me so hard she cornered herself into a wet dream."

I opened my mouth to tell him exactly where he could shove his comments, but Chef Antoine chose that moment to sweep into the room, his crisp white uniform gleaming under the chandeliers. He was in his forties with olive skin, brown eyes, and a dreamy expression on his face.

"Ah, young love!" He clapped his hands together. "Nothing makes food taste better, no?"

James' hand found my knee under the table. I tried to shake it off, but he just squeezed harder.

"Now," Chef Antoine continued, "we have, how you say, a small conflict to resolve?"

Right. The reason we were here. I pulled out my tablet, trying to ignore how James' thumb was now tracing circles on my knee. I was fairly sure touching me under the table was a clear violation of rule number one, but I was learning sometimes it was easier to avoid the fight with James.

"Lily and Marcus have different visions for the menu," I explained. "Marcus wants a traditional reception dinner—heavy on the luxury items. Wagyu beef, lobster, caviar. Lily wants something lighter that won't keep people from dancing."

Most couples would want to be here for this kind of thing, but Lily preferred to do as little planning as possible. She trusted me to make everything perfect, and liked the idea of being surprised here and there. No pressure, right?

My phone buzzed again. James glanced at the screen.

Maggie: BITCH ANSWER ME. DID YOU SLEEP WITH THE WEDDING WRECKER AGAIN???

I snatched the phone away, face burning. I made the mistake of looking at James, who’s eyebrows had risen nearly to his hairline. He raised a hand to cover the growing smile on his face, and when his eyes found mine again, they were absolutely scorching.

"Quite the problem," Chef Antoine agreed. “I am sure I could make both options delicious. But we must discover how to make both the bride and the groom happy, no?”

"I think Lily’s right," I said. "A five-course luxury menu might sound impressive, but people will be in food comas by the time the dancing starts. A night of sleepy-eyed people passed out at their dinner tables with no dancing hardly sounds like a wedding to remember."

"What if we did both?"

We both turned to look at James.

"Both?" Chef Antoine raised an eyebrow.

"A progressive menu," James said, leaning forward. "Start with the luxury items, but in smaller portions. Perfect bites that let people taste everything without getting overwhelmed. Then as the night progresses, transition to lighter dishes that keep people energized."

The chef's eyes lit up. "Ah! Like the mini wagyu sliders with truffle aioli I created last season⁠—"

“Sure,” James said. “And maybe the lobster as a small ravioli instead of a full tail. Keep the luxury but make it danceable."

I stared at James. Since when did he know anything about food?

"We could do seafood towers during cocktail hour," Chef Antoine was saying, scribbling notes. "Then for the seated course⁠—"

"What about doing stations later in the night?" James suggested. "Let people graze between dances. Light but elegant options."

"Oui! And we could do mini versions of comfort foods. Upscale but fun."

I watched in amazement as they bounced ideas back and forth. James actually knew what he was talking about. More than that, he'd found a perfect solution that would make both Lily and Marcus happy.

All I’d really seen him do before now was wreck things, from my trust in him, to the wedding in Ireland, and now my hopes of a smooth wedding for my sister.

Watching him now, I realized the whole wrecking thing may have been a choice. When he wanted, he was perfectly capable of fixing things. He was damn good at it, in fact. It was... kind of hot.

But it also made me wonder why the hell he did what he did for a living. Why wreck weddings? Why not just investigate and quietly resolve the issues behind closed doors like a normal, sane human being? I’d wondered as much for years now, but something made me not want to ask him.

My phone buzzed again.

Maggie: I KNOW YOU'RE READING THESE. DO NOT MAKE ME DRAG MY CURVY ASS TO COLORADO TO KICK YOURS. WE WILL BOTH BE OUT OF BREATH, BUT ONLY ONE OF US WILL HAVE BRUISES ON THEIR BUTT CHEEKS!

"Your man has excellent taste," Chef Antoine told me with a wink. "Now, shall we sample some options?"

The next hour was torture. Not because the food wasn't amazing—it was—but because watching James taste things should be illegal. The way his lips wrapped around each forkful, how his throat moved when he swallowed…

"You have to try this." He held out a bite of golden-brown potato crisped to perfection, then filled with a herb and chive cream.

"I can feed myself,” I said, forcing a smile as I reached for the fork.

"But where's the romance?" Chef Antoine clutched his chest dramatically. "Young love demands sharing bites!"

James' eyes danced with mischief as he moved the fork closer to my mouth. "Open up, darling. Open your mouth for me,” he added, lips twisted with wicked intent.

I was going to kill him.

I let him feed me the bite, then immediately regretted it as flavor exploded across my tongue. A small moan escaped before I could stop it.

James' eyes darkened. "Good?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Especially when he slowly licked a drop of sauce from his thumb while maintaining eye contact.

"Perfect," Chef Antoine declared. "Now, for the next course⁠—"

The door burst open. Dick sauntered in, because of course he did.

"Heard there was a tasting happening." His eyes raked over me as the creepiness tried to ooze out of him like a living thing. "Room for one more?"

“We’re almost finished here,” James said coldly.

Dick smiled in a way that was more like a grimace. “Oh, come on. Your girl wants me to join. I can see it in her eyes.”

Dick winked at me, and I briefly considered sticking a fork in his eye to give him a permanent wink.

“Maybe you should get glasses,” James suggested.

Dick snorted, eyes lingering on James with hatred. “Emma,” he said, looking at me and reaching his hand out. “Why don’t you let me take you for a little walk. Get some air from this loser.”

“I’m happy right where I am,” I said, laying a palm on James’ chest and letting my fingertips run down the hard shape of his muscle. I locked eyes with him. “So happy,” I whispered.

James’ smile was the stuff of dreams as he came closer, eyes practically sparkling. “Let’s show him how happy we are, then.”

Before I could answer, James inched his face toward mine. His lips found mine in a kiss that started as possessive but quickly turned into something else entirely.

I forgot about Dick. Forgot about the chef. Forgot about everything except how James tasted and the way his hands felt on my hips.

Someone cleared their throat.

I jerked back, mortified to find I'd threaded my hands into James’ hair and just kissed him like that in front of two people.

Chef Antoine was dabbing his eyes with a napkin. "Magnifique! The passion, the heat!" He sighed happily.

Dick had vanished, thankfully. But now I had a bigger problem.

I'd just had my tongue in James Carter's mouth. Again. And I liked it. Again.

In fact, of all the Michelin-star-level bites I’d tasted in the last hour, James was the one I found myself wanting seconds of. And that was a very, very bad thing.

"We should go," I managed, extracting myself from James' lap on shaky legs. "Thank you for everything, Chef."

"Of course! I will prepare the full proposal." He grinned. "Perhaps some aphrodisiacs, yes? Though it seems you two will not be needing any assistance in that department."

I grabbed my tablet and practically ran for the door. James caught up to me in the hallway.

"Emma—"

"No." I held up a hand. "That was just for show. Like everything else about this fake relationship."

"Was it?" He stepped closer, backing me against the wall. "Because it felt pretty real to me."

My heart hammered against my ribs. "James..."

"Tell me you didn't feel it too."

I opened my mouth to lie, to tell him I felt nothing⁠—

"There you are!"

We jumped apart as Lily rounded the corner. "Mom's been looking everywhere for you, Em. She says it's important."

Right. My mother. Who had hired James to investigate my sister's fiancé.

And I'd just been about to kiss him. Again.

What the hell was wrong with me?

12

EMMA

Ifound my mom waiting in the resort's lobby. The vast space hummed with morning activity as sunlight streamed through the frost-rimmed windows and fires crackled in the fireplaces. She was sitting at the bar with a drink nestled between her hands and a troubled expression on her face. Before I could reach her, I saw I was going to have to try to squeeze past Mr. Wellington and a group of about ten people all wearing fancy snow gear by the lobby's entrance.

The scene reminded me of a luxury sportswear catalog come to life—all perfect hair and coordinated outfits despite supposedly being ready for the slopes. At a glance, I didn't recognize many of the faces in the group except Dick and Mr. Wellington.

The wedding party was relatively large, because the Wellingtons were the type of family that had dozens of cousins and aunts and uncles. At the center, there was Mr. Wellington and his wife, Martha. Then Marcus and his brother, the aptly-named Dick. Marcus also had a sister named Charity, but I hadn't crossed paths with her yet. Outside that, I admittedly hadn't looked too deeply into who was who, beyond confirming things like allergies and preferences that might be relevant for my work.

My eyes lingered on a trio of brothers within the group who were all different flavors of gorgeous. They looked like they'd been ordered from some "Rich Bachelor Monthly" catalogue—one of each type to suit any preference.

One had dark hair and big muscles, his jacket straining slightly across his shoulders. The other had sandy blonde hair with a longer face and bedroom eyes, and the last had reddish curls with blonde stubble on his chiseled face. The three of them were standing in a group and laughing about something, their perfect white teeth gleaming.

"Ah! Emma!" Mr. Wellington boomed across the lobby, clapping his hands like he'd just discovered buried treasure.

"Hey," I said, forcing a quick smile. "Planning to go out to ski?”

"We're all a bunch of snow bugs," he said as he tightened what looked like a cashmere scarf around his neck. "Can't keep us off those slopes. Just like I can't keep my Dick off pretty women!"

I choked as I sipped my coffee, which nearly made a surprise appearance through my nose. "Pardon?"

Dick appeared at Mr. Wellington's shoulder like he'd been summoned by the unfortunate comment.

Oh. I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved to know Richard Wellington was talking about his son and not his… member.

"Hey, now," Dick said, shaking his head. "Let’s shoot it straight, dad. You’re not keeping Dick off the pretty women. You’re keeping pretty women off Dick!”

I was currently engaged in a horrible internal battle not to laugh aloud.

“If you’re lucky,” Dick said, leaning close. “You may even get a chance to find yourself getting pulled off Dick by dad before this trip is over.” As usual, he punctuated his creepiness with a wink—like a dash of salt to finish off the world’s most off-putting meal.

My brain short-circuited trying to process that entire exchange. "I'm spoken for," I managed in a quiet voice that was somewhere between laughter and crying. Did they seriously not hear themselves right now? And why was Dick speaking in the third person in this context? Maybe they really were just messing around, and maybe I could ingratiate myself a little by joining in on the fun.

"Well," I said. "I hope you're all careful on the slopes. I wouldn't want you having to... pull your Dick out of a snowbank."

Mr. Wellington's expression darkened like I'd just insulted his ancestry. "Excuse you?"

I went bright red. "I just meant—you two were talking like, and I⁠—"

"Dick is an incredible athlete, Emma. All of my children are. He would never get stuck in a snowbank."

"Oh," I said. Right, because that was the inappropriate part about my comment. I couldn’t figure these people out. "Sorry."

Mr. Wellington shot me a look that could have melted ice before joining the group.

Wonderful. Maybe I was imagining it, but it felt like Mr. Wellington had soured on me from the moment James arrived.

With a sigh, I headed toward my mom, whose drink looked significantly emptier than when I'd first spotted her.

"Hey," I said, sliding onto the barstool beside her. A ball of ice formed in my stomach.

"Em," she said, lifting her eyes to me. My mom was in her late fifties with laugh lines that spoke of a life well-lived, silver hair, and a beautiful smile. This afternoon, though, she looked like she'd aged ten years overnight. "I was looking for you."

"Yeah, Lily told me."

My mom traced the rim of her glass with one finger, lips working like she was trying to find the right words.

Here comes the James conversation I've been dreading.

"I... know you probably hate me right now. I assume he told you who asked him to come here. And I know what he did to the wedding you planned in Ireland, and how much you likely hate the man, but⁠—"

"Mom..." I said. "Why, though? You don't seriously think there's something to uncover between Lily and Marcus, do you? They're practically perfect for each other."

"I don't know," she said, slumping like her spine had suddenly given up. "But a mother has intuition when it comes to her babies. And my intuition is telling me something about Marcus and his family isn’tright."

"Wait... his family?"

She shook her head. "There's just something. And I called this wedding wrecker man because, well, you told me how he exposed that man in Ireland. I looked him up, and it sounds like he only works cases if he looks into them and thinks there's a good chance something is wrong. I was honestly hoping I'd talk to him and he'd get back in a few days and say there was nothing to investigate. But... here he is." She lifted her drink and drained the remains, then raised the glass toward the bartender.

I frowned. "What did he find?"

"Nothing yet, as far as I know. But do you care to explain why I saw him with his arm around you claiming to be your boyfriend?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "Um, well. It's actually pretty easy to explain, but I need you to promise to keep this quiet. We can't even tell Lily."

Somewhere behind us, the large group of Wellington clan-mates let out a manly whoop and charged out the doors to load onto a bus that would presumably take them to the slopes.

My mom raised her eyebrow. "You know what? I don't want to know. I can't handle any more secrets right now. As far as I'm concerned, you two are a happy, confusing couple. And that's that."

"You really don't want to know?"

"I don't like keeping things from my daughters. If I don't know, I don't have to keep the secret. So, no. I'll trust that you know what you're doing. You're both smart girls, and I will always trust you two."

"Which is why you hired a wedding wrecker to investigate the man Lily wants to marry," I said softly, the words tasting bitter.

My mom winced, her shoulders curling inward. "I know, Em. This isn't like me, but what am I supposed to do? Just sit by and ignore the feeling in my gut? And trust me, I talked to former clients of his. I read as much about him as I could. If he finds nothing, he just enjoys the ceremony and goes home. Nobody is the wiser. So we should be happy he's here. If there's something to expose, he'll expose it. And if not, then nothing changes."

"And what if it's something Lily wants to be able to work through with Marcus? It's not natural, Mom. Relationships are about compromise, forgiveness, and trust. This whole wedding wrecking thing just... sidesteps all that."

She took another long sip of her fresh drink. "Maybe you're right. But he's already here. And if I'm wrong for doing this, then I'll ask God for forgiveness when it's all through. And I'll know I did everything in my power to protect one of my daughters. Just like I always will." She cupped my cheek with a trembling hand and gave me a sad smile. "So be careful, because your momma is prepared to do crazy things for you."

I smiled back, reaching over to hug her. "I love you, even if this is batshit insane, and I wish you hadn't called him."

I opened my eyes as I was hugging her and spotted James across the lobby. He was... wearing pristine white ski gear and holding up a bright pink suit that had matching patterns of yellow crisscrossing lines to match his.

Really?

Giving me the best sex of my life the night before destroying my career and then returning like a ghost three years later to haunt me wasn’t enough? Now he had to try to kill me with embarrassment… those?

He wiggled his eyebrows and pointed at the matching suits like he thought I was going to jump for joy.

My mom followed my eyes, then laughed softly. “Those are cute.”

Oh dear God. He wasn’t serious, was he?

13

JAMES

The bus bounced beneath us, rattling me and bouncing me into Emma for the tenth time since we’d boarded.

“Come on,” I said. “You know it’ll be fun.”

Emma shifted in the bright pink snow suit, looking anywhere but in my direction. “I only agreed to this because I happen to love the idea of skiing. I’ve always wanted to learn.”

“Wait…” I said. “The idea of skiing? You’ve never done it?”

“Not yet. But how hard could it be? I’ve seen it in movies. It’s just like… falling on purpose, right?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so. And the general consensus is it’s harder than you’d think.”

“I’ll figure it out,” she said, glaring at me.

“You look cute, by the way. Like a big pink marshmallow.” I poked her stomach, but the suit was so thick I wasn’t sure she even felt it.

Emma slapped my hand away. “Rule number one. Poking is absolutely not necessary touching.”

“Right. I keep remembering when you straddled me and moaned my name, and it makes me forget rule number one is a thing. That’s my mistake.”

Emma scooted further away on the bus seat, only for us to hit a bump a moment later that practically bounced her into my lap.

“You just can’t keep yourself off me, can you?” I asked.

Emma hopped off me like she’d been burned, then whacked my arm. My matching snowsuit protected me from the blow.

“Where the hell did you find these, anyway? And why does mine fit? How did you know my size?”

“I have an impeccable memory. You could say I memorized every one of your curves that night in… rule number three,” I said, stopping myself with a grin. “But you also left a suitcase full of clothes in the room we’re sharing. I just read the tags and then hit one of the resort shops.”

“You went through my clothes?” she snapped, eyes suddenly fearful.

“Yep. What’s the deal with the lingerie? Two sets? Were you planning to meet somebody special here? Or maybe two somebodies?”

Her cheeks brightened. “I… no. I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

I shrugged, glancing out the window and seeing we had reached our destination. Even though the bottom of the slopes were visible from Timber Ridge Resort, guests had to take buses to the parking lot with access to chair lifts. A couple other buses were already unloading guests in the parking lot, and I spotted the Wellington crew gathered and talking.

“This is us,” I said, tugging her up to her feet as I stood. “The Wellington’s are down there, so this touching is necessary, by the way.”

Emma reluctantly let me keep my arm around her as we scooted off the bus with a few other resort-goers dressed for a day on the snow.

“Here,” I said, stopping once we were off the shuttle.

It was colder and windier up here than it had been down at the resort, and I didn’t want her getting sick.

I reached into Emma’s front pocket where I’d stashed her gloves and hat. I pulled the hat down on her head while she watched me with murder in her eyes. Just to mess with her a bit, I also tucked the hair behind her ears and spent longer than necessary fiddling with the placement of the hat. I kept going until she finally swatted at me.

“Careful,” I said softly. “They could be watching. Wouldn’t want them to think there’s trouble in paradise. Might make them wonder if they chose the right woman to plan their wedding.”

“I hate you,” she mouthed.

“We both know that’s not true,” I said, taking her wrist and slipping one of the gloves on. “Warm enough?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I feel like a penguin, though.”

“Good. All the extra padding will keep you safe if you fall.”

“Like you care.”

“Hey,” I said. “I enjoy messing with you, but I’m not going to let you get hurt. That’s rule number… ten. So long as I’m your fake boyfriend, I’m going to make sure no harm comes to that wonderful body of yours.”

I couldn’t see much of her face between the scarf I’d wrapped around her neck, the hat, and the goggles she’d pulled up, but I wondered if she was glaring or blushing.

I chose to imagine her blushing.

“Now come on,” I said. “Let’s go surprise the Wellingtons and let them know we’re joining them today.”

The ski area sprawled across the mountainside like a white canvas slashed through with winding, grooved trails. From the parking lot, I could see at least a dozen runs cutting through the trees, ranging from gentle slopes to what looked like near-vertical drops. A massive lodge dominated the base area, its windows reflecting the morning sun.

"Here goes," Emma said, nodding toward where the Wellingtons were gathering near the ski rental building. Beyond them, I could see what looked like the most beginner-friendly slope. It wasn’t quite a bunny slope, but it was pretty close, and the hill looked like it was covered in more children than snow. Further up, more challenging runs rose toward the peaks, where skilled skiers carved graceful paths down the mountain.

Dick spotted us first. "Well, well! If it isn't the love birds!" He elbowed his father. "Look what James dragged in."

The three guys I'd noticed earlier turned as one, like a boyband hitting their cue. Up close, they were even more obviously related—same jaw, same perfect teeth, same air of casual wealth.

"Theo Wellington," the dark-haired one said, extending his hand to Emma. "These are my brothers, Alex and Noah. Didn't expect to see you on the slopes today."

"Oh, I ski all the time," Emma said with obviously fake confidence. I felt her tense beside me. "Back in... San Francisco."

Alex's eyebrows rose. "Really? Where's your usual spot?"

"You know..." Emma waved vaguely at the mountains. "Around. Show me snow, and I’ll be there."

"Perfect," Dick cut in. "Then you won't mind joining us on Thunder Ridge after you warm up. Best run on the mountain."

I glanced where he pointed—it was obviously a much more advanced trail that looked more like a cliff than a ski run. Emma's grip on my arm tightened.

"Can't wait," she said weakly.

The rental process was an education in Emma's growing panic. She kept whispering questions like "Why are there so many buckles?" and "Are these things supposed to be so tight?" while trying to maintain her facade of expertise.

"Just follow my lead," I murmured, helping her waddle toward the safest slope. The Wellingtons were already taking the chair lifts much higher up the mountain, content to warm up on more advanced runs.

"Okay," I said once we were alone at the top of the slope. Little kids were everywhere. Some were falling face first, waiting to be rescued by parents. Others screamed and slammed into each other. Overwhelmed instructors were everywhere shouting helpful cues that kids ignored as they zipped in every direction. "The most important thing to remember is how to slow down and stop. So you just⁠—”

Emma shot forward with a shriek. For some reason, she kept pumping her ski poles, as if her panic response was to go faster.

What the hell kind of flawed instincts were those?

Her arms windmilled as she continued to pick uip speed. She weaved past kids, nearly blasting a few of them into orbit as her screams carried on the cold air.

I took off after her, catching up just as she lifted one leg, spun her arms, and somehow flipped forward to face-plant and slide several feet forward.

"You okay?" I asked, helping her up and brushing snow from her suit. My heart had nearly stopped watching her fall.

"I think I ate snow." She spat out some white powder. "Why do people do this for fun?"

"Because they usually listen to instructions first."

"I panicked!"

"I noticed." I tucked a loose strand of hair back under her hat. "Try again? I won't let you fall this time."

She looked up at me, cheeks pink from cold and exertion. "Promise?"

Something in her voice made my chest tight. "Promise."

For the next hour, I taught her the basics, keeping one hand on her waist as she got the feel of the slopes. The Wellingtons occasionally checked in before hopping on the ski lift for another run. The muscle brothers took turns checking on Emma specifically, and I was beginning to wonder if the assholes were trying to make passes at her.

Pretend or not, she was supposed to be my girlfriend, and I didn’t need their constant hovering. Even if the guys seemed okay, compared to the other Wellingtons, it didn’t mean I wouldn’t start throwing punches if they pushed it much further.

"You've got a fan club," I noted after Noah swung by to ask how her “warm up” was coming and to complement her form.

Emma noted the expression on my face and gave a taunting wiggle of her brows.

“Jealous?” she asked once Noah was gone.

“No,” I said carefully, bringing my mouth close to her ear. “Because I already got to fuck you. I already know what noises you make when you come.” I pulled back, biting my lip as I smiled. “He doesn’t.”

Emma’s cheeks were already red from cold, but they went a deeper shade. “That… probably violates a rule,” she said in a weak voice.

“You can write me up for it later. But we should really keep working on your skills. Despite what Theo said, your form is terrible.”

“Jerk,” she said.

“I’m just the guy trying to keep you from splattering yourself into a tree. You should thank me.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” she said haughtily, but not without a touch of a smile.

“Lover’s spat?" Dick's voice made us both jump. He stood nearby with Richard Wellington. “If you two are done fighting, we’re all going to head up to Thunder Ridge. Want to join?”

"She's stil warming up," I started, but Emma cut me off.

"Totally ready,” Emma blurted.

"Emma—"

"I've got this." She met my eyes, that familiar stubborn set to her jaw. She lowered her voice. “You taught me how to slow down and stop. I know how to fall down safely if I get in over my head.”

“It’s out of the question,” I said firmly. “You could get hurt trying that run. I won’t allow it.”

“Is there a problem?” Mr. Wellington cut in. “If Emma wants to do Thunder Ridge, why not let her? There are no trees to worry about. It’s just steep. Kids could handle it.”

I doubted that part, but he was at least right about the trees. A hard fall into the snow was maybe the worst of the dangers on a run like that.

“She has been feeling a little off today,” I said. “I’m just worried she might be pushing herself too hard.”

“Ah,” Theo said as he joined the conversation. “No worries, James. We’ll take good care of her.”

Theo actually put one of his arms around her, and for a moment, I saw red.

I stepped forward, taking her by the waist and pulling her to me, which thankfully got his arm off her. “I really think she should sit this one out. I wouldn’t want her to get hurt.”

“Oh, come on,” Mr. Wellington said. “Emma is a big girl. If she wants to give it a shot, you wouldn’t stop her, would you?”

“It’s okay, James,” Emma said. She bit her lip, then leaned in and gave me a cold-lipped peck on the cheek. “Thank you, but I’ll be careful. I had a good teacher, right?”

My stomach felt like it was turning over. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me,” she added with a wink.

I let out a sigh, feeling like the only sane one in the group. But it seemed like there was no stopping her, so I followed as we all headed to the top of Thunder Ridge with her.

“Ladies first?” Mr. Wellington said.

“I’ll go with her,” I said, moving to Emma’s side.

“Oh, come on,” Mr. Wellington said. “Do you hold her hand when she pees, too? Where’s your sense of adventure?”

I grated my teeth together as I stared at the man, who was watching with something in his expression I didn’t like.

“If she asked me to, I’d do anything for her.”

Theo chuckled. “Go easy on them, Uncle Richard.”

Mr. Wellington regarded Theo, then shrugged. “Suit yourselves.”

“Alright,” I said. “Hold on to my wrist. We’ll get through this together. All you have to do is not let go.”

I took one of her ski poles and set it aside so she could grip my wrist instead.

“Look how cute they are together,” Alex—the red haired one of the three brothers—noted with laughter in his voice. “Where the hell did you get those snow suits? Maybe we should all get some matching ones,” he suggested to no one in particular.

Ignoring them, we inched closer to the drop. “Ready?” I asked.

“Probably not,” Emma admitted.

We jumped into the run and gained speed almost immediately. I did my best to control our speed, but Emma was flailing, screaming, and jabbing me in the ribs as we tore downhill.

I tried to steer us away from a jump midway down the run, but somehow, Emma dragged us straight toward it.

“Stop steering us! Just relax!” I shouted against the wind roaring in our ears.

“I’m going to die!” she shrieked.

And then she ripped her arm out of mine and went into full meltdown mode at maximum speed.

I watched helplessly as she veered away from me, heading straight for the ramp.

“Emma!” I shouted.

But it was already too late. She flew up a dozen feet into the air, slowly rotated like an unathletic, noisy ragdoll, and then landed in a spectacular explosion of snow and pink fabric.

I skidded to a stop beside where she crashed with my heart in my throat.

Within a moment, all three of the handsome brothers appeared right beside me.

Emma lay still in the snow, and for a terrifying moment I thought the worst.

But then she groaned.

"That wasn't supposed to happen," she mumbled as I reached her.

"Don't move." I ran my hands over her legs, checking for injuries. "Does anything hurt?"

"Just my pride. And maybe my ankle. Just a teensy bit."

The brothers hovered anxiously. "Should we call ski patrol?" Theo asked.

"I've got her." I slid my arms under Emma, lifting her easily despite all the layers. She curled into my chest with another groan.

"Show-off," she muttered.

"Says the woman who just tried to ski Thunder Ridge after one lesson."

"I was doing great until gravity got involved."

I couldn't help laughing, relief making me a little giddy. "Come on, Pink Marshmallow. Let's get you inside before you try anything else crazy."

"My hero," she said sarcastically, but her arms tightened around my neck.

As I carried her toward the lodge, I couldn’t help notice Richard Wellington and Dick having a somewhat heated discussion as they shot occasional looks our way.

I couldn’t make out the words, but it was a reminder that I needed to find more time to look into them and their secrets.

As soon as I started looking into Marcus and Lily’s engagement, my alarm bells had begun to ring. She was young, beautiful, and the owner of a rapidly growing business that was poised to be worth multiple millions if she kept it up. She was the whole package, and supposedly, so was Marcus. He didn’t show any of the usual signs of a cheater. But there were signs. Little warning flags I’d picked up, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

But that could wait. Right now, I had a wounded marshmallow to take care of.

And if I enjoyed that job a little too much? Well, that was nobody's business but mine.

14

EMMA

"It was just a small tumble," I insisted as Lily fussed over my bruised knee and sore ankle. My sister looked perfect as always—long blonde hair falling in soft waves, her skin perfectly smooth and glowing. Meanwhile, I looked like I'd been put through a snowblower and then partially thawed.

"You went airborne," James corrected from where he was arranging pillows on the oversized leather chair. "And did a very impressive cartwheel."

"I did not⁠—"

"Two full rotations. I counted." He grinned. "Though your form could use work. I'd give the technical execution a six, but the dramatic flair was a solid nine."

“Well,” I said, smiling a little. “Thank you for appreciating my dramatic flair, at least.”

James gave me a sympathetic pat on the head, then walked off toward the lounge bar.

We'd found a cozy corner of the resort's main lobby, where a massive stone fireplace crackled and popped beside intimate seating arrangements. Outside, snow was starting to fall again, making the whole scene feel almost magical. It was so damn cozy I could almost forget my aching everything and the fact that my stubbornness nearly got me killed on a mountain today.

Okay, I probably hadn’t almost died. But my dignity might have.

"Here." James returned and handed me a steaming mug of hot chocolate, complete with tiny marshmallows. "Drink this while I grab more pillows."

"I don't need⁠—"

He was already gone. I'd finally managed to placate Maggie with a text promising "every scandalous detail later, including why I might have chosen death by ski slope over facing another night alone with the wedding wrecker." But now I had an overly attentive fake boyfriend to deal with.

A fake boyfriend who'd changed into a soft gray sweater that made me want to run my hands over it. Or maybe that was just an excuse for wanting to run my hands over what was under it. Between that and his slightly windblown hair and the way his jeans fit as he walked away... I took a long sip of hot chocolate and tried to focus on my bruises instead of his assets.

"He's sweet," Lily sighed, curling up on the couch. Her engagement ring caught the firelight. I remember being somewhat impressed when I’d seen it. After hearing how filthy rich the Wellington’s were, I expected it to look like a geological artifact—something so large she’d barely be able to straighten her wrist under its weight. Instead, it was a surprisingly modest ring, almost like something an average guy could’ve afforded.

"You don’t think this injury is going to keep you from coming to the activities right?” Lily asked. “I was really looking forward to having you along for it all.”

“It’s seriously not even worthy of being called an injury,” I said. “James is just fussing over nothing. I’m only a little sore and a tiny bit bruised. I promise, I’ll be completely fine by tomorrow morning.”

“Mhm,” Lily said with a knowing grin. “I imagine anybody would recover with the level of pampering your boyfriend is lathering on. Maybe I should hire him to run a Pawsh Pets franchise for me. If he applied those skills to my customer’s pets, his franchise would be a hit the moment it opened.”

“Should we float the idea to him?” Marcus cut in with his perfect smile. He had that polished look the whole Wellington family seemed born with. "I’ve been telling you we need to capitalize while Pawsh Pets is getting so much media coverage. It would be the perfect time to expand and start offering franchises.”

“Easy, Tiger,” Lily said, touching his bicep and giving him a soft smile. “The most important thing to me is that we take care of the pets. Once I’m confident I could expand without compromising that, then… maybe. But I just want to think about us right now, not the business.”

“Of course,” Marcus said, clasping her hand and giving her a dazzling smile.

“What kind of work does he do, anyway?” Lily asked.

“Um,” I said.

James returned with not only more pillows, but also a soft throw blanket that probably belonged somewhere else in the resort. "Lawyer. Currently not practicing, though,” he said, saving me from having to make something up. “Lift up," he ordered me.

His hands were at my waist before I could protest, lifting me slightly to adjust the cushions. The casual display of strength sent a traitorous shiver down my spine. It really wasn't fair that he could just manhandle me like that and make it seem so effortless.

A girl could almost be forgiven if her mind went straight to him using that strength to do things like throw me over one shoulder and carry me off to a broom closet somewhere.

“Why aren’t you practicing?” Lily asked.

James paused with his hands still fussing over my blanket. “There was a personal issue. I needed to take some time away to think about where I wanted to go with my future.”

“Oh,” Lily said, sounding a little sorry she’d asked.

“I heard you mention Pawsh Pets,” he said, smoothly changing the subject as his fingers lingered a little longer than necessary on my thighs through the blanket. “I remember Emma mentioning it, but she didn’t explain what it is, exactly.”

Did not, I thought. But I was happy to explain, if for no other reason than to distract myself from the lingering heat of his touch.

“It’s Lily’s luxury pet spa. The business went viral after she posted a video of a certain pop star's pomsky getting a blueberry facial."

"The precious little expression he had!" Lily gushed as her whole face lit up the way it always did when she talked about animals. "Now we can barely keep up with bookings. Everyone wants the 'celebrity pet treatment' package."

"She's being modest," Marcus said, pulling out a deck of cards. "Pawsh Pets is revolutionizing the industry. The expansion potential is incredible. Imagine one in every major city."

"I don't know about that," Lily laughed, but I caught a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "Some businesses get so caught up in expansion that they lose sight of what’s important. I don’t want that for Pawsh Pets.”

"But think bigger, angel. With the right investors⁠—"

"Oh, look! Cards. Anyone want to play?" I cut in as I lifted a deck of cards the resort had sitting on the table. My sister was brilliant with animals and social media, but she wasn’t exactly ambitious. I could sense the awkward tension in the conversation and wanted to change the topic for her.

"Couples against couples," Lily declared. "Though maybe we should go easy on the injured party."

"I’ll keep her comfortable," James said, his hand settling warm on my shoulder.

The touch sent another shiver through me. Especially when I remembered we'd have to share a bed again tonight. After this morning's... incident. Which we were never, ever speaking of again.

"Your ears are turning pink," James whispered, his breath hot against my skin.

"Shut up and deal."

"What are you two whispering about?" Lily asked with way too much interest.

"Nothing," I said quickly.

"She's remembering this morning⁠—"

I elbowed him hard enough to make him grunt.

"What happened this morning?" Lily leaned forward eagerly.

"She—"

"Had a very small, super uninteresting incident," I cut in. "Nothing anyone would ever care to know about."

James caught my hand under the blanket and squeezed. "Whatever you say, princess. But maybe tonight we should establish a safe word⁠—"

I stomped on his foot.

Lily bit back a laugh and shot Marcus a look, but he was distracted by something on his phone.

We played a few hands of various card games while Lily peppered us with questions about "our relationship" between rounds. I tried to focus on the cards and not how James kept absently running his thumb over my knuckles when he thought no one was watching. Or how good he smelled when he leaned close to check my cards. Or how his whole body tensed whenever I gave the slightest hint that I might be in a little bit of pain.

For a man who heartlessly crashed the wedding of my career and ruined two people’s happily-ever-after in Ireland, he was suspiciously good at being a caretaker.

"So what other activities do you have planned?" Lily asked as she shuffled.

"Winter picnic on Thursday," I said. "Though maybe we'll move it indoors given my track record with snow."

"Perfect timing," Marcus said, his professional smile firmly in place. "That's when your new celebrity client's video should be going live, right babe? The one with the high engagement rate?"

I noticed James sit a little straighter. Was he suspicious of Marcus because of his interest in Lily’s business? I could see how it was suspicious, but someone who wasn’t paranoid could also say it was sweet that he was so interested in her career. Some guys couldn’t be bothered to learn a thing about their girlfriend’s company. Marcus already seemed like an expert.

"Oh, right!" Lily brightened. "She has the cutest little cockapoo. I can’t wait to see the video.”

“Right,” Marcus said. “And it’ll be great for⁠—”

"Well, well." A familiar voice made me cringe. "I’m surprised to see you alive and breathing after that spill on the slopes."

Dick sauntered over, followed by the trio of muscle brothers whose names I couldn’t quite remember at the moment. Richard Wellington, brought up the rear.

"I'm fine," I said quickly.

"Doesn't look fine." Dick perched on the arm of my chair, ignoring how James had gone very still. "I know some massage techniques that might help⁠—"

"She said she's fine." James' hand slid possessively around my shoulders. The temperature in his voice dropped about twenty degrees.

"Just trying to help." Dick raised his hands in surrender, but his smirk said otherwise.

"Yes, well." Richard's voice could have frozen the fireplace. "We can't have the wedding planner incapacitated. I trust this won't affect your duties?"

"Of course not, sir."

"Excellent. Though perhaps, next time, you could be more of a professional and stick to activities more suited to your... abilities."

James stood. "Emma's perfectly capable⁠—"

"It's fine," I cut in, touching his arm. The last thing I needed was my fake boyfriend starting a fight with my sister's future father-in-law. Even if the way he'd tensed to defend me was doing funny things to my stomach.

Mr. Wellington cocked an eyebrow in challenge at James, then walked off to order a drink at the bar. One of the muscle brothers gave my shoulder a squeeze.

“Feel better, Emma,” he said in his deep voice. “Let us know if you need anything.”

“Thank you,” I said, trying not to look at the clearly jealous fire in James’ eyes as the men walked off.

"Don't mind my father," Marcus said smoothly. "He doesn’t mean anything by what he said. He just likes to be in control, and he gets a little cranky when it comes to surprises or unforeseen events.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “He hired me to make sure you guys have the perfect wedding, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

We played a few more hands, but even though the conversation never touched on anything beyond innocent, idle talk and competitive teasing, I couldn’t help shaking the feeling that something was off about the interaction.

Eventually, Marcus and Lily excused themselves to go see about some alterations to Marcus’ suit for the big day. I offered to take care of it for them, but the two of them seemed to want the excuse to spend a little time together, so I dropped the idea.

Even though I was usually nervous to be alone with James, I’d grown tired from the ambient music playing in the lobby, the sound of the fireplace, and the white serenity outside. I ended up dozing off with my head in James’ lap while he read a book he plucked from the shelves in the nearby library.

When I woke, I saw it was getting dark outside, and James was idly running a hand through my hair.

Rule number one.

But I was too weak to say anything to stop him. I lay there a while, just enjoying the sensation of his fingers against my scalp. Finally, I stirred because I had to itch my leg.

“Ah, sleeping beauty has awoken.”

I yawned. “Sorry. You didn’t have to stay.”

“I wanted to.”

I cleared my throat awkwardly and sat back up. I could feel my hair was a mess, so I tried to tamp it down a little.

“Well?” James eventually asked. “Ready for bed? Or did you nap too long to go to sleep?”

“No,” I said, yawning again. “I’m definitely tired.”

“That settles it,” he said, standing and taking my arm, as if he was worried I might not be able to walk.

I gave him a look. “I’m just a little tender. I can walk, James.”

“Mhm. This is the same woman who confidently told everyone she could handle Thunder Ridge. I’m not sure I can trust you with your own safety, Em.”

Em. I’d told him not to call me that, but I couldn’t find the energy to correct him this time.

We didn’t talk much until we reached the door to our room.

James tapped his keycard to the electric reader above the door handle and paused as he was pushing it open. His eyes met mine, deadly serious. “Now… are you going to behave yourself? Or should I ask the front desk if they have any handcuffs I could use on you?”

For some completely unknown reason, the image of James handcuffing me to the bed did… funny things to my insides. I cleared my throat. “No. That won’t be necessary.”

“We’ll see, won’t we? But maybe we could establish a few ground rules about sleep-grinding. Probably best to make sure we stick to doing it through our clothes for now. Though, I suppose if you’re planning to sleep in that lingerie I saw, it would hardly count as clothing.”

I elbowed him, face burning as I slid past him into the doorway. My small laugh betrayed me. “I hate you. Have I mentioned that?”

“While you’re awake, yes,” he said, closing the door. “But your sleep moans tell a different story.”

I groaned. I might not survive this man, but I wasn’t sure which form my death would take yet. Death by embarrassment? Death by arousal? Or maybe I’d just suffer lethal levels of annoyance and burst into a ball of flames.

Compared to the mortification of waking up with his concerningly large, erect member between my legs again… I might take the flames.

15

JAMES

Neither of us had wanted to drag out the awkward dance of getting ready for bed, so we'd both retreated under the covers way too early, pretending to be more tired than we were. Now, we had both been laying in silence for several minutes, both obviously awake but neither willing to acknowledge it.

The quiet felt charged, filled with unspoken words and the memory of the day’s events. For my part, I kept replaying the kiss at the tasting. I hadn’t planned it, of course, but fuck. I found myself wishing she was mine to kiss like that whenever I wanted. If she was, I wasn’t sure we’d ever leave this damn room.

And yet…

Before Katie, I wanted to find “the one”. I believed there was actually somebody “right” for me out there. Now, though? I felt like happy couples were just unaware—they were the ones who hadn’t had the misfortune yet of figuring out their partner’s fatal flaw.

Relationships were opportunities for pain. They were foolish acts of giving your trust to somebody you could almost guarantee would betray it. And why would I willingly wade into those waters?

But this strange flirtation between real and fake with Emma was… well, it was the best of both worlds, I guessed.

I got to play the doting boyfriend when we were in front of people. I got to let that old part of myself out again, but we both knew it wasn’t real. That meant the hurt wouldn’t be, either, when things inevitably blew up between us again.

It was safe.

Except something in my gut said I was playing with fire.

I ignored my gut, rolling my head to the side slightly so I could see her profile in the dark. The moonlight cast everything in soft shadows, and I found myself oddly mesmerized by a reflective spot of white on her bottom lip. I found myself wanting to reach out—to touch it with the pad of my thumb and follow it with a kiss.

A few more minutes passed while I silently studied her before her eyes opened and she spoke.

We’d been pretending to be going to sleep for nearly half an hour, but it seemed like she was tired of acting like she wasn’t awake.

"I need to understand something," she said, voice oddly tight. "That wedding in Ireland... why did it have to be so public? You could have told them privately, saved everyone the humiliation. Saved my—" She broke off.

Apparently, rule number three was out the window. I thought back on that day and the conflict I’d felt. It was a nearly impossible choice. “I didn’t know you were the wedding planner at first,” I said softly.

“I’m pretty sure I made it obvious,” she snapped.

“I was… I really enjoyed our time together that night. I don’t think I was in the most perceptive mindset. I thought you were just a really overly helpful relative, or something.”

“But you did know eventually. And you still wrecked the wedding. I’ve tried, but I can’t understand why you did it. What’s the point in making a big scene when you could just tell them before everybody travels and wastes their time and money? It seems needlessly cruel and dramatic.”

I felt a surprising amount of bitterness rise in my throat. They were all questions I’d asked myself, of course. Hundreds of times. I wasn’t a monster. I didn’t enjoy watching weddings go up in flames. But I did care about doing what I thought was right, and these were the methods I’d eventually decided worked best. "You ever try to tell someone their partner's cheating?" I asked quietly. “Or that their husband has a gambling addiction? Or their wife is hiding hundreds of thousands in debt and they’re about to be financially ruined? Or that he is wanted for a crime in another country?”

"No, but⁠—"

"It doesn’t go well. Sometimes, they simply won’t hear it. Other times, they confront their partner and end up giving in to their excuses and promises that it won’t happen again. They’ve changed. The wedding is already planned, and won’t they think of the embarrassment of canceling now. People believe in the lie of the perfect day fixing all their problems, as if a memory and some legal papers are going to change who their partner is. And the power of not wanting to go against the grain or embarrass themselves by admitting the engagement was a mistake is a powerful thing. Trust me. I’ve seen the kinds of shit people will put up just to avoid going down that road.

“But exposing the truth in front of everybody? That actually works. Something about seeing the horror on other people’s faces has a way of driving the truth home. It’s not love. It’s not meant to be. It’s just over. And if I wreck the wedding, then it should be over. I make sure of that.”

"So you just decided to become judge and executioner of other people's relationships? You get to decide if the problems between them are fatal or not?"

"The wedding in Ireland was already ruined, just like the rest of them," I said, sharper than I intended. "The moment he decided to cheat, it was over. I only made sure everyone saw the truth before legal documents got signed."

"There had to be a better way."

"Like what? Should I do the thing I know doesn’t work and try to tell them before the wedding? Or should I just stay out of it and let the wedding happen? No,” I said firmly. “I don’t want people to go through that kind of hurt. Promising to love someone forever… putting yourself out on a limb like that and placing all your trust in someone… saying the vows? You do all that only to find out they betrayed you, and how the hell are you ever supposed to trust someone again?"

She was quiet for a moment. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Smart woman. Too smart for her own good, maybe.

"My ex wife," I said finally. "She was sleeping with my brother. And three other guys. Probably more I never found out about."

Emma's sharp intake of breath was the only sound for a long moment.

"People knew," I continued. "They all knew. I think some of them even tried to tell me in their own ways, but I wasn’t hearing it. The truth didn’t stick for me until I was confronted with it at my own wedding. Only I found out after we said our vows, so I was dumb enough to try to stick with her to make it work. I was dumb enough to think the fact that we’d sealed the deal changed anything. I believed her promises to change, right up until I found out she was still cheating a few months later."

"James… I’m sorry. Nobody should have to experience that."

"Exactly,” I said, voice charged with meaning. “Maybe my methods are debatable. Maybe you still disagree. But I can promise you this much—I’m genuinely trying to help people. I don’t want anyone to feel what I felt, and that’s what gets me out of bed every morning. Well, assuming a beautiful woman isn’t dry humping me in her sleep and moaning my name already, that is.”

Emma glared, but her expression softened as she turned to face me. “I think your methods hurt people. Not just the cheaters. A wedding is a celebration. Relatives, friends, and co-workers fly in from all over to support the bride and groom. You’re not just sabotaging the bride and groom—you’re planting a seed of cynicism in everybody who attends.”

“Good,” I said. “People shouldn’t be so blind about love and marriage. They should know what they’re getting into.”

“You’re so caught up in how bad it hurt you that you’re the one who is blind.”

“Am I?” I asked, voice edged with anger. “Because I feel like I’m seeing pretty fucking clearly.”

“I think there has to be a better way. A way that doesn’t leave so much destruction in your wake.”

“Destruction of things like your career?” I asked, forcing the anger out of my voice.

"That too." Her voice shook slightly. "The wedding in Ireland was supposed to be my breakthrough job. It was my chance to prove I could handle a high profile, high budget wedding and knock it out of the park. Instead, it became the reason no one would trust me with anything bigger than a backyard ceremony."

"I'm sorry about that. I really am. But I'm not sorry I exposed him."

"And what about now?" She pushed up on one elbow, moonlight catching the curve of her hip and the swell of her breast beneath a thin shirt. "Is that what you're doing here? You’re only keeping my sister’s best interests in mind?"

“I want to do what’s right. And… if I was actually hired to work this wedding, I would only act if I found something worth acting on.”

“You’re still pretending you aren’t working the wedding?”

“I sign a confidentiality contract with my clients when I do work weddings. If I was working this one, I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

Emma’s face darkened. “I’m not stupid, James. But… I love my sister. And if you hurt her somehow in this mess, I will never forgive you.”

“That’s not what I do,” I said.

“No,” she said softly, eyes falling to my lips. “You just… show up and complicate things.”

“Pardon?”

“You arrived and had your mouth on mine within seconds. You convinced everybody we’re a couple. And now I’m in your bed, James. Tell me that’s not complicated.”

Her soft voice, the moonlight, and the cold sheets… It all felt so damn intimate, and I wasn’t sure if I was reading too much into her body language, but⁠—

"Emma..."

“You talked about trust,” she continued. “How do you think it felt for me when I trusted you with my body in that wine cellar? And then the next day you were destroying everything. Imagine what that does to a girl’s mind. And her heart.”

“I didn’t think I meant anything to you. I wanted to tell you that night, but I knew you’d probably go to the groom and bride. You’d try to talk them into working it out, and it would only lead to more pain for them.”

She was quiet for a long time. “And what about now, James? Why are you doing this? Why spend so much of your time here selling the lie about us to everybody? I don’t see what’s in it for you.”

“I thought I owed you after everything. I saw a chance to help. That Dick asshole was going to be all over you. I could see it the moment I walked in the door, and I just did what I thought was right.”

“You thought kissing me was right?”

“It certainly felt that way,” I admitted.

Emma swallowed hard. “Sometimes, I wonder if you’re really pretending. Sometimes, it feels pretty damn real.”

My pulse kicked up. "Does it?"

"You know it does. That first kiss when you showed up, maybe that was just for show. But today, at the tasting..."

"What about it?"

"It felt different. Like maybe you weren't just pretending to be possessive."

I reached out to brush hair from her face, noting how her breath caught. "Maybe I wasn't."

"James..."

"Maybe we should work on our technique,” I suggested. Was the suggestion just about the oldest trick in the book? Yeah. But fuck if I cared. I wanted her lips on mine again. I couldn’t muster the willpower to care if I was being obvious about it or not.

Emma raised an eyebrow, but I saw how the pace of her breathing had increased. “You can’t think I’m really going to fall for that…”

“A real couple would have all kinds of kisses,” I continued. “Possessive ones, passionate ones, casual ones. It might look suspicious if we have to kiss in front of people again and don’t do the right kind.”

“I feel like you’re full of shit.”

“You can feel how you want. I happen to be a professional, and I’d prefer to know we’re prepared for any situation.”

Emma rolled her eyes, lips slightly pursed in a smile. “So you think we need to kiss here… lying in bed… and you think that will somehow prepare us for any situation?”

I traced my thumb over her bottom lip. "That’s right. It wouldn’t mean anything. We’re both professionals, and we’d only be putting in the work to do our jobs convincingly.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, catching the edge of my thumb. The small contact sent fire through my veins. “I suppose if we can both agree it doesn’t mean anything… I could let you try some practice kisses. Just for the sake of appearances, of course.” Her voice had dropped low, all breath and heat against my face.

I closed the distance between us slowly, giving her time to change her mind. When my lips touched hers, she made a small sound that shot straight through me.

This kiss was different. The others had been for show, even if part of me had deeply enjoyed them.

This was heat and need and three years of wanting.

Emma's hands slid into my hair as she pressed closer. I groaned at the feel of her body against mine, all soft curves and thin clothing barely separating our bodies. When her leg hooked over my hip, I rolled us so she was beneath me.

"James," she gasped as I kissed down her throat. “What context would we use this in, exactly?”

“This would be…” I said, pausing with a small smile. “Unexpectedly interrupted while having an intimate moment.”

Her lips curved at the corners. “And you think we’re really going to need to demonstrate this one in front of anyone?”

“Alright,” I said. “Here’s our casual kiss. No tongue, okay?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

I hooked my index finger under her chin and planted a soft kiss on her lips. A moment later, her tongue flicked out playfully, teasing my lower lip.

I laughed. “Bad girl. That will be the playful kiss. Let’s try casual again. Keep that tongue in your mouth this time.”

“Yes, sir,” she said sarcastically.

I pressed my lips to hers, and then she threaded her hands behind my neck and pulled me deeper, kissing me hard, then biting my lip. “Oops,” she whispered. “Was that too much?”

My hand slid up her shirt, my calloused fingers gliding over smooth, warm skin. “That depends… if your goal is practice? Yes, definitely too much. If your goal is to make me want to fuck you until you moan my name again and again? You’re getting close.”

She let out a soft gasp, arching her back against my touch and pulling me deeper into her hips with the leg she had hooked over me. “James…” she breathed.

"Tell me to stop."

Instead, she rocked herself, sliding her warmth across my cock and drawing a groan from me. I ground against her, loving how she whimpered and pulled me closer.

Her phone started buzzing.

"Ignore it," I muttered against her skin.

It buzzed again. And again.

"It's Maggie," she breathed. "She'll just keep calling."

"Fuck." I pressed my forehead to hers, trying to catch my breath.

"I should..." She gestured vaguely at her phone.

"Yeah." I rolled off her, already missing her warmth. "I'm going to shower."

I practically fled to the bathroom, turning the water on cold. It didn't help. All I could think about was Emma's soft sounds, the way she'd felt under me.

I gave up on suppressing my arousal and turned the shower handle to warm.

The water heated up, and so did my thoughts. I remembered the curves of her body in that silk top, how she'd arched when I kissed her neck. I pictured where things might have gone if we weren’t interrupted.

My hand wrapped around my cock as I imagined her legs around my waist, her nails on my back.

I stroked myself, remembering the little gasp she'd made when I ground against her. In my mind, I was still on top of her, but now I was sliding into her tight heat while she moaned my name.

"Fuck," I groaned, speeding up my strokes. I imagined her coming apart beneath me, crying out as she clenched around me.

My release hit hard, Emma's name on my lips.

As I stood under the spray, catching my breath, reality crashed back in. I was investigating her sister's fiancé. I didn’t believe in love anymore. I wasn’t capable of trust.

I was damaged goods, and a girl like Emma would never settle for somebody who could only give her scraps of himself.

This thing between us was doomed before it ever started, and yet…

I wasn’t sure I had the strength to stop myself if this kept up. She was too damn tempting. I needed to figure something out, though, or I was going to lead us both to disaster.

16

EMMA

"You made out with the wedding wrecker?" Maggie's shriek made me hold the phone away from my ear. "The same guy who destroyed your career? The one you had hot wine cellar sex with right before he ruined everything? Actually, no. We're doing this face to face. FaceTime me right now."

"I'm in bed," I whispered.

"Even better. I want to see your guilty face when you tell me everything. And maybe catch a glimpse of Mr. Muscles in the background."

"He's in the shower." But I switched to video anyway, if only to see Maggie's expression when I filled her in.

Her face popped up on screen, brown eyes wide with excitement. Maggie and I were college dorm mates, way back when I was taking business classes and still thought I wanted to run a real estate empire. She took most of the same classes, and now she was using her business degree to run a coffee flavor-blasting business from her garage. Basically, she worked up delicious mixtures that came in “shot tubes,” which were, of course, biodegradable. Her customers could dump one into their coffee to supercharge it.

The business wasn’t exactly an overnight success, but she seemed happy enough and said this was shaping up to be her best year yet.

She pushed up her glasses, leaning closer to the camera and squinting, as if she was inspecting me for clues. Maggie looked a bit nerdy at first glance—with big eyes and a rounded face with full cheeks. Beneath the bookish exterior, she was wild, and the life of every social event I’d ever been to with her.

"Okay, spill,” she said. “Start with how he showed up. And don't skip the abs—are they still spectacular?"

I glanced at the closed bathroom door, where the shower was still running. "I'm not discussing his abs."

"So that's a yes." She leaned closer to her phone. "Your face is all flushed. Oh my god, did you just⁠—"

"No! We just... kissed."

"Just kissed? Your lips are swollen. That was not 'just' kissing." Her words took on a British accent. “You just got propa’ ravaged, darlin’. You sure you aren’t pregnant already?”

I touched my mouth self-consciously. "It got a little... intense."

"Define intense. And why did it stop? Please tell me you're not still hung up on the Ireland thing."

"He explained about his wife⁠—"

"Woah, woah. Back the train up. Rewind the tape. Wife???”

"Ex-wife. She cheated on him. With his brother."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah." I lowered my voice. "That's why he does what he does. Exposing cheaters and otherwise sneaky, undeserving people at weddings. He thinks it's better than letting people go through with the vows."

"Okay, that's... actually kind of noble? In a completely fucked up way? Also explains why he's so hot. Tragic backstory and hot guys go better together than peanut butter and jelly—and you know how much I respect the PB&J, so I don’t say that lightly."

"That's the problem. He makes sense when he explains it. And then he kisses me and I can't think at all."

"Sounds like you need to kiss him more. You know, for clarity."

"This isn't funny."

"It's a little funny. You're sharing a bed with the gorgeous guy who broke your heart, and now you're getting all hot and bothered about his tragic past. It's like a Hallmark movie but with more sexual tension." She paused. "How is the shared bed thing going? Have you guys had your ha ha, oops, did I just penetrate you moment yet?”

"Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing. Although, I did kind of... mount him in my sleep once."

Maggie choked on whatever she was drinking. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I was asleep! And he was just... there. All warm and... there. I guess my body was acting out my dream or something. I can’t explain it, and I’ve never had something like this happen before."

"Please tell me there's video."

"I hate you. And of course there’s not video. Why would there be video?"

"No, you don't hate me. But seriously, Em. What are you going to do? You've got what, another week of sharing a room with him? Plus all those cute winter activities you planned..."

"Don't remind me. There's the sleigh ride tomorrow, and ice skating after that..."

"Ooh, lots of opportunities for him to wrap his arms around you. Show you how to balance..."

"I know how to ice skate."

"He doesn't need to know that."

The shower cut off. "I have to go."

"Use protection! Actually, why bother? It’s not every day you have a chance to get injected with premium, top-shelf genetic material. Think of the beautiful babies his batter would make. And Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"Maybe this time actually talk to him before jumping straight to the naked parts?"

"I'm hanging up now."

"Love you too. Call me after the next makeout session, or if you want to talk baby names!"

I ended the call just as the bathroom door opened. Steam billowed out around James as he emerged in just his sweats, water still beading on his chest and abs that were, fine, yes, still spectacular. A drop of water rolled down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his sweats, and I forced myself to look away before I did something stupid. Like lick it off.

Did hot guys not know how towels worked? Or was he just hoping the whole glistening wet body with rivulets of water draining down toward his waist would do dark things to my mind?

He glanced at me and I immediately snapped my eyes shut, doing an unconvincing job of pretending to already be asleep.

Why was I pretending to sleep?

Between the suddenness of what had happened and Maggie’s call, I hadn’t even had time to process what I really wanted.

Had I wanted… that to continue? My body certainly had. Hell, I could still feel a warm, pleasant pulsing between my legs and a tingling aura of arousal thumping just beneath my skin. But where did that moment lead? Would it mean taking us from pretend to real? And was I actually willing to put even a small piece of my heart in his hands again after how the last time played out?

Or were we planning to classify it as casual fun? I could do casual fun. In theory. Would I really be able to do things like that with James and not start getting confused, though?

My eyes were squeezed shut as I heard the tantalizing sound of his towel dropping to the ground. Despite my better judgment, I opened my eyes and turned to look.

And goodness… His ass was a thing of pure beauty. His back was broad and tapered. His legs were long and chiseled. He lifted one leg and stepped into a thin pair of gray boxer briefs, and then began to turn.

I whipped my head and body around so fast I might have given myself whiplash, slammed my eyes shut, and tried to lay perfectly still.

Who just drops their towel when their not-girlfriend is laying in a bed right there? So what if I was pretending to be asleep?

The only explanation was that he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew his ass was the stuff of dreams, and he was hoping I looked. It was the only explanation.

Bastard.

I felt him slide into the blankets beside me. I could almost picture him lingering there, half propped-up as he faced me and considered saying something. I waited, heart hammering, but he didn't reach for me. Didn't try to continue what we'd started.

I almost wanted him to.

And then I felt him lay down fully.

Part of me was relieved. The smarter part of me. The part that remembered how much it hurt last time.

The rest of me wanted to climb on top of him and pick up exactly where we'd left off.

I heard him shift, followed by a soft sigh. The mattress dipped as he rolled over, and I held my breath, wondering if he'd reach for me.

He didn't.

I lay there in the dark, hyper-aware of every movement, every breath. The distance between us felt both too big and not big enough.

Eventually, his breathing evened out. I stayed awake far too long, wondering if he was really asleep or just pretending like I was.

I was sixteen again, learning to drive stick shift in my dad's ancient Volkswagen. The gearshift kept sticking, and I couldn't get it into first gear no matter how hard I pushed and pulled.

"You have to be gentle with it," Dream-Dad said from the passenger seat. "Feel for the sweet spot."

I jerked the stick back and forth, growing frustrated. The car made strange sounds and shook, almost as if it was laughing at my futile attempts to figure this thing out. "It won't go!"

"Maybe try rotating it a little," Dream-Dad suggested. "Sometimes you have to work it around until you find the right position."

I tried moving the stick shift in circles, but that just made the shaking and laughing worse.

The shifter was warm against my hand. What a nice feature. I’d heard of heated seats and heated steering wheels. But heated stick shifts? Fancy. My hands were cold. So I wrapped my other hand around it, just to enjoy the warmth.

Even if I couldn’t quite get the car to move the way I wanted, there was something I enjoyed about playing with the thing. I felt my Dream-Dad fade out of existence, because that sort of thing definitely happened all the time. It was just me and the stick shift, which I had given up understanding. I was just absently rubbing my fingertips over the tip of it now as my hand slid up and down its length.

The car had stopped shaking now and it was almost like it was trying to talk to me.

Yes, car? Are you trying to explain the secrets of the stick shift to me?

"Emma."

The car knows my name. That’s creepy.

"Emma, sweetheart..."

And now it’s calling me sweetheart. And its voice is honestly really hot. Why is my car’s voice⁠—

My eyes flew open. Early morning light cut through the window in buttery shafts, illuminating a very amused-looking James. I was pressed against his side with my face on his chest, and my hands were...

"I can’t say I’ve ever had a woman try that exact technique on me?" he said, voice rough with sleep. “But I’ll give you an A+ for effort. It felt like you were trying to get me to shift into gear or something. I’d say we’re in second or third gear already, maybe we’ll hit fourth if you keep it up.”

That's when I realized my hands were wrapped around something that definitely wasn't a gearshift. Something hard and—oh god. Based on how long his sweats had been tenting, I must have been "adjusting" things for a while.

"How long have you been awake?" I squeaked.

“Not long,” he admitted, rubbing his eyes and smirking. For some reason, my hands were still on his cock. I could feel it pulsing beneath my fingers and had to fight the urge to bite my lip and keep going.

Oh God. What the hell is wrong with me?

I jerked my hands away, looking at them as if they were possessed.

“I have to say,” James continued. “I’m starting to really enjoy sharing a bed with you. Your morning hospitality is absolutely stellar. And the surprise aspect?” He did a “chef’s kiss” motion, smiling wider. “I can’t wait to see what treat you have in store for me tomorrow. Whispering sweet nothings in my ear? Or maybe you’ll be dreaming you’re making clay pots?” He cupped his hands around a phantom clay pot and moved them up and down, as if his implication wasn’t already clear enough.

"This never happened!" I scrambled out of bed, nearly falling in my haste.

"Oh it definitely did. And I plan to cherish the memory⁠—"

I slammed the bathroom door on his laughter, sliding down to sit on the floor with my face in my hands.

I might actually have to go ask the front desk if they had those handcuffs after all.

17

EMMA

For the first time since James had inserted himself into my life here, I’d managed to slip away for half the day on my own. I had a sneaking suspicion he had only let it happen because he was trying to get some work done as well. In other words, he was probably snooping around and trying to look for information on whether or not he was going to have to wreck this wedding.

But I had my own worries to attend to. Despite seeming like it should be an easy task, floral arrangements for weddings had a way of acting up and always presenting last minute problems. A quarter of the shipment had apparently turned up bruised and smooshed at the facility, so I needed to call around and find a backup florist to send extras. There were decisions to be made about the table settings, which Martha Wellington had seen in person yesterday and decided she hated. Chef Antoine wanted me to come by and give my thoughts on a few of the bites he was testing for the big day, too. That wasn’t even the full list of tasks, but it felt good to keep myself busy. It meant my mind wasn’t free to wander. It meant I had an excuse to be away from James, where my brain could finally seem to function properly.

After a delicious lunch of sandwiches I’d stuffed in my face while checking work emails in my blissfully James-free room, I knew the time had come.

Today was the day of the sleigh rides with some of the wedding party, and I already knew James well enough to be sure he wouldn’t miss that. If I was lucky, he wouldn’t have purchased us another matching outfit with his free time.

I got myself wrapped up and dressed as warm as I could, and then headed to the lobby. I got glimpses of the weather outside as I headed downstairs and couldn’t help noticing how perfect it was. The sun had stayed hidden until about twenty minutes ago, which meant last night’s snow was still clumped dreamily on tree branches, roofs, and every surface. The sky was blue, though, and the sun was shining. A glance at my phone said it was already up to about forty degrees, which would be more than bearable in all my winter gear.

Sure enough, I spotted James lurking near the rest of the Wellingtons in the lobby.

Dick Wellington intercepted me before James spotted me.

“You look smashing,” he said, awkwardly borrowing the British phrase as he tried to lift my hand—presumably to kiss it like some awkward prince.

I dodged his grip like his hand was a snake, smiling—or maybe wincing. “Ah, thanks. Yeah. I think I see James.”

His lip twitched in what might have been a smile. “When you get tired of him, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

I practically rushed toward James like he was a lifeboat in a sea of creepy waters.

Despite my better judgment, I wrapped both arms around his arm and hugged myself into him. “There you are! Casual kiss,” I whispered quickly.

To his credit, James handled the moment as smoothly as if it was completely real. He tucked his index finger under my chin, bent his neck, and placed a soft, tender kiss on my lips.

And then his tongue swiped between my lips playfully.

I jerked back, then forced a smile I hoped was natural. I talked through my teeth, keeping my voice low. “What the hell was that?”

“Just like we practiced,” he said. “The tongue was your idea. Remember?”

Bastard.

“I can’t get over how cute you two are together,” Lily said, rushing up and taking my hands in hers. Her smile was vibrant and her outfit was adorable. She had on a puffy white wool hat, a matching white scarf, and a white, pleated jacket that went all the way to mid-calf. Even her boots were white.

“Look at you,” I said. “Like a snow princess.”

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Marcus said, sliding his hand around her waist as he joined us. He planted a kiss on Lily’s cheek, and she practically melted into him.

See? I thought, hoping James was taking careful note. They were perfect together. It was obvious how happy he made her. For the first time, I considered the possibility that this whole thing would end up being a big nothing burger. James wouldn’t find anything, because there was nothing to find. The wedding would go beautifully. Happily ever freaking after. And I could blow a fat raspberry to James’ cynical face.

“Well,” James said, jerking his head toward the front doors. “It looks like our chariots await. Literally.”

I grinned. “This was one of the things I was most excited about when I decided on this venue.”

Richard Wellington, Dick, the three handsome brothers, and a few of the other Wellingtons I hadn’t met yet moved outside. Our family’s side of the wedding party was only me, Lily, my mom, my dad, and I guess James counted.

My dad was the type to spend all day in his room doing crossword puzzles while muttering to himself, so I was hardly surprised I hadn’t seen him once since arriving. If he had his way, he’d probably stay hidden until the wedding day.

I’d spotted my mom at the hotel bar a few times, but she also seemed to be hiding out in her room as much as she could. If I had to guess, I’d say she felt guilty about having James here, and she was probably a nervous wreck about how the day of the ceremony was going to go. I didn’t blame her, but I didn’t have the luxury of getting to hide away and wait for the big day. As the wedding planner and the sister of the bride, I had to keep making appearances.

With James.

Charity Wellington came up to me as the men in her family headed outside. She was Dick and Marcus’ little sister. She had platinum blonde hair, big blue eyes, and pursed, full lips. Her outfit was the kind of over-the-top ridiculous that probably cost a small fortune.

She came up to us and pulled Lily into a hug. “Lily! I’m so sorry we haven’t got to chat yet. I just got in last night. I work with a few fashion designers out of Paris, and they had some last minute emergencies they needed my opinion on. I know you understand!”

Humble brag, much?

“Oh, no worries,” Lily said, smiling up at the taller woman. To Lily’s credit, she didn’t look like she wanted to claw Charity’s eyes out or even kick her between the legs.

That was more than I could say for myself.

I always thought one of Lily’s best qualities was her innocent outlook. She was practically immune to female cattiness and jealousy. And why should any of that bother her? She was the girl everybody was always jealous of, and she never had to try to be the one people wanted to impress. That’s just how Lily was, and the effortlessness of it made it impossible to resent her for it.

“Who is this?” Charity said, drifting toward me and James.

Oh, hell no.

Her long-lashed eyes fell to James legs and swept up his body slowly as her lips curved upward. She put her mouth into a playful pout. “Don’t tell me you’re taken. Let me guess, by, um… her?” she said.

Somehow, she managed to inject so much disdain, dismissal, and outright “ew” into the single syllable I was almost impressed.

“This is my girlfriend,” James said. “Emma. We’re absolutely crazy for each other.” He added, lowering his lips to my ear. “Passionate kiss?” he whispered.

I didn’t wait. I just turned and cupped his face, launching into a hard, heavy kiss that was brief, but made absolutely no secret of the fact that we were together.

Except we weren’t together, I reminded myself as we pulled back and I delicately swiped the corner of my mouth with my thumb.

“Get a room,” Lily joked, but I saw her give Marcus a playful squeeze on the butt as the two of them headed outside, leaving us with Charity.

The beautiful woman’s nose wrinkled like she’d smelled something unpleasant. “Well, congratulations. I suppose.”

She stalked off.

James met my eyes. “You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I asked, voice embarrassingly breathless.

“Because you feel like your knees are about to give out. I’m going to assume it’s from rage at that woman and not at how hard you’re swooning for me.”

I punched his chest, which was basically like a brick wall beneath his jacket. “Let’s just hurry up before they leave without us.”

James, as usual, was quick to put his arm around me and lead me outside. Even if it was all just for show, I had to admit there was something about a big, tall man who jumped at every excuse to put his hands on me. Combined with the cold and cozy atmosphere, it was like having my own giant, sexy blanket to carry around everywhere I went.

The sleighs waited out front, glistening in the sunlight and looking impossibly comfortable on the inside of their open cabins. The benches were plush leather and thick, fuzzy blankets were folded neatly in every seat. White horses with flowing hair and misting breath waited in front, occasionally stomping their feet and whinnying.

A driver sat in the front of each chariot with the reins in hand and a ridiculously formal little driver’s outfit on.

James extended his hand to help me into the sleigh.

I took it, but every innocent contact was like a spark that ignited a memory. The wine cellar in Ireland. The kiss at the tasting. How it felt to feel his erection between my legs when I’d woken up on top of him…

My heel promptly slipped on the metal step. James caught me before I could face-plant into the sleigh, his hands firm on my waist.

"I got you," he murmured close to my ear.

"You two are so cute," Lily gushed again as she cozied up next to Marcus in the seat behind ours.

The resort had arranged three sleighs for our group. Ours was me, James, Lily, and Marcus. Behind us, Richard, Dick, and one of the three brothers sat with a pair of older women I assumed were some of the aunts. In the back, the other two handsome brothers sat with Charity and another older pair of Wellington men.

Now we were all tucked into the red sleigh with its plush blankets and gleaming brass bells. The horses shifted impatiently in their harnesses, their breath forming twisting clouds in the crisp afternoon air.

"Everyone settled?" the driver asked.

I nodded as James situated one of the blankets over our laps. To my pleasant surprise, the blanket had been heated and felt amazing. His thigh pressed against mine as he situated himself closer than strictly necessary.

"Gotta keep my girl warm," he said innocently.

I glared at him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The sleigh jerked into motion, bells jingling as we glided over the snow.

It was beautiful. The forest around us looked like something from a Christmas card, all snow-laden pines and sparkling ice crystals with mountains rising around us in every direction.

Within minutes, we had left behind the well-traveled roads that were full of packed snow from vehicles. We cut across a perfectly untouched field of white snow and headed for a forest trail that wound between the trees.

It was like another world, with no sound but the trotting horses and the thick silence of the blanketed forest.

"This is so romantic," Lily sighed, snuggling into Marcus' side.

"Sure is." James' hand found mine under the blanket. I tried to pull away, but he just threaded our fingers together. "Cold hands," he explained, loud enough for the others to hear.

"So," Lily said, "how did spilling your drink on my sister lead to you two dating, exactly?”

I tensed. We hadn't thought to work more on our cover story, which wasn’t like me at all. I was usually so careful with all the details. I was usually so concerned with preventing disaster that I thought of everything. When it came to our fake relationship, it felt like I wasn’t using my brain at all.

No. I was too busy thinking with another part of my body when it came to James.

But he had made up several stories about our dating life that first night over drinks. I guess I just assumed nobody would want to know more than that, but it was a stupid assumption.

"She needed something to wear," James said smoothly. "She was meeting with a client a few minutes from where we were, and didn’t have time to go back to her place. We hit my apartment and I let her borrow some of my sister’s clothes. It was almost a perfect fit.”

“Your sister keeps her clothes in your apartment?” Marcus asked.

He has a sister?

“She was staying with me for the week. Lucky coincidence.”

“And then what?” Lily asked.

“Well, I was admittedly smitten. So I slipped my phone number into the pocket of my sister’s jacket with a little message.”

“What was the message?” Lily asked. She was eating the story up.

So was I.

It was like he was imagining how this could have happened between us in another world—one where our professional lives didn’t clash so spectacularly.

“It said he hasn’t been with a woman in years,” I said before James could continue. “That he was desperate, and went on to beg me to call him back.”

James cleared his throat. “Ah, yeah. Something like that.”

Lily laughed. “Really? What possessed you to write that on the note?”

“I’m persistent when I want something,” he said softly.

The way he said ‘want’ sent heat through my entire body.

"What about you two?" James asked. "How did you meet?"

"Oh, it was so cute," Lily started, but she was cut off by a sudden lurch of the sleigh.

One of the horses had spooked at something in the trees, rearing up with a nervous whinny. The other horse danced sideways, making the sleigh rock precariously.

"Whoa!" The driver pulled on the reins, but the horses were properly scared now. They were trying to walk in different directions, which was making the sleigh rock from side to side. If they kept this up, the whole thing would tip, or maybe be dragged straight into a tree.

Before I could process what was happening, James had vaulted over the side of the sleigh. He moved to the horses' heads, speaking in low, soothing tones as he got hold of their bridles.

"Easy there," he murmured, stroking their necks. "Nothing to worry about, girls."

The horses settled almost immediately under his touch.

The driver was able to take that moment to join James, thanking him and speaking quietly to the horses as they calmed.

I watched it all with a still-pounding heart.

“Do you moonlight as a horse whisperer?” I asked. I had to admit the way he swooped in to save the day again was admittedly a little hot. Was there anything this man couldn’t do?

James gave the horse a pat and a quick nod to the driver before vaulting back into the chariot. “I grew up around horses. He settled the blanket back over us again, somehow even closer than before. "My grandfather had a farm in Kansas. I used to spend summers there helping him out. Most horses just want to know you’re in control. If they see somebody is calm, they’ll be calm. It’s just about confidence.”

Once the driver was sure the horses were good, he got back in and urged them into a trot again.

Lily spent most of the ride peppering us with questions about our dating life and past, which James was able to answer so convincingly that I almost found myself believing it all, too.

We occasionally stopped for photos, which meant having to trudge through ankle deep snow with the Wellington’s, but I saw too many perfect spots to miss it. I was pretty sure I had about a hundred I was going to want to keep and touch up later for the wedding album.

Between the stops for photos, I tried to focus on the scenery instead of how good James smelled, or how he kept finding my hand beneath the blanket and holding it.

"Look!" Lily pointed to where a family of deer watched us from between the trees. "Are all Colorado deer that big?”

“Those are pretty typical,” the driver said. “Beautiful buck, though.”

I smiled and snapped a few pictures, both of the deer and my sister’s wide-eyed marvel as snow blown by the wind drifted down around her.

The whole thing felt like a fairy tale, which just made it more dangerous. I was doing my best to think of this as my sister’s fairy tale. This was her big wedding. These were her moments.

So what if a distractingly hot guy was sitting next to me, too? Or if every time I lost concentration, I was also drifting into this winter wonderland fantasy where all the stories he told about our meeting and past were true—where we were just a normal, ordinary, perfect couple.

But I couldn't afford to get caught up in the romance of it all. Not with James.

Then he turned to brush snow from my hair, his touch lingering longer than necessary, and I forgot all my reasons why not.

"Your ears are turning pink," he whispered.

"It's the cold."

"Liar." His breath was warm against my skin.

The sleigh crested a hill, revealing a breathtaking view of the mountains. Everyone oohed and aahed appropriately, but I was too aware of James to properly appreciate it.

"We should do this again," he said softly. "Just us."

For a moment, I let myself imagine it. A nighttime ride, stars overhead, no one around but us...

"Emma?" Lily's voice snapped me back to reality. "Didn't you say there was a bonfire at the end?"

Right. Work. Wedding. Reality.

"Yes, the resort has a fire pit set up with hot chocolate and s'mores."

"Perfect end to a perfect day," Marcus said, but he was looking at his phone and his voice was slightly distracted.

I noticed James watching him with that same sharp focus he'd had during the food tasting. I wasn’t about to ask him about it in front of Marcus and my sister, so I kept my attention on the scenery until we finally came into view of orange flames flickering through the trees. An employee from the resort snuck away just as we were coming close, probably hoping to give the silly illusion that the fires and supplies had just magically appeared here.

"Last one to the fire has to share their s'mores," Lily declared as we pulled to a stop.

James helped me down from the sleigh, his hands lingering on my waist. "Want to share anyway?"

"In your dreams."

"Oh, sweetheart." His voice dropped lower. "In my dreams, we share a lot more than s'mores. And I’ve had a preview of your dreams. They might be even dirtier than mine…"

I grabbed a handful of snow and shoved it down the back of his jacket.

His yelp of surprise was deeply satisfying. Right up until he tackled me into a snowbank.

"James!"

"You started this," he said, hands planted on either side of me. He grinned as snow fell from his hair onto my face.

"I’m going to be freezing now.”

“Maybe that was the plan. Now you won’t be able to stop yourself from cuddling up to me.”

I shoved another handful of snow at him, but he caught my wrists, laughing. For a moment, we just stared at each other, breath mingling in the cold air.

Then someone cleared their throat, and we looked up to find the entire wedding party watching us with varying degrees of amusement.

"If you two are done," Dick drawled, "some of us would like hot chocolate and s’mores."

James helped me up, brushing snow from my coat with exaggerated care. “Let’s get you warmed up, baby.”

I shot him a dirty look, but as we walked to the fire pit, his hand found mine again. And this time, I didn't pull away.

18

EMMA

The bonfire crackled, sending sparks dancing up into the darkening sky. Someone—Theo, I think—had produced several bottles of expensive wine, and the usually uptight Wellingtons had gradually relaxed as the evening wore on.

I was warm despite the cold, thanks to the fire, the wine, and James' body heat beside me. He'd pulled me between his legs on the log we shared, wrapping us both in a blanket. For authenticity, he'd said.

I decided this was the kind of moment you were lucky to have a few of in your entire life. Pristine snow blanketed everything in sight. Beautiful horses and bright red sleighs glistened in the setting sunlight just a ways off from our fire. And I was surrounded by easy conversation, laughter, and practically wrapped in the most gorgeous man I could have ever imagined.

Yeah… tonight, I decided I wouldn’t worry about what was fake and what was real. I just wanted to drink this all in and make a memory of it. I’d mostly been tuning out the conversations of the Wellingtons, who had been talking about boring things like investments and money.

Dick’s voice caught my attention. “This stuff,” he said, tilting the bottle of wine in his hand and nodding appreciatively. “Remember when we had the entire basement stocked full of it?”

Mr. Wellington chuckled. He was lounging on a log with his long legs spread out in front of him, a bottle of wine in his hand as well. “I do.”

“That’s where I got it,” Theo said, leaning forward so the firelight caught his handsome features. “You sent me a bunch of it several years ago and I couldn’t drink my way through it. I figured you guys could help me tonight.”

“Ahh!” Dick said. “From our own stash! I really did miss this stuff.”

James, who had been mostly quiet as he wrapped himself around me, finally spoke. There was a note of purpose in his voice and question I didn’t miss. “Did something happen to the vineyard that produces it?”

“Hm?” Dick said, still frowning at the label on the wine. “Nope. Shit is just so damn expensive we haven’t⁠—”

Richard cut in. “Seen the need. There are comparable vintages at more reasonable prices.” He paused, eyes sweeping across the gathered group. “Even when one has the means, spending in excess is tacky.”

Dick looked slightly mollified, but raised his bottle with a slosh. “To tackiness!” He tipped it and drained a long few gulps.

James tensed behind me, but I was too focused on his hand resting on my hip to really process the exchange. I’d bee fantasizing about him slipping his fingers farther inward until they glided over my sensitive⁠—

"Time to head back," one of the sleigh drivers called. "It'll be too dark for the horses soon."

"I want to show you something when we get back to the resort," James whispered in my ear as everyone started packing up. "Are you in?"

I shouldn't be. It was late, and despite having planned as much as I possibly could before we arrived, I still had real work to do tomorrow. But the wine and his proximity had me nodding anyway. “Okay,” I said. “Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” he said, lips curving upward.

I found myself dozing off in a comfortable, light sleep that came and went as we drifted through the snow on the sleighs back toward the resort. Sometimes, I watched the stars overhead. Mostly, I nuzzled into James and told myself I was only playing the part of the love-sick girl in a new relationship.

“Thank you for this,” Lily said as we all got off the sleighs back at the resort and stretched out our cold muscles. “Tonight was magical. I’m going to remember it forever.”

Marcus put his arm around my sister and smiled. “You really know how to plan some perfect activities, Emma. Good work here.”

Mr. Wellington even came up to me and gave me a small, almost grudging nod. “Good work tonight, Emma. That was nice.”

Charity stumbled out of the sleigh and had to lean on Theo’s big frame to steady herself. Either she was too drunk to glare at me like earlier, or she may have enjoyed herself too.

I was feeling the warm glow of a job well done as everybody trickled inside and headed toward their rooms or the lobby bar to get another drink.

James took my hand, jerking his head toward a hallway I hadn’t explored yet. “Ready?”

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see." He pulled me around through an “employees only” door, then down a dimly lit hallway. "Found this earlier while exploring."

“The ‘employees only’ part didn’t tell you not to explore this part?”

“Like I said before, when I want something, it’s hard to stop me.”

I rolled my eyes. “What did you want, exactly?”

“Answers. What’s behind the door? Why could only employees see it?”

I couldn’t help grinning. “So you’re going to show me… what? A supply closet?”

We reached a set of glass doors. Through them, I could see the gleam of water.

"The indoor pool?" I whispered. "It's closed at this hour."

James gave the door a push, and it swung open. “Not from the employees only side!”

“You’re going to get us in trouble. Come on, let's go back.” But my protests were only half-hearted. Maybe it was the slight buzz from the wine and the already amazing day, but I found myself greedy for more memories. And it had been ages since I swam…

James tugged my hand, pulling me into the room as the doors swung shut behind us.

The pool area was dark except for underwater lights that cast rippling patterns across the walls. Steam rose from the heated water, and through the clear, hanging plastic panels that separated the indoor and outdoor sections, I could see snow falling.

"We really shouldn't," I said, but I was already kicking off my boots. Even with James keeping me warm and the blankets, I’d spent all day outside in the cold. The idea of warm water seeping into my bones sounded too amazing to pass up.

"Probably not." James pulled off his sweater and undershirt, and I lost my train of thought. "Coming?"

I stripped down to my bra and underwear, grateful I'd worn the matching black set. When I looked up, James was watching me with heat in his eyes.

"See something you like?" I meant it to sound teasing, but my voice came out breathier than intended.

"Several somethings." He backed toward the pool, eyes never leaving mine. "Race you to the deep end?"

I felt my breath catch at his choice of words. In a way, wasn’t that exactly what we were doing tonight? We were like two people who knew we couldn’t swim, and yet we kept rushing toward the deep end, as if we didn’t know exactly what would happen when we reached our destination.

“Come on!” he called after he’d jumped in and pushed the hair out of his face. “Not that I’m complaining about the view, but you’re going to catch a cold out there. The water is heated, so get your perfect ass in here!”

The water was heated, making me sigh as I slipped in.

We swam lazy laps, occasionally splashing each other and drifting closer with each pass.

"Want to see the best part?" James asked, nodding toward the plastic dividers leading outside. I swam after him, watching the way his back muscles caught scraps of white moonlight as he effortlessly glided through the water.

We ducked our heads under the water and emerged outside. One moment, we’d been in the somewhat ordinary indoor pool area. The next?

I looked up and saw stars mingling with thick, lazy flakes of falling snow.

And I was stripped down to my underwear in a pool.

In the snow.

I smiled as the craziness of it washed over me.

Steam rose around us, catching the falling snow in small, upward drafts that made it swirl before landing and melting on the warm water. The mountains loomed dark against the star-filled sky. And best of all, there was that ever-present silence that seemed to come so easily with the snow and the cold. The peacefulness felt so thick I could almost imagine curling up and laying on it like a soft blanket.

"It's beautiful," I breathed.

Something cold hit my shoulder. I turned to find James grinning, another snowball in hand.

"You didn't."

"What are you going to do about it, beautiful?"

I launched myself at him, trying to dunk him under. Instead, I only managed to climb halfway up him and smash my soaking boobs in his face. James, like the mature adult he was, decided to motorboat me until I fell off him, laughing even as I sank halfway under the water.

He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, then held me at arm’s length, eyes sparkling with joy. “To be fair, you were asking for that.”

I smiled, still breathing hard from my failed attack attempt.

"You're shivering," he said, noticing the red mark where the snow had hit. His hand came up to rub warmth back into my shoulder. “Sorry.”

Even though the pool was heated, it was a little colder out here with the open air on my exposed flesh. The water itself wasn’t holding the heat quite as well, either.

"James..."

His other hand settled on my waist, pulling me closer. "You do things to me, Em.”

Em. He didn’t care that I asked him to stop giving me nicknames and pet names. And I liked that he kept doing it. I liked that he kept ignoring my claims that none of this was real, and that he knew I craved his touch, even when I denied it to his face.

He made it easy to do the wrong thing—to keep pushing toward that deep end where I knew we’d both drown. But God, the journey was a hell of a ride, and right now? Right now I wasn’t sure I cared where we ended up.

I just wanted to be right here.

In his arms.

Feeling his warmth against my skin.

Knowing his mind was full of me and mine was full of him.

So I wrapped my legs around his waist, threaded my fingers behind his neck, and I pressed my cold lips to his.

He was warm and perfect, and his tongue was even warmer still.

This kiss was different from our others. Slower, deeper, like we had all the time in the world. His hands slid down to grip my ass, greedily slipping beneath my soaked panties to take me bare in his hand.

His palm immediately squeezed, as if he couldn’t help himself once his hand was on me. A small moan slipped from my mouth as I rocked myself against him, seeking the shape of his erection—only this time I wasn’t asleep. I was fully awake, and somehow, the real James was even better than the version I’d been riding in my dream that first morning.

"We should set some ground rules," I managed between kisses.

"More rules?" He nipped at my throat. “If you insist. But we haven’t done too great sticking to the ones from your PowerPoint. Honestly, I forgot all of them except 1 and 3.”

"New rule. No... penetration." The last word came out as a gasp as he found a sensitive spot. "Just to keep things simple. Sex is complicated. But… just fooling around won’t hurt anybody. Right?”

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark. "Simple?"

"Yes. No complications. Just... fun."

"Fun," he repeated, then smiled wickedly. "I can do fun."

His hand slid between my legs, and I forgot how to breathe.

"Is this okay?" he asked, fingers teasing over my underwear.

"Yes," I gasped. "It’s perfect."

He pushed the fabric aside, and I moaned as his fingers found exactly the right spot. I hugged myself to his body, chin resting between his neck and shoulder as I took in the scene around us.

The steam rising from the water. The piles of snow around the edge of the pool. The flakes still drifting down from the dark sky, occasionally tickling me with a pinprick of cold, which only made the warmth of the water feel that much better.

And his hand.

His fingers had slid inside me. I lowered my mouth over his skin, nipping at him as I tried not to cry out already.

"You're so responsive," he growled, circling my clit with his thumb. "So sensitive. I bet I could make you come just like this."

"James..."

"Say it again." He slipped one finger inside me, then another. "Say my name."

I did, over and over, as he worked me higher. His thumb pressed perfectly against my clit while his fingers curled inside me.

It wasn’t long before it felt like my insides shattered apart in a beautiful explosion of white. I didn’t even realize I was gasping and moaning until a few seconds had passed, and then my cheeks went red with embarrassment.

But he continued to hold me as I came down, pressing soft kisses to my neck.

"That was..."

"Fun?" he suggested.

Life-changing. Perfect. Everything I’d ever dreamed of. The sort of thing that could make me fall for a guy.

"Yeah." I laughed shakily. "Fun."

“Do you… want a turn?” I asked, biting my lip as I reached down to grip him through his underwear.

“No,” he said. “If you start touching me right now, I’m going to end up breaking our newest rule.” His voice dipped an octave as he brought his mouth closer to my ear. “I’m so close to losing control around you, Emma. I’m always so goddamn close.”

“And… what would happen if you lost control?” I asked, fingertips still gliding up and down the length of his erection. “Maybe you should tell me… so I know what to watch out for.”

“I would start like this,” he said, hooking one arm under my knee and lifting my leg as he backed me toward the wall of the pool.

I gasped as the snow piled along the edge of the pool touched my back, but I didn’t care because he moved closer, gripping himself and pressing it against me through our underwear. “And then I’d touch you like this.” He cupped my face, leaning closer. “And I would slide inside you, memorizing every single sensation. The way your walls would grip me. The warmth of your pussy. The heat of your moans against my neck. The feeling of your nipples hardening beneath your bra and pressing into my chest. And I would fuck you until you’d never be able to think about sex again without wanting me. Only me.”

“James,” I gasped, breath hitching as I felt myself hooking one leg around him and trying to pull him into me.

“I’d make you come so hard for me you’d be ruined,” he continued, planting a soft kiss on my earlobe, and then my neck. “I’d fill you so deep you would worry you’re about to burst, and then you’d come so hard everybody in the entire resort would hear us. And you’d be too far gone to care. You’d only beg me for more. You’d⁠—”

“Hey!” a voice called. “How did you get in there? You can’t be out here!”

James pulled back, eyes lit with mischief. “I think we’re going to have to abandon our clothes and make a run for it.”

“What?” I asked.

James vaulted out of the pool, then reached a dripping hand toward me. “Come on, unless you want to explain to the Wellingtons why you’re being held in resort jail for the rest of their wedding week.”

“Resort jail?” I gasped. “Is that a thing?”

“Want to find out?”

I didn’t.

I gave one longing look toward the indoor section of the pool where my clothes were waiting, then let James help me from the pool. We carefully chose our footing to avoid the largest clumps of snow and patches of ice while somebody from inside the building worked a key in a door to get outside. A flashlight swept across us as James held both hands together to boost me over the fence.

“Really?” I asked, looking at his hand. “You want me to jump the fence?”

“It’s the only way. And I’m planning to enjoy the view of your ass on your way up.”

I wrinkled my nose at him, planted my foot on his hand, and let him easily lift me so I could grip the top of the freezing gate and shift my weight to the other side. A moment later, James pulled himself up and launched his muscular body over the fence like he was weightless.

“This way,” he said, taking my hand and laughing as we ran barefoot through patches of grass and tried our best to dodge more snow.

We rounded a corner of the resort, found a side door, and had to wait an excruciating minute until somebody passed and James could knock on the glass to get their attention.

The startled old woman clutched her scarf and slowly approached the door.

“Can you let us in?” James said, shouting so she could hear us through the glass.

The lady opened the door, then looked us up and down. “What on Earth?”

“You’re the best! Thanks!” James said, pulling me again as we ran up the stairs in our soaked, and partially frozen underwear.

By the time we reached our room, we were both shivering violently, but still laughing.

“I can’t believe you made me do that,” I said between clattering teeth.

“I think that lady was wondering how I could still be hard when I’m this cold.”

“She what?” I asked, eyes falling down to his underwear. I laughed, putting a hand over my mouth when I saw that sure enough, he was fully erect. “James!”

He paused at the door to our room. “Like I said. I’m this close to losing it around you, Em. Also, this might be a bad time to mention my room key is with my clothes. One of us is going to have to go to the front desk…”

“No…” I breathed.

He came close, planting a cold kiss on my lips and smiling. “You look way too fucking sexy to go walking around like this. You’re going to hide over there by the ice machine. If anybody comes in, just make machine noises so they don’t suspect anything.”

I laughed. “Machine noises? Like this?” I tried to make a grinding sound through my chattering teeth.

“Perfect. Now, wish me luck. I’ll be back.”

To his credit, James was only gone for two or three minutes before he came jogging back with a key in his hands. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dancing with amusement. “That was interesting.”

“I’m not even going to ask,” I said.

“Did you have to convince anybody you were a machine while I was gone?”

“No,” I said, shivering badly.

He pulled me into a hug, opened our door, and guided me to the bathroom where we both unhooked robes and wrapped ourselves tightly.

Once the robe was over me, I discreetly slid off my soaking underwear, which flopped wetly to the ground. James followed suit, dropping his boxers before we both fell into bed like popsicles.. James tugged the sheets and comforter up over me and then slid into bed behind me. “Lose the robe. It’ll be warmer if we go skin-to-skin.”

“Is that real science?” I asked. “Or just a ploy to feel my ass.”

“Why can’t it be both?” he asked.

I smiled as I shivered my way out out of the robe, then sighed with relief when I felt his warmth against me. And something else.

“Still?” I asked.

“It’s your fault,” James said.

My shivers slowly died down as James held me in bed.

“It’s pretty gross that we got in here without showering after using a public pool,” I said.

“Super gross.”

“But I don’t want to move.”

“Then don’t. I’m not going anywhere.”

Once again, I found myself looking deeper into his words than I probably should have.

I’m not going anywhere.

Except he would.

Eventually, this magical week would end. My sister would get married, or the man I was slowly taking things too far with would sabotage their wedding, ruining Lily’s marriage and dealing the final blow to my career in one, swift, act.

We were racing toward the deep end, and I needed to find a way to pull back.

But God. Why did it all have to feel so damn good?

“Hey, Em?” he asked, voice soft. “Sorry if I got too intense back there. Before we got interrupted.”

My memory instantly flashed back to that moment and the things he’d said.

Warmth pooled between my legs all over again. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. “I… kind of liked it.”

I smiled to myself when I felt him getting hard against my ass.

“Look who’s back,” I teased.

“You’re bad for me,” he said, kissing the back of my shoulder. “So damn bad.”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. We’re just having fun. We’re just having fun. We’re just having fun.

Despite my valiant efforts, the words still rang hollow in my mind.

19

JAMES

"You're bad for me," I said, pressing my lips to Emma's shoulder. She smelled so good I wanted to keep my face there, breathing her in all night. "So damn bad."

She shifted against me, pushing that perfect ass back until I could feel the heat of her bare skin against mine. The dim starlight from my room’s lone window highlighted the curve of her waist as she propped herself up and looked over her shoulder at me. I could see the faint shape of her breasts and her full lips, which had been driving me crazy with need all damn night.

My hand slid over her hip, pulling her tighter against my aching cock. Three years of wanting her, and now she was in my bed, making those little whimpering sounds that threatened to shatter my control.

"Look who's back," she teased, pressing her ass against me in a way that nearly unraveled the last shreds of my control.

"Can you blame me?" I growled into her ear. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? How many times I've thought about having you like this?"

"Show me."

The words were barely a whisper, but they shot straight through me. I slipped my hand between her thighs, finding her already soaking.

"No penetration," she reminded me breathlessly. “We’re just fooling around. Nothing serious.” Each word came almost as an afterthought, like she was reminding herself as well.

"I remember." I rubbed circles over her clit, loving how she pressed back, seeking more. "Doesn't mean I can't make you scream my name."

She turned in my arms, and fuck, the sight of her nearly undid me. Her hair was wild, lips swollen from our earlier kisses, nipples hard and standing up, practically begging for my mouth. She looked like every fantasy I'd had for the past three years come to life.

When she reached for me, I caught her wrist. "If you touch me, I won't be able to stop."

"Maybe I don't want you to stop." She kissed me hard, all tongue, hot breath, and need.

I pushed her onto her back, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand while the other explored her body. Her breasts fit perfectly in my palm, nipples tightening under my touch as I rolled them between my fingers.

"James," she gasped. "Please..."

"Please what, beautiful?" I kissed the soft skin of her neck and the place beneath her ear, loving how each kiss made her squirm beneath me.

Her nails raked down my back as I released her wrists. "Touch me,” she begged. “Make me come."

I groaned at the sight of her perfect breasts in the moonlight. When I took one nipple in my mouth, she arched off the bed, hands fisting in my hair.

"Oh, God. More," she begged.

I kissed down her stomach. She was fucking perfect—all soft curves and smooth skin that I wanted to taste every inch of.

Starting at her inner thigh, I took my time, kissing and nipping my way up until she was squirming beneath me. The taste of her skin, the way her muscles tensed under my tongue—it was driving me crazy. When I finally reached her center, I paused, breathing hot against her most sensitive spot until she whimpered.

"James, please..."

The first stroke of my tongue drew a moan loud enough to wake the whole floor.

"Shh," I murmured against her. "Unless you want an audience."

"Then stop being so—" Her words dissolved into a gasp as I slipped one finger inside her, then another, curling them exactly how she needed while my tongue worked slow circles around her clit.

I took my time learning what made her react—how she arched when I sucked gently, the way her thighs trembled when I curled my fingers just right. Every moan, every breathless gasp of my name spurred me on.

When I felt her getting close, I slowed down, drawing it out until she was practically crying with need. Her fingers tangled tightly in my hair, pulling me deeper between her legs as she tried to direct me where she wanted.

"Please," she begged. "I'm so close..."

I smiled against her as I thought how the sound of her desperate begging was music to my ears.

Then I backed off again, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her inner thighs while my fingers moved lazily inside her. She tried to grind against my hand, seeking more friction, but I held her hips down with my free arm.

"James, I swear to God⁠—"

I sucked hard on her clit, adding a third finger and curling them deep. She came instantly, back arching off the bed as she cried out my name. But I didn't stop. I worked her through it, then kept going, building her up again as aftershocks rippled through her body.

"I can't," she gasped. "It's too much⁠—"

But her body said otherwise, hips rocking against my mouth as a second orgasm built. This time when she came, her whole body shook with it.

I kissed my way back up her body, letting her taste herself on my tongue. Her hand wrapped around my cock, and the feel of her soft fingers nearly made me lose it at the first touch.

"My turn," she whispered, pushing me onto my back.

She started with teasing kisses down my chest, nipping at my hipbones while her hand worked me slowly. When she finally took me in her mouth, the wet heat of her nearly made me lose control.

"Emma, fuck⁠—"

She took her time, alternating between long, slow strokes with her tongue and taking me deeper. Each time I got close, she'd back off, switching to light kisses and touches until I was practically shaking with need.

"You're killing me," I groaned as she swirled her tongue around the tip.

She looked up at me through her lashes, and the sight of her like that—lips swollen, eyes dark with desire—almost pushed me over the edge.

"This," she said, stroking me firmly, "is called tasting your own medicine, Mister Carter.”

Then she took me deep again, humming around my length as her hand worked what wouldn't fit in her mouth. My hands fisted in her hair as she built me up slowly, deliberately, until I couldn't take anymore.

"Emma, I'm going to⁠—"

She just took me deeper, and the vibration of her moan around me was what finally did it. I came harder than I had in years, her name falling from my lips like a prayer. I nearly came again when I saw her throat work as she swallowed every bit of my release, then she sat up proudly and ran a thumb down the corner of her mouth. Without breaking eye contact, she brought the thumb into her mouth and gave it a long, sensual lick.

Emma wiggled her eyebrows. “Well…” she said, clearing her throat as she curled in beside me, head against my chest.

We were both breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat as the scent of our sex lingered in the room like some primal perfume.

I wanted to tell her how perfect she was. How much this meant to me. How I hadn't been able to get her out of my head for three years and how damn badly I’d needed what we just did. I almost wanted to tell her that I didn’t need to pretend this was meaningless. It felt like something more to me. Something that mattered—like maybe my cynicism about the doomed nature of all serious relationships could use a slight amendment in cases of extreme chemistry and perfect fits.

But I let all those words die in my throat until the silence between us lingered.

I settled for holding her close. I reminded myself that my heart had only ever gotten me into trouble. Letting my body have what it wanted, though? That was easy. That was simple. It wasn’t complicated.

But as her breathing evened out in sleep, I knew I was fooling myself. This woman was going to destroy every wall I'd built, and I was powerless to stop it.

The worst part? I wasn’t sure I wanted to, even if I knew it would be a huge mistake.

20

EMMA

Lily sat across from me with a tea cup in one hand, sipping as she eyed me above the brim. We were in a small breakfast room of the resort, surrounded by the quiet murmur of sleepy conversation and the occasional clink of silverware on plates. Well-dressed and smiling servers circulated the room, refilling drinks and taking orders.

“So,” Lily said, raising her eyebrows and looking around the room. “This is cute.”

“Yeah,” I said, smiling as I took a cautious drink of my tea. I was more of a coffee kind of girl, but when I saw the resort offered “traditional tea breakfasts,” it sounded like the perfect little checkpoint to spend some time with my sister. I knew the whole process was going to be a busy mess, and figured it would be wise to make sure I scheduled some time with her.

Now, I was honestly wishing I hadn’t.

I felt like the whole room could look at me and tell I’d just had the kind of sex that ruined women on other men—that just last night, I’d ridden James Carter’s fingers, lips, and tongue to heights of pleasure that I’d never seen before.

Sure, we did technically stick to our no penetration rule. Although his fingers definitely penetrated me. And, well, I suppose I let him penetrate my mouth. But hey, we were trying our best!

And now I imagined the dirty deeds I’d done were practically flashing over my head in neon letters.

Girl who just orgasmed like six times in less than an hour! Look here! Stare at her!

I spent extra long in the bathroom, just looking at myself from various angles to make sure none of my internal chaos was visible on my face. In the end, I was convinced I still looked like regular, boring, Emma Marshall.

James left the room early for “exercise,” but something in his body language made me think he was going to find a way to keep investigating Marcus while he was out. The idea filled me with a whole different flavor of dread. Each time I suspected he went out to investigate, I couldn’t help imagining him uncovering some dirty, disastrous secret that would blow this otherwise perfect wedding to shreds.

But I was here. I needed to make sure I was enjoying the time with Lily.

“How is the room?” I asked.

“Huh?” Lily asked.

“You and Marcus. Are you, um, liking your room?”

God, Emma. Stop being so awkward.

“Oh, it’s great,” Lily said. “Did you know the bathtub fills itself from the ceiling? Like this massive stream of water just… dumps straight out of a little hole in the ceiling and lands in the tub. Very dramatic.”

I grinned. “That’s cool. Before I had to surrender my room to ‘Aunt Martha,’ I had heated towels and robes in mine.”

“I still can’t believe Marcus’ dad made you give up your room. Do you want me to talk to him about it? Maybe we could work something out.”

“No, no,” I said, a little too fast. “James’ room is fine. And I’m the wedding planner. I’m not here for pleasure. Or… fun,” I said. Was I talking too fast, or was I just imagining that? “Sharing a room with James is completely fine. I don’t mind it. I like it, actually. He’s my boyfriend, right?” I paused awkwardly, eyes bulging slightly as I gulped the tea.

“Are you okay, Em?” Lily asked, voice soft.

“I’m great. I just want to make sure everything goes perfectly for my little sister. You’re only supposed to do this once, so it should be everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“I know it’ll be perfect. It’s why I trusted you with it,” she reached across the table to squeeze my hand and smile.

I tried to smile back, but I couldn’t help the sinking ball of ice in my stomach.

She was trusting me, and yet I knew the freaking wedding wrecker was snooping around the resort every day, inching closer to some disastrous truth that might lead to him destroying everything.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lily asked. “You look like you might be sick.”

I laughed awkwardly. “It’s the tea. I liked the idea too much to let my dislike of tea stop me. But I need to stop drinking this stuff.”

Lily smiled, showing no hint of suspicion about my weird behavior. And why should she? I had always been a little bit of a walking ball of stress. She would’ve probably been worried if I didn’t seem like I was losing my shit, just a little bit.

"Well," Lily continued, setting down her cup with a devious smile, "you've got other things to smile about. Like that hickey you're trying to hide with your scarf."

I clapped a hand to my neck, face burning. "I'm not⁠—"

"Please. I've never seen you wear a scarf indoors in your life." She grinned. "James seems... intense. I think I like him for you."

“Um, yeah,” I said. “Intense is a good word.”

“So, what made you go for a guy like that? I mean, other than the obvious.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your usual type is more… meek. You’ve always got this kind of boss bitch vibe, and it seems like you’ve always gravitated toward guys who stay out of your way. Guys who won’t challenge you or put up a fight if you blow past them.”

“Boss bitch?” I laughed. “Hardly. If I come off that way, it’s only because I do a great job pretending I’m not keeping myself stitched together with old gum and tape. On the inside, I’m a disaster.”

“You’re not. You have personality. Like your ski accident. That’s fun. A boring old sister who only cares about work wouldn’t do something that cool.”

I smirked. “Nearly dying on the slopes was cool?”

“Being adventurous enough to try an advanced slope when you hardly know how to ski was cool,” Lily corrected. “Just like being brave enough to show up here with some smoldering hottie who is so far from your usual type. The normal Emma would’ve probably sent me a profile on him before he arrived. You would’ve briefed me on everything there was to know. But this time? You just rolled in and let it happen. I liked it.”

I blushed. She was right, of course. This whole thing was so far outside my comfort zone it was going to give me hives. But I was having fun. So long as I didn’t stop to think about why our mom had hired James to come here, or how heartbroken Lily would be if anything went wrong, or how my career would die its last death if James wrecked a second high-profile wedding I’d planned.

“It’s a good thing,” she said, grabbing my hand again and smiling. “So stop making that face like you’re about to barf. As the bride-to-be, I command it,” she added with a wink.

After making some excuses and steering the conversation to more innocent topics, our little tea date wrapped up nicely. Lily and Marcus had an appointment at the spa, so I wished her luck and asked her to save me some cucumbers, which she said was weird.

The rest of my afternoon disappeared in a blur of wedding preparations. The replacement flowers had arrived overnight, though I still needed to check if they matched the exact shade Martha Wellington had specified. I had more dishes to taste from Chef Antoine, a call to make about a missed flight from a cousin who wanted to know if I could still help him get a room, and a thousand other things.

I handled what I could on my phone as I spent an hour walking the grounds again, mapping out spots where the light would hit perfectly for photos. After that, it was more meetings with vendors, more details to coordinate, and a seemingly endless list of things I kept remembering I needed to worry about.

By six, my feet were killing me and I needed a drink, so I made my way to the bar in the resort’s main lobby.

I heard Dick's voice before I saw him, that distinctive drawl carrying from the bar.

"—perfect timing, really," he was saying to Richard. "Once it’s done, we can leverage her business connections. Those celebrity clients alone⁠—"

"Careful," Richard warned. "Marcus hasn't sealed the deal yet."

What the hell did all that mean?

"Please. The girl is clearly infatuated,” Dick said. “And with our family name behind us, she’d be insane to pass up our offer. This could⁠—”

"Emma!" Richard spotted me, his entire demeanor shifting as he gave Dick a hard nudge in the ribs. "Join us for a drink?"

"I was just⁠—"

"Nonsense." Dick was already pulling out a barstool. "Bartender, get the lady a drink."

"Actually, I should probably check on⁠—"

"One drink." Dick's hand settled on my lower back. "We barely see you except when you're attached to James."

I slipped out of his reach, making sure he didn’t try to touch me again as I kept my eyes on his gross hands.

"Speaking of James," Richard said, "I was asking Marcus, and he said Lily has never mentioned the man. Odd, considering he’s supposed to be an old family friend of your mother’s, isn’t it? And what a coincidence that you should happen to run into him and feel such… chemistry. If you’ve known him for years, why did you two wait so long to get together?”

God. He might as well shine a bright light in my face before he continued the inquisition. I opened my mouth to answer, but a familiar voice cut in before I could speak.

"There you are." James appeared behind me, his hand slipping around my waist as he pulled me toward his large body. The possessive touch sent shivers down my spine despite my better judgment. "I've been looking everywhere for you, sweetheart."

Richard's expression darkened slightly. "We were just getting to know Emma better."

"Were you?" James' tone was light, but I felt the tension in his touch.

Dick signaled the bartender again, who was busy flirting with a woman in a red dress and had been ignoring him so far. "Stay for a drink?"

"Actually," James said, "I have dinner plans with my girlfriend." He emphasized the last word slightly. "Unless you need her for something specific?"

The look that passed between Richard and Dick made my skin crawl. But why? They were just being protective of their family, right?

"Another time," Richard said smoothly.

As James led me away, I was almost tempted to repeat what I just heard Dick and Richard talking about, but I worried he’d read too much into it. After all, James was literally looking for problems. For all I knew, Richard and Dick were simply hoping to help their new in-law with her business. It would be her call if she wanted to accept their offer or not.

For the moment, I let myself simply be grateful that he was here to save me from awkward encounters of the Dick variety—that we could both agree to handle our mutual attraction like adults.

“Are we really going to dinner?” I asked.

“If you’d like.”

I was about to protest, but my stomach betrayed me by growling.

“Your stomach has spoken,” he said. “I know the perfect place.”

Half an hour later and after a bumpy ride in James’ truck across snow-covered roads, we pulled up to a fast-food Mexican place called Terry’s Tiny Tacos.

21

EMMA

“Surprise,” James said. “The reviews online will tell you this is only a three star establishment, but the pictures were fantastic. Personally, I think it’s worth a shot.”

“You drove us half an hour to a three star taco shop?” I asked.

James drummed his fingers on the wheel, smiling at me from beneath a black wool beanie that made his eyes seem dangerously bright and inviting. “It sounded like a better idea until you put it that way.”

“Lucky for you, I happen to be very curious to know just how tiny these tacos are. So I will allow you to take me into this place.”

James hopped out of his side, shut the door, and then pulled my door open, extending a hand. “It’s icy. I’m going to have to insist you hold my hand the whole time.”

“Is that right?” I asked.

“That’s right,” James said, taking my hand and helping me out of the car.

It was cold, too, and James also had to insist that I huddle against him for warmth for the whole ten second walk from the truck to the front door. The inside smelled like grease and beef, which, under some circumstances might have been disgusting. Considering I was starving, it smelled like heaven.

I ordered myself a “tiny taco fiesta,” which was a sampler platter of fifteen tiny tacos, each smaller than the palm of my hand and loaded with precisely one bite’s worth of food.

James ordered a “tiny burrito bomb,” which was basically the same thing, except burrito style.

We took our seats on creaky barstools painted in a gaudy bright green, brown, and yellow color palette. The vinyl covering the seats was splintered from what I assumed were decades of tiny taco enjoyers.

“If nothing else,” I said, lifting my first tiny taco—beef, cheese, beans, and pickled cabbage. “These things are super cute.”

James lifted a tiny burrito and balanced it on the tip of his index finger. “Adorable,” he agreed. “But how do they taste?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow.

I took my first bite, chewed, and considered.

“Hmm,” I said. “Five stars for the tiny factor. Three stars for taste.”

James chewed his burrito, swallowed with a slight grimace, and nodded. “I’m no mathematician, but I’d say that puts us above a three star average. See? Not as bad as people said.”

I was hungry enough to deal with the mostly overcooked meat, slightly stale taco shells, and questionable ingredient combinations. I also had to admit I was having fun.

"So," I said, picking up my fourth tiny taco, "how did you even find this place?"

"Would you believe me if I said I have a sixth sense for questionable Mexican food?"

"Absolutely not. And if you did, I’d say your sixth sense was more of a curse for leading you to a place like this."

He grinned. "Fair enough. Truth is, I spent an hour this morning looking for the most ridiculous place I could find. Figured you could use a break from all that resort perfection."

"My hero," I said dryly, but something warm bloomed in my chest. He'd been thinking about me. Planning this.

"Enough about me and my talents,” he said. "How'd you get into wedding planning?"

"My parents, actually." I picked at the shell of my fifth taco. "Dad's a perfectionist who can't handle social interaction. Mom's a dreamer who can never follow through on details. So I ended up being the family organizer. Every event, every holiday—if it needed planning, it landed on my plate. I think my first official family job was a trip to Boone, North Carolina. I was twelve, and I got super into it. I called hotels, trail guides, and tourist destinations. I planned the whole thing on this giant poster board. Dad was worried about letting me handle it, but mom convinced him to give me a shot.”

“And tada. The vacation was a smash hit. After that, they basically forced me to be the vacation planner. And that evolved into planning birthdays, anniversaries, and so on. When mom and dad wanted to get remarried in their fifties, I was twenty-two, and they asked me to plan it. At that point, I was working as a wedding photographer. I’d already been taking notes upon notes about what made weddings perfect, and I knew exactly how I wanted to make their day amazing.”

I sucked on my drink, eyes lingering on the straw as I jabbed at the ice in my cup. “I think some part of me used to believe you could set the stage for a happily ever after if you just got the details right. The perfect wedding was like the perfect foundation. Part of me believed I was helping bring more love into the world, and that… I guess it mattered to me. It made me feel like I was doing something worthwhile."

His expression softened. "Emma⁠—"

"What about your family?" I cut in. "You mentioned a brother and a sister..."

James hesitated. He looked like he wanted to say more—maybe even to make an excuse or apologize for the role he might have played in the way my views had changed. But he finally sighed, then nodded with a tight jaw. “Just a brother. I made the sister up for that story. But, yeah, I used to be close with my family. My dad is a structural engineer who works on bridges and things like that. As a kid, we used to take trips sometimes to drive across bridges he worked on when they were finished. Mom would joke that we were putting our lives in his hands, and he’d tell us how mathematically impossible it was for the bridge to fail.”

James’ expression went distant as he stared at his plate, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “He had this thing he used to say. ‘That’s the thing about bridges, Son. You build them from materials with known stress ratings and known tension strengths. It’s just a numbers game. If you do your job, get the numbers right, and take your time, they’ll never surprise you. People are the ones who surprise you, which is why I avoid them whenever I can.’ When things with Katie went south, I found myself thinking about that a lot. How much simpler life is if you stick to predictable things. Known quantities…”

“But not all surprises are bad. Sometimes, people surprise you in good ways.”

James lifted his eyes to meet mine. He nodded in a way that made warm things flutter all around in my chest.

“So, um,” I said, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, as if we had accidentally stumbled into another full-fledged date night. “You said you used to be close to your family. You’re not now?”

The glow of warmth from James vanished in an instant, replaced by pure ice. “My brother, Chase… He was the younger brother, and the golden child. He never lived up to their expectations, and they took my success almost as an insult, like I was rubbing in how wrong they were to think the world of him. And when my wedding imploded, I think they almost enjoyed it on some level. Everything had gone so well for me before that, and then Katie didn’t just cheat on me, she cheated with my brother. A few months later, Chase got engaged to her.”

I choked on my sip of lemonade, leaning forward. “What?”

“Yeah,” James said with a twist of his lips. “Needless to say, I wasn’t too pleased. I had no feelings for Katie at that point. None at all. But I thought I was patching things up with him, and then he dropped that nugget. We had some heated discussions, and my parents ended up taking sides. They thought I should be happy for him and move on. They thought family was family, and I shouldn’t hold a grudge. Anyway, they were married two months before they got divorced. In a shocking turn of events, Katie was cheating on him.”

I put my palm over my mouth. “God. What’s wrong with that woman?”

“A lot,” he said. “Last I heard, my brother is still sleeping with her, but she’s married to someone else now.” He took a long drink of his soda. “Makes it hard to believe in happy endings.”

"Do you ever..." I hesitated, heart pounding. "Do you ever think maybe some relationships are worth fighting for? Even with obstacles?" I thought about how impossible it would be for a “wedding wrecker” to ever stay in a successful relationship with a wedding planner. But every time I was with him, even back in Ireland, I felt… good. When he was around, it was almost like he carried some part of me I didn’t know I was missing—like I was only really complete when I was with him, and every time he was away, he took that piece of me with him.

Wasn’t that the kind of thing worth fighting for?

He was quiet for a long moment. "I used to. With Katie, I thought if I just loved her enough, if I just tried hard enough..." He shook his head. "Some things just aren't meant to be. I think people lie to themselves. They think their love or hard work will overcome the obvious obstacles and incompatibilities. But in the end, those things just get worse. They don’t go away. And they eventually ruin everything."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. He had to know I was asking about us, so his explanation was a gentle rejection. He was telling me we needed to keep this thing light and unserious. He still believed there was no overcoming obstacles, and the issues between us would only get worse if we took things further.

"Right," I said, pushing away my plate. "We should probably head back."

"Emma?"

"It's fine. I just... I realized how late it is. And I still have a lot of things I need to check on before tomorrow.”

He studied my face, confusion clear in his eyes. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. You said exactly what I needed to hear. And… I appreciate you being straightforward and upfront with me. It’s refreshing when people can just say what they mean. No games. No confusion." I forced a smile.

James frowned. Probably because he thought I meant what I said when I told him I didn’t want anything complicated. And here I was, implying I wanted exactly that. Why should I be put off when he is the one sticking to the original plan?

The more I tried to pretend his rejection didn’t hurt, the more I found myself emotionally curling inwards. I hardly spoke on the drive back. I rested my forehead against the cold window and watched the snow-covered trees pass by and listened to the crunch of the tires on ice.

I told myself this was good. It was better to get clarity on our future—or lack of one—before I let myself get even more carried away with silly thoughts about what might be possible between us.

I should thank him for not leading me on or letting me have false hope.

So why did it feel like my heart was breaking all over again?

22

JAMES

"So let me get this straight," Derek said through the phone. "You’re already pretty sure there’s a sinister angle when it comes to the Wellingtons. So… what’s the hold up?”

“Pretty sure doesn’t warrant the destruction of a wedding, Derek. You know how this works.”

“Yeah, except you’re saying pretty sure. The information you emailed me tonight looks more concrete than ‘pretty sure’. It looks like a slam dunk.”

I paced outside my room, keeping my voice low. "It's complicated."

"Because of the wedding planner you're sleeping with?"

"I'm not—" I stopped myself. “Wait. How did you even know about her?”

“You’re not the only one with investigative abilities, James. The girl from Ireland. Emma Marshall. She’s the same wedding planner up there in Breckenridge. Daughter of the lady who hired you. Did you really think I wouldn’t catch that?”

I sighed. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I need to be sure Marcus is the problem. This situation is… unique. I’ve never wrecked a wedding just because the family is full of pieces of shit with bad intentions. I haven’t tied the groom to any of this yet.”

"What is your instinct telling you right now?”

I ran a hand through my hair. "That maybe I've spent so long looking for problems, I’m going to see them around every corner. That it’s weird I never stop to think if I’m sabotaging a relationship that could’ve worked out if the bride and groom are willing to sort through it.”

Derek was quiet for a moment. "This isn't like you, man. Usually by now you'd have all your evidence in hand and be rehearsing your dramatic reveal.”

"Emma would never forgive me if I'm wrong about this." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Ah. There it is." I could hear the smirk in his voice. "You're compromised."

"I'm being thorough."

"You're stalling because you don't want to hurt her. Or her sister." Derek sighed. "Look, I get it. But if these guys are what you think they are⁠—"

"I'll handle it," I cut in. "I just need more time."

"Time for what? To fall harder for someone who's going to hate you all over again when this blows up?"

I didn't have an answer for that. After ending the call with Derek, I stood outside my door for a long moment, forehead pressed against the cool wood.

When I finally went in, Emma was already asleep. She'd showered—I could smell her shampoo from here—and was curled up on her side of the bed wearing one of my t-shirts. The sight did things to my chest I wasn't ready to examine.

I wondered if she chose my shirt because of the smell, or just because her only remaining nighttime clothes were too revealing. My hardening dick didn’t seem to care about the specifics, at least. A very large part of me liked seeing her in my shirt. It made her feel like she was mine, even if the feeling was as fleeting as it was foolish.

I wanted to wake her up. To pull her into my arms and forget about the Wellingtons and their schemes. To pretend, just for a little while, that we could have something real.

Instead, I grabbed my own shower and tried not to think about how I said something wrong at the tiny taco joint. I’d replayed the conversation over in my mind a few times, and wondered if maybe she thought I was still hung up on Katie. It was ridiculous, of course. Katie was completely dead to me. Hell, even the thought of her made me vaguely nauseous at this point.

The kind of woman who could lie to a man’s face and go through with a wedding while cheating… it wasn’t somebody I wanted to keep associating with.

I wondered if I should tell her plainly tomorrow morning—tell her in no uncertain terms that I’m completely, totally, and unequivocally over Katie.

I stood in the shower, letting the warm water run down my back as I leaned against the wall.

But what kind of message would it send if I looked like I was trying to clarify how emotionally available I was? She’d think I was trying to jump from “fun and easy” to “stressful and committed.”

Damn it. I should’ve just kept my mouth shut and ate my tiny burritos earlier.

I finished up, slipped into bed as quietly as I could, and had to settle for the Emma that came to me in my dreams. All things considered, it wasn’t so bad, considering dream-Emma had no rules about penetration.

The next morning, we gathered in the resort's lobby for what the itinerary promised would be "A Wild Mountain Adventure." Our guide was a tall woman named June who wore her gray hair in a messy bun and spoke with infectious enthusiasm about the local wildlife.

"Now remember," she said as we piled into two large SUVs that were outfitted for offroading in the snow. "The goal is to spot the more elusive creatures—moose, elk, maybe even a bear if we're lucky. But please, for the love of all things holy, do not try to pet anything. I don't care how cute it looks."

She fixed Dick with a stern look, as if sensing he was exactly the type to try to take a selfie with a bear.

I ended up in the back row with Emma, who had been unusually quiet since our talk at the taco place. She'd barely looked at me all morning, and the distance felt wrong after how close we'd been. Instead of getting breakfast with me, she’d made an excuse about needing to check with the florist and disappeared until a few minutes ago.

June stood outside both SUVs, which were loaded up with most of the main Wellingtons, from Richard and Dick to the three handsome brothers and even the stuck-up ice-princess named Charity. Our SUV was me, Emma, Marcus, Lilly, and Emma’s mom.

“Oh, by the way,” June said, resting her hand on the open window of our SUV. “Sometimes, you can even spot a beaver out here. Now, I love beaver as much as the rest of you, I’m sure.”

I suppressed a highly immature chuckle at her choice of words. Even Emma looked like she was biting back a smile.

“But no touching beavers. Understood? I have a very strict hands-off-beaver rule on my expeditions.”

I was having more trouble not laughing now, and I could tell Emma was too.

“You should see people,” June continued, completely oblivious. “Oh, look at the pretty beaver. Look at the fat, pudgy little beaver! Let me get closer to that beaver and put my hand on it! What’s the worst that could happen?”

June suddenly snapped her oversized front teeth, eyes narrowed. “That’s what. Beavers bite, folks. You can trust me on that,” she held up a hand, which I realized showed half of a missing pinky finger.

“Did a beaver really do that?” Lily asked.

“Huh?” June said. “Oh, no. I was in a shopping cart that tipped over when I was little. Popped the top of my pinky off so hard we couldn’t find it. Turned out it got lost in the baby carrots.” She slapped the side of the SUV and jumped into the passenger seat. “Let that be another life lesson, folks. Never trust a baby carrot. Could be somebody’s finger! Anyway, let’s get these babies on the road!”

The SUVs wound through mountain roads as June pointed out various tracks and signs of wildlife. Every few minutes, someone would spot something—usually a bird or squirrel—and the whole vehicle would lurch to a stop as cameras came out.

"There!" Lily pointed through the trees. "Is that... oh, false alarm. Just a weird-shaped log."

Emma shifted beside me, and I caught the faint scent of her perfume. Without thinking, I reached for her hand. She tensed but didn't pull away.

"Hey," I whispered. "You okay?"

"Fine."

But she wouldn't meet my eyes.

Before I could press further, our driver slammed on the brakes. "Moose! Everyone out, but move slowly and quietly. These are incredibly dangerous animals. You know these things kill more people every year than sharks?"

We filed out of the vehicles, and there it was—a massive bull moose about fifty yards away, calmly munching on some branches.

"Wow," Emma breathed, momentarily forgetting to be distant as she lifted her camera.

“And we’re getting out of the cars?” Charity asked. She wore a disgusted expression beneath a large, fuzzy white hat. “It smells, even from here. Ew.”

June was explaining something about moose behavior while the Wellingtons asked ridiculous questions, but I was too focused on Emma's profile to listen. The morning light caught in her hair, making it glow like copper. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and her entire face lit up as she snapped pictures.

"Can we get closer?" Dick asked.

"Absolutely not," June said firmly. "These babies may look slow, but they can run faster than a horse when they want to. And unlike bears, they don't usually give warning signs before they charge."

Of course, that's when Dick decided to prove his intelligence by taking a few steps forward, phone raised for a better angle.

Several things happened at once.

The moose's head snapped up, ears swiveling forward.

June swore.

And Emma, who had been backing up to get a wider shot, slipped on a patch of ice.

I lunged for her, but I was too late. She went down hard, camera flying from her hands as she rolled down the small embankment beside the road.

"Emma!" I was already moving, heart in my throat as I watched her tumble through branches and snow.

She finally came to a stop in a tangle of limbs and leaves, face-first in a snowbank. For a terrible moment, she didn't move.

Then she lifted her head and spat out a mouthful of snow.

"I'm fine," she called weakly. "Just... dying of embarrassment and hoping I didn’t break my camera."

Relief made me light-headed as I carefully made my way down to her. I could hear the others gathering at the top of the road to watch my rescue attempt. "Can you move everything?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Which means I get to live with the memory of this forever."

I helped her sit up, checking for injuries. She had a few scratches on her hands and what would probably be some impressive bruises, but nothing seemed broken.

"Is she okay?" Lily called from above.

"Fine!" Emma yelled back, voice only slightly wobbly. "Just... give me a minute."

I held her until the shaking stopped, one hand stroking her hair while the other kept her close.

"Sorry," she whispered. "I'm being stupid."

"You're not stupid." I brushed snow from her cheek.

She studied my face for a long moment. "Why are you being so nice to me?"

Because I'm falling for you. Because seeing you get hurt makes me want to fix everything that's ever gone wrong for you. Because maybe Derek's right and I am compromised.

"Because I care about you," I said finally.

Something in her expression softened, then closed off. "Right. Like you cared about me in Ireland?"

The words felt like a slap. "Emma⁠—"

"No, it's fine. I get it." She pushed away from me, wincing slightly. "This is just fun, right? Nothing serious. Nothing worth fighting for."

She started climbing back up the embankment before I could respond, leaving me with an ache in my chest and the lingering warmth of her body against mine. Those words…

Nothing worth fighting for.

It made me realize what I’d done wrong at the taco shop. When she asked me about whether some obstacles were possible to overcome, I’d shut it down almost immediately. My mind was on Katie and how doomed that had been from the start—on all the weddings I’d wrecked because I judged the problems between the bride-to-be and the groom-to-be as terminal. But she hadn’t been talking about Katie, had she?

Damn it, James. You big idiot…

By the time I made it back to the group, she was already in the SUV with Lily. For some unknown reason, Richard took my spot and Emma made no attempt to get him to move, so I was left to ride with Dick and the muscle brothers.

Perfect.

The rest of the wildlife tour passed in a blur. I was too busy replaying Emma's words, trying to figure out where I'd gone wrong. When had "keeping things casual" turned into whatever this was?

And why did watching her pull away feel like losing something vital?

We rolled back into the resort around sundown and even the stuffy Wellington clan was buzzing with energy after the tour. Between mountain views, various animal sightings, and some interesting stories, the tour had been a hit with them. Now, though, everybody was excited to get back into the warm resort, grab a few drinks, dinner, and get back to their rooms.

All I wanted was to clear things up with Emma, though.

I jogged after her, catching her as soon as she broke off from a conversation with her mom.

"Emma, wait."

"I have work to do." But she didn't pull away.

"Let me take you to dinner. A real restaurant this time, not questionable tacos. We can talk about⁠—"

"About what?" She finally met my gaze. "About how some things aren't meant to be? How obstacles only get worse?" She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Message received, James. Loud and clear."

As much as I wanted to tell her she had it all wrong, something buried deep inside made me freeze. No words came out. All I could do was watch the hurt well in her eyes as she spun and made a disgusted noise before stepping into the elevator.

It was only after the doors closed that I felt the odd sensation of paralysis pass.

What the hell was that?

It was like my own body had betrayed me, like it was too damn scared to let me put my trust in someone again—even just enough to say that maybe some things were worth fighting for after all.

23

EMMA

"Alright, dish," Maggie said through my phone. "And don't skimp on the details just because you're in a weird place right now."

I glanced around the resort's indoor rock climbing area, where I'd wandered after my disastrous conversation with James. The massive room was mostly empty this late, with just a few die-hard climbers covered in chalk and pulling themselves up by chunks of plastic that were the size of small boogers.

I wasn’t sure how the hell they did it.

I'd come here hoping the physical exertion would clear my head, but three attempts at the beginner wall had only left me with sore arms and an overwhelming desire to cry. I’d also failed to summon the courage to fall onto the thick mat from any higher than about two feet in the air.

Total fail.

"I'm not in a weird place," I said, settling onto a bench. "I'm in a perfectly normal place for someone who keeps making out with the guy who ruined her career. Because he’ll never find me here."

"Oh honey." Maggie's voice softened. "You really like him, don't you?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know." I watched a muscular guy effortlessly scale one of the harder routes without even using his feet. Show off.

"It's complicated," I sighed.

"When isn't it? Come on, start from the beginning. What happened after the pool incident?"

I filled her in on everything—the sleigh ride, the wildlife tour, and especially the conversation at Terry's Tiny Tacos that had made everything so much worse.

"Let me get this straight," Maggie said when I finished. "You basically asked if he thought some relationships were worth fighting for—meaning yours—and he went on about how obstacles only get worse?"

"While talking about his ex-wife," I added miserably. "Who, by the way, married his brother after cheating on him with said brother. And apparently still hooks up with the brother even though she's married to someone else now."

"Jesus. That's some Jerry Springer level drama."

"Right? No wonder he has commitment issues." I picked at a loose thread on my leggings where I’d torn them on a handhold. "But that's kind of the point. He's clearly not over what happened. And even if he was... I mean, look at us. I plan weddings. He ruins them. That's a pretty big obstacle."

"Only if you let it be." Maggie's eye roll was practically audible. "Have you considered that maybe you're both just scared?"

"I'm not scared," I protested. "I'm being realistic. The wedding is in four days, Maggie. Four. Days. And I still don't know if he's going to wreck it."

"Have you asked him?"

"Oh sure, great idea. 'Hey James, quick question—planning to destroy my sister's happiness and my career again, or can I pencil you in for a real date after the reception?'"

"Better than whatever dance you two are doing now," Maggie said. "Admit it. You’re scared. He hurt you once, and you’re worried the second time will be even worse than the first.”

I watched the show-off climber reach the top of his route. "Fine. Maybe I am scared. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Now we're getting somewhere. What exactly are you afraid of?"

"Everything?" I slumped against the wall. "I'm afraid he'll wreck the wedding. I'm afraid he won't wreck the wedding and my sister will end up married to someone awful. I'm afraid of falling for him only to find out it meant nothing to him. Again."

"How do you know it didn’t mean anything to him? You two went your separate ways, sure, but who says he hasn’t been pining for you ever since? How do you know the opportunity to jump in and play fake boyfriend wasn’t a dream come true for him?"

I thought about how he'd held me after my fall, the way he'd babied my barely twisted ankle the other day, and how his touch always lingered longer than necessary. I thought of the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention.

"Maybe I don’t know," I admitted. "But actions speak louder than words, and his actions in Ireland⁠—"

"Were three years ago," Maggie cut in. "People change, Em. Maybe it's time to let go of the past and focus on the present. Like the fact that you're clearly crazy about each other."

"We're not⁠—"

"Please. You light up when you talk about him. Even when you're complaining."

"I do not."

"You really do. It's disgustingly cute." She paused. "Listen, I get why you're scared. But what if this time is different? What if he's exactly what you need?"

"I don’t even know what I need, Maggie."

"Think about it. You're a perfectionist who needs everything planned down to the minute. He's someone who actively looks for flaws in perfect-looking relationships. Maybe you balance each other out. You can help him see that not everything is doomed to fail, and he can help you take off those rosy glasses once in a while for a dose of realism. And maybe you both can realize that sometimes messy is okay.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. She... might have a point.

"Plus," Maggie continued, "the sex must be pretty incredible if you keep going back for more."

"Maggie!"

"What? I'm just saying, maybe there's a reason you can't keep your hands off each other. Chemistry like that doesn't come along every day."

I felt my face heat. "We're not... I mean, we haven't actually..."

"Wait, what? All this sexual tension and you haven't sealed the deal yet? What are you waiting for?"

"I mean, we’ve definitely come close. But I thought if we stopped short of full-blown… you know. It might keep things from escalating and getting too complicated too fast. This way, it’s just… casual.” I watched one of the climbers drop from the very top of the wall without a moment of hesitation, landing easily.

I didn’t understand how they did that. What if they land on the mat wrong? What if their body just snaps in half, as bodies tend to do when falling from twenty feet in the air?

Maggie's laugh echoed through the phone. "Honey, there is nothing casual about the way you talk about this man. You're already in deep. The only question is whether you're brave enough to admit it."

I was saved from answering by the appearance of my mother at the entrance to the climbing room. She spotted me and waved, then pointed toward the bar next door. I wondered if she was planning to continue our interrupted conversation about James from earlier.

"I have to go," I told Maggie. "Somehow… my mom found me.”

“Not as sneaky as you thought you were,” Maggie laughed. “Anyway. Think about what I said. And Emma?”

"Yeah?"

"Most of the things worth having are the ones that are scary at first. Wouldn’t you rather know you tried and failed than wonder what would have happened if you gave things a shot? Just something to think about…."

I found my mom at the bar back in the main lobby area, nursing what looked like a gin and tonic. She'd tied her silver hair back in a neat bun, but her usually impeccable makeup was slightly smudged.

“How’d you find me in there?” I asked as I took the seat next to her. I asked the bartender for a water. My failed attempts at climbing had me sweaty and thirsty.

“Trial and error,” my mom said simply.

I grinned. “You okay?” I asked. “I’ve hardly talked to you. And I haven’t even seen dad once. Literally. Not once.”

She smiled into her glass. “He’s doing fine. He started a new book series and I can’t get him to leave the room for anything. But he’ll show for the ceremony. I think,” she added.

I swallowed. “The ceremony you hired James Carter to sabotage?”

My mom shrank a little, making me immediately feel guilty. “I know… I’m not pretending I know I did the right thing. All I know is I’m trying my best to protect Lily, just like I’d try to protect you. And I hate the way this feels. I’m constantly…” she clutched a fist over her stomach, grimacing. “It’s like my insides are balled up day and night over this. Part of me wants him to find nothing, and the other part doesn’t believe there’s nothing to find. I don’t know if I’ll feel good either way.”

"Have you talked to him? Has he found anything?"

"No. But..." She took a long drink. "I see the way Richard Wellington and Dick slide off and whisper every chance they get. They are hiding something. I just know it.”

"But that doesn't mean Marcus is bad for Lily."

"You really believe that?"

I thought about how happy my sister looked with him. How his face lit up when she entered a room. The way they seemed to orbit each other naturally, like they couldn't help but be drawn together.

And yes, Marcus had a tendency to be on his phone when I wished he’d be more present with Lily. Sometimes, he looked like he was hardly paying attention, even when he was looking right at her. But did any of that mean they shouldn’t get married?

"I think... I think love isn't always perfect." The words felt strange in my mouth. "Sometimes good people come with complicated families. Sometimes the fairy tale has a few rough edges. And maybe the best relationships come from a little compromise and work. I don’t think many of them just arrive perfect right out of the package, you know?"

Mom studied my face. "You sound different."

"Different how?"

"Less... certain. You used to be so black and white about these things. A perfect wedding for the perfect couple leading to the perfect marriage."

I traced patterns in the condensation on my water glass. "Maybe I've been wondering if I was wrong about all that. I’m getting older and I still have yet to meet the perfect guy. How long do I wait before I admit I may be going about it wrong?”

"This wouldn't have anything to do with James, would it?"

Heat crept up my neck. "Mom..."

"I'm not blind, Emma. I see how you look at him. How he looks at you." She covered my hand with hers. "And I see how scared you are."

"I'm not—" I stopped at her knowing look. Why did everybody keep telling me I was scared? "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows what it looks like." She squeezed my fingers. "I was the same way with your father. After my first marriage ended so badly, I was terrified to trust anyone again. But sometimes you have to take the leap."

"Even if you might fall?"

"Especially then." She smiled. "The best things in life usually require a little risk."

I groaned. "You sound like Maggie."

"Smart girl, that Maggie." Mom finished her drink and signaled for another. "You know what's funny? I hired James because I was worried about Lily making a mistake. But watching you two... maybe I did you both a favor instead."

"Mom!"

"What? A mother can hope." She accepted her fresh drink with a nod to the bartender. "Although I have to ask—how will you take it if he does wreck the wedding? I hate this for you, Em. I know how hard you’re working to make this all amazing."

“If he does… he better hope he has a damn good reason. That’s all I know. And… well, I care more about Lily and her happiness than my career. So if the wedding isn’t meant to be, maybe I can forgive James for doing what needs to be done.” I dropped my head onto the bar with a thunk. "But can we please talk about literally anything else? Even thinking about this is depressing me on so many levels."

"Fine." She patted my hair. "Want to hear about the time I caught your father trying to alphabetize my spice rack while wearing nothing but an apron?"

I lifted my head. "On second thought, let's go back to discussing my love life."

Mom's laughter drew curious looks from the other patrons, but I found myself smiling too. Here I was, worrying about perfect weddings and perfect timing, when my own parents had found happiness in the messiest way possible.

Maybe Maggie was right. Maybe some things were worth the risk of falling.

I just hoped I was brave enough to take the leap.

And maybe catch myself a wedding wrecker in the process.

If he didn't wreck my sister's wedding first, that is.

Four days. We had four days to figure everything out. Some part of me thought if we didn’t reach a more stable place before the ceremony, whatever fragile thing was building between us wouldn’t survive the outcome.

“Do you mind if I crash in you and dad’s room tonight? I think I need a little distance from James to think about how I want to handle this.”

My mom’s eyes softened. “Of course, sweetie. Just… you should know your dad’s snoring has gotten worse over the years. I have some spare earplugs you can use.”

24

JAMES

"Just one, two, three... one, two— No, Mr. Wellington, please stop trying to dip your partner during a waltz."

Dick stumbled, nearly dropping his dance partner—one of the young women who weren’t part of the immediate Wellington clan. Part of my job was looking into everything, so I knew who all of them were. Dick’s partner was named Emerson, and she was a family friend of Theo, one of the muscle brothers. I also happened to know she desperately wanted to be with Theo, but the large man was completely unaware.

Emerson had been looking toward Theo, who was dancing with her sister, Claudia. She let out a small shriek when Dick dipped her again, nearly bonking her blonde head on the dance floor.

"Don’t worry, baby," Dick said with an exaggerated wink. "You wouldn’t be the first beautiful woman to fall for me.”

Our dance instructor, Madame Beaumont, pressed her fingers to her temples. She was a tiny French woman with steel-gray hair pulled into a severe bun, and she'd spent the last hour trying to teach the wedding party proper form for the ceremony's first dance. Lily wanted a traditional group waltz, apparently, meaning we all had to get our acts together.

So far, Madame Beaumont looked like she was questioning every life choice that had led her to this moment.

"The waltz," she said, "is elegant. Refined. It is not the place for your..." she waved her hand vaguely at Dick, "improvisation."

I tried to focus on the lesson, but Emma was precisely six inches away from me, and the scent of her perfume was making it hard to think. She'd been keeping careful distance since our talk at the taco place, and now being so close and intimate felt almost awkward.

“Where were you last night? I was worried.”

“I crashed on the couch in my parents’ room,” she said softly. “I just… needed some space to think.”

"Now," Madame Beaumont continued, "everyone find your frame. Gentleman, left hand out, right hand on your partner's back. Ladies, right hand in his, left hand on his shoulder."

Emma's hand settled hesitantly on my shoulder. She wouldn't meet my eyes as I pulled her closer, my hand spanning her lower back.

"Closer," Madame Beaumont instructed. "This is a waltz, not a middle school dance. Body contact is essential for proper leading and following."

Emma's breath hitched as I drew her against me. The line of her body pressed perfectly to mine, soft curves fitting against hard planes in a way that made me want to forget about dancing entirely.

"Better," Madame Beaumont said. "Though perhaps not quite so close, Mr. Carter. This is a waltz, not a mating dance."

Emma's cheeks flushed pink as she put a more respectable distance between us.

Across the room, Marcus and Lily were already moving smoothly through the basic steps. They made it look effortless—the kind of natural grace that came from two people completely in sync.

"Now," Madame Beaumont clapped her hands. "Music louder, please. Everyone begin with the basic box step. One, two, three... one, two, three..."

I guided Emma through the steps, and she followed perfectly. Of course she did. She probably had the exact tempo memorized, along with the precise angle each foot should move.

"You're good at this," she said quietly.

"Don't sound so surprised."

"Let me guess—you learned for a case? Following some suspicious dancer?"

"Actually, my grandmother insisted all her grandchildren learn to dance. She dragged us to classes for years. Said any man worth his salt should know how to lead a woman across a dance floor."

Emma's lips curved slightly. "Smart woman."

"She also said I'd never find a wife if I didn't learn proper table manners and stop putting frogs in my cousin Ashlyn's bed, so I'm not sure all her advice was solid."

That got a real smile. "You put frogs in your cousin's bed?"

"She deserved it. She told everyone at school I still wet the bed."

"Did you?"

"That's not the point."

Emma's laugh made my chest tight. God, I'd already missed that sound.

"Focus, people!" Madame Beaumont called. "Mr. Wellington, what did I say about dipping?"

Dick had his partner bent nearly parallel to the floor. "But she likes it! Don't you, sugar?"

Emerson looked longingly toward Theo, lips twisted in a grimace.

"Perhaps we should try something simpler," Madame Beaumont said. "Everyone, trade partners. Let's see how you do with someone new."

Before I could protest, Richard Wellington appeared at Emma's side. "May I?"

Emma hesitated, but we couldn't exactly refuse without making a scene. I watched as he swept her away, his hand settling on her back in a way that made me see red for a moment.

It’s just the fucking dance, James. It’s where his hand is supposed to be…

Dick's abandoned partner ended up with me, while Dick himself somehow managed to snag her sister, Claudia. The music started again, and I tried to focus on the steps while keeping Emma in my peripheral vision.

"Your girl's quite talented," Richard said, loud enough for me to hear. "So much potential. It would be a shame to see it go to waste."

Emma's spine stiffened. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"Just that someone in your position should be careful about their... associations. The wrong partner can drag you down, you know."

I nearly missed a step, my hands tightening on my partner. What the hell was he getting at?

"Change partners!" Madame Beaumont called.

This time I ended up with Lily, while Emma got paired with Theo. At least he kept a respectful distance, unlike Richard.

"You okay?" Lily asked as we moved through the steps. "You look like you're plotting murder."

"Just trying not to step on your feet."

She smiled knowingly. "You know, Emma's different with you. Happier."

"She doesn't seem very happy right now."

"That's because she's scared. Our mom..." Lily hesitated. "Let's just say relationships in our family have a complicated history. Emma takes longer to trust people because of it."

I thought about my own trust issues, about how letting someone in felt like handing them a loaded gun and hoping they wouldn't pull the trigger.

"What if I'm not good enough for her?" The words slipped out before I could stop them.

Lily's expression softened. "The fact that you're worried about that is exactly why you are."

"Partners, switch!" Madame Beaumont called.

This time I got Charity, who immediately pressed herself against me in a way that had nothing to do with proper dance form.

"You know," she purred, "if you ever get tired of slumming it..."

I carefully pushed her body off of mine, eyes darting to Emma in hopes she wasn’t watching this. "Emma is amazing,” I said firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, ‘slumming it’ would be taking you up on your offer.”

She laughed. "Please. That little mouse? I've seen how she looks at you—like she's terrified you'll break her heart. Is that really what you want? Someone so... fragile?"

I was saved from getting angry enough to make a scene by another partner change. Finally, Emma was back in my arms where she belonged.

"You okay?" I asked quietly. "What did Richard say to you?"

"Nothing important." But she wouldn't meet my eyes. “What was Charity saying?”

“Nothing important,” I echoed. “But I told her she could get lost, because I was already happy with you.”

“James…”

The music swelled, and I pulled her closer despite her resistance. "I miss you," I whispered against her hair.

She trembled slightly. "Don't."

"Why not?"

"Because... because I can't think straight when you're this close."

I smiled against her temple. "Good. Maybe we’ve both been doing too much thinking. Too much making simple things complicated. Maybe we should just⁠—"

"Mr. Carter!" Madame Beaumont's voice cracked like a whip. "I am happy you’re not acting like this is a middle school dance, but I also won’t have any women getting pregnant on my dance floor! Find the balance, people!”

Emma tried to step back, but I kept her close. "Sorry, Madame. I got lost in the music."

"The music," she muttered. "Of course. And I suppose the music is also why your hand keeps sliding lower?"

Emma's eyes widened as she realized where my hand had drifted. She stomped on my foot—hard.

"Oops," she said sweetly. "I got lost in the music too."

I was still laughing when Madame Beaumont called the lesson to an end. The others filed out, but I caught Emma's arm before she could escape.

"We need to talk."

"I know… but I want to make sure I give this more thought. I’m not ready to talk about everything yet. Soon, I promise." She tried to pull away, but I held firm.

"Not about us. This is about the Wellingtons. I found something⁠—"

"There you are!" Dick's voice made us both jump. "Emma, dear, father wants a word about the ceremony setup."

Emma shot me an apologetic look before following Dick out. I watched her go, the weight of what I'd discovered sitting heavy in my chest.

I had to tell her the truth about the Wellingtons.

But first, I had to figure out how to get her to stay in the same room with me long enough to listen.

25

EMMA

"Imean, just look at this." Lily emerged from behind a changing screen in her wedding dress, practically glowing. "It's like it was made for me."

I blinked back tears as I took in my baby sister. Sure, I’d already seen the dress when she picked it out, but the alterations were almost done now and it already looked so amazing. And she looked so, so happy.

The dress was everything she'd dreamed of—delicate lace overlay, subtle sparkle in the bodice, and a flowing skirt that made her look like an actual princess.

"You're beautiful," I managed.

Martha Wellington dabbed at her eyes with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Marcus won’t be able to resist you, Lily. I’m sure he’ll practically claw that dress off you as soon as you’re back to your room on the big night.”

Creepy, but okay. I had to give Martha a pass, because even pervy comments were an improvement over her usual personality.

The seamstress fussed with the hem while I circled Lily, checking every detail. The dress had needed minimal alterations, which was good since we were cutting it close. Everything had to be perfect.

Perfect. The word tasted bitter now.

"What's wrong?" Lily asked, catching my expression in the mirror.

"Nothing." I forced a smile. "Just thinking about last-minute details."

"Liar. You've got that look."

"What look?"

"The one you get when you're overthinking something." She turned to face me, careful of the pins sticking out of her dress at various places. "Is this about James?"

Martha's head snapped up with interest. I shot Lily a warning look, but she ignored me.

"Because if it is," she continued, "you should know he was asking about you this morning after our dance lessons. When I couldn’t tell him where you were, he looked like someone kicked his puppy."

"Lily..."

"What? I'm just saying, maybe you should talk to him. And maybe stop hiding in wedding preparations."

"I'm not hiding. I'm doing my job." Even I didn't believe that one.

"Uh huh." She raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you've scheduled back-to-back meetings for two days straight? I snooped in your planner when you were in the bathroom a few minutes ago,” she added at my confused expression.

"I have a lot to coordinate!" I stammered.

"Emma." Lily's voice softened. "The wedding is practically planned. You're just using it as an excuse."

“A wedding plan is a living, breathing thing. It’s like a sick patient, and it needs constant care and supervision. The moment I look away, it’ll turn over and croak on me. Is that what you want?”

“I want my big sister to be happy and enjoy this like I am. It doesn’t have to be perfect, Em. I’m marrying the man of my dreams. It could rain on us. Birds could poop on my dress.” She smiled and shrugged. “It’ll just make for a funny story we can tell our friends until they get tired of hearing it. Our crazy, unique wedding. Or it’ll be perfect. Who knows, and who cares? I’m getting married, Em!” She did a little hopping dance that made the seamstress scowl. “I’m too happy to care about the details.”

I smiled, but I couldn’t quite let her words sink in and register. “Well, that’s great. But I should really go check on the florist. Some of the flowers they sent still weren’t good enough, and the replacements should be getting delivered⁠—”

"Tomorrow afternoon," Lily finished. "Which you know because you've triple-checked everything. Stop running."

I made another excuse about checking with Chef Antoine and fled anyway, because apparently that's what I did best these days.

The resort's halls were quiet, with most guests out on the ski slopes or taking part in various amenities around the building. Some were probably still sleeping in, too. I found myself wandering toward the kitchen, where Chef Antoine was supervising final menu testing.

"Ah! My favorite wedding planner!" He gestured me over with a flour-covered hand. "Try this."

He held out a spoon of something that smelled divine. I took a bite and nearly moaned.

"Good?"

"Incredible. What is it?"

"The sauce for the duck breast. Though..." He frowned at the pot. "Perhaps it needs more thyme."

"It's amazing," I assured him. "But I can stick around if you want to test more ideas. You know, just to be sure."

He laughed. "You cannot hide in my kitchen forever, chérie."

"I'm not hiding!"

"No? You try to tell me I do not know the look of troubled love? I, a man who understands the recipe of love in a way only a chef can? I, who⁠—”

“Okay, okay,” I said, laughing slightly as I slumped into a chair. “Why is everybody trying to give me relationship advice today?”

"Because you are a wonderful woman who people cannot help but respect. And today, your face has trouble written all over it.” He rolled some fresh thyme leaves and expertly cut them into small pieces, then stirred them into the sauce. "That man of yours, he looks at you like you are the most exquisite dish he has ever seen. And you look at him the same way. So why do you run? Why are you not with him right at this moment?"

"It's complicated."

"Bah. Love is always complicated. That is what makes it interesting." He tasted the sauce, added a pinch of something. "Did I ever tell you how I met my wife?"

I shook my head.

"I was working in Paris, very serious about my career. She was American, visiting for a cooking class. She spoke terrible French, burned everything she touched, and somehow set fire to a bowl of cereal."

I laughed despite myself. "How do you set fire to cereal?"

"She just learned how to flambé, and imagined she was going to be the genius who discovered its uses in the world of breakfast cereal. She wanted to ‘caramelize the oats,’ she said. Can you even imagine? She was terrible in the kitchen. The worst student I ever had." His eyes went hazy with memory. "And I fell madly in love with her. My family said I was crazy. Her family thought I was just after a green card. But sometimes..." He shrugged. "Sometimes the heart knows what it wants, even when the head says no."

"And you lived happily ever after?"

"Of course not! She still cannot cook to save her life. She could not put her shoes in the shoe bins. She sings terribly, and often. But she makes me laugh every day, and that is worth more than perfect soufflés, no?"

Before I could respond, one of his sous chefs called him away. I sat there thinking about his words until my phone buzzed.

Maggie: Did you talk to him yet?

Me: I'm working on it.

Maggie: That's a no. Stop being a chicken.

Me: I'm not being a chicken. I'm being cautious.

Maggie: Bock bock bock!

Her last text was followed by a few chicken head emojis. Jerk.

I pocketed my phone with a groan and headed for my next meeting. The resort's event coordinator wanted to review the reception layout one more time.

I was so lost in thought I nearly crashed into Marcus coming around a corner.

"Woah!" He caught my arm to steady me. "You okay?"

"Fine! Sorry, I was..." I gestured vaguely. "Thinking."

"About James?"

"Really? Is every single person I talk to today going to give me unwanted relationship advice?” I half shouted the question. I raised a hand to my mouth, winced, and then muttered an apology. “Long day already. Sorry.”

"I didn’t mean to pry. You two just seem so happy when you’re together, and then every time you’re apart there are storm clouds all over your faces. I know it’s not my place, but it’s like you can’t see how happy you make each other. Or… like you’re finding problems where there aren’t any, when you should really just be focusing on how you feel when you’re around him. I mean, take Lily. When I’m with her, I feel…” he smiled, showing a pair of dimples I hadn’t really noticed before. “Amazing. Like eating the best meal or landing the biggest deal. But better. It’s just… great. So when I’m not with her, I’m usually trying to figure out how the hell to get around her faster. Like right now she’s trying on her dress, so I’m stuck wandering around wishing she was here."

I studied Marcus. For once, I really looked at him. He had that same soft expression he always got when he talked about Lily—like she was the sun his whole world revolved around.

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded.

"How did you know? With Lily, I mean. How did you know it was real?"

He considered for a moment. "I think... I think it was the little things. Like how she leaves her stuff everywhere and it drives me crazy, but I know I’d be heartbroken if her mess was suddenly gone. Or how she tells terrible jokes when she's nervous. Or how she just... gets me. The good parts and the bad." He smiled. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason." I started to move past him, then stopped. "Marcus?"

"Yeah?"

"You make her really happy. I just... thought you should know that."

His whole face lit up. "She makes me happy too."

I left him there, his words echoing in my head. The good parts and the bad.

Maybe that was the problem. I'd been so focused on the bad parts with James—the wedding wrecking, the trust issues, the complications—that I'd forgotten about all the good.

How he made me laugh. How he caught me when I fell—literally. How he looked at me like I was something precious even when I was being ridiculous.

How being with him felt like coming home, even when I was trying to run away. And I felt all these powerful emotions about a guy I hadn’t even spent an entire week around. It should’ve been ridiculous. Maybe it was ridiculous. But what did that matter?

It wasn’t as if I was considering saying my vows to him or promising my life to him. I was just thinking about taking the first real step—about finally admitting he was worth the risk to me.

"Oh god," I muttered. "I'm an idiot."

I practically ran to his room, my heart pounding as I knocked. No answer.

Fine. I'd wait.

I used my key card—we were still technically sharing a room, even though I'd been avoiding it—and pushed open the door.

The first thing I saw was papers. They covered every surface—the bed, the desk, even some of the floor. Financial records, emails, photographs...

And right in the center of the bed was a photo of Lily and Marcus, with notes scribbled in James' handwriting.

My heart stopped.

"Emma."

I spun to find James in the doorway, his expression wary.

"What is all this?"

He ran a hand through his hair. "Well… this is everything I’ve found about the Wellingtons. Are you ready to hear it?”

26

JAMES

"Iknow we've both been dancing around why I'm really here," I said quietly. "I think you knew all along your mother hired me, just like I knew you'd figured it out."

Emma's shoulders tensed as she looked at the scattered papers. "I guess we've both been avoiding the conversation."

"I needed to be certain before I showed you this." I gestured at the evidence spread across the room. "After what happened in Ireland, I couldn't risk hurting you again without being absolutely sure."

"So now you're sure?" Her voice was carefully neutral. "What did you find?"

I picked up a stack of financial records. "The Wellingtons are broke. Their company is hemorrhaging money, and Richard's been covering it up for years. They're on the verge of complete collapse."

“What?” I breathed. “How is that even possible?”

“Years of ineptitude. Bad investments. Gambling problems going back generations. They squandered hundreds and hundreds of millions. Their properties are either sold or rented out, barely covering the mortgages in most cases. Their businesses are upside down. It’s bad, Em. And they’re desperate. They’ve actually been using credit and some loopholes to make it look like their businesses are still running in the black. But it’s all red. I’d guess it’ll come crumbling down in spectacular fashion any time now.”

"But… well,” she started. “Okay. I know it’s a big deal, but does that really impact the wedding? So Marcus is broke, but Lily does well, and her business is only going to grow with the way the last few months have gone.”

“That’s the thing… Richard and Dick want to leverage Lily’s success once she’s ‘part of the family.’”

Emma sank onto the edge of the bed, pushing papers aside. "How do you know?"

I handed her a transcript of a conversation I'd recorded between Richard and Dick. With the time the two of them spent at the bar, hiding a few small listening devices wasn’t difficult. The fact that they always chose the same seat even saved me the time of screening through dozens of other conversations to find theirs.

Either way, their words were damning—talking about how they could "milk the celebrity angle" and use Lily's business as collateral for loans. They also mentioned how they still had access to one of their powerful family lawyers, a man they believed could manage to make it all happen with the slightest, dubious consent from Marcus, which they believed they could get.

“Wait,” Emma said. “This makes it sound like they don’t know if they can convince Marcus to betray Lily. Does that mean he’s not in on all of this?”

I folded my arms, considering. “He has to at least know about the financial ruin. I’ll admit I have nothing connecting him to the plot to take advantage of Lily’s business. And the debt wouldn’t be his, either. He may feel less desperate and driven.”

"But yes. Marcus knows," I said. "He's been helping them hide their financial situation. For what it’s worth, I do think he genuinely loves her. But he's trapped between that love and his family's manipulation." I sat beside her, careful to leave space between us. "I think he's probably ashamed. Embarrassed that his family isn't what everyone thinks. And afraid that if Lily knew the truth..."

"She wouldn't want him anymore," Emma finished. She picked up a photo of Marcus and Lily, studying it. "She wouldn't care, you know. About the money. She'd probably offer to help them."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Richard and Dick would take everything she offered and still want more. Worse, they might convince her or Marcus to sign over something dangerous to their control. Maybe they’d convince her they could help, but all they want is to dig themselves out of one of many holes. If they have to destroy her business to do it, I think they will."

Emma was quiet for a long moment, looking through the evidence I'd gathered. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I needed to be sure. I couldn't risk ruining another wedding for you without absolute proof."

“I appreciate that much. But I’m not convinced this is enough. Are you?”

“I don’t know anymore,” I admitted. “I actually wanted to show you because you’re her sister. I thought about what you said—about how I’ve been making myself judge and executioner all these years. So I’m asking you, Em. What do you think I should do here?”

“This money thing… it’s a huge violation of trust,” Emma said slowly.

“I agree. Normally, I’d say it’s too big an obstacle. I’d say it was worth wrecking the wedding.”

“Normally? You feel differently this time?”

“This time… I was just thinking about how maybe if people are really right for each other, they can find a way to work through obstacles. Even… really big ones,” I added, lifting my eyes to meet hers.

There were a hundred things I wanted to say, but some cowardly part of me decided to change the subject. “So it’s a plan?” I asked.

Emma looked somewhat startled, then nodded and smiled. “Yes. Okay. It’s a plan.”

“Good.”

“Great,” Emma said, reaching to tuck a hair behind her ear awkwardly. “So let’s figure out our little plan. Professionally,” she added.

I quirked a brow. “Sure. Professionally. Let’s get to it.”

Even if she still felt like she was one wrong move from running away, I felt like something was on the verge of changing between us. Something was about to shift, or maybe it already had. And once we helped her sister and Marcus resolve their problem, I wondered if it would be our turn.

27

EMMA

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, smoothing my dress for the tenth time. The rehearsal dinner would start in twenty minutes, and my stomach was already in knots.

"The dress looks amazing, Em,”James said, adjusting his tie in the mirror.

“Thank you, but I mean the plan… are you sure we should be doing this?”

"We're not forcing anything. Just... creating an opportunity."

Our plan was simple. I'd already modified the rehearsal dinner seating to put Marcus between Lily and a famous client of hers who just arrived this morning—a social media influencer who'd helped launch Pawsh Pets into viral fame. According to Lily, this particular celebrity was obsessed with business strategy, and hadn’t stopped offering to help give her advice on expanding and “maxing your biz, girl.”

Meanwhile, James had made sure Richard and Dick were seated within earshot but at a different table. Close enough to hear discussion of Lily's business, but not close enough to intervene.

"The pressure has to be building with the wedding getting close,” James said. “I’m sure he’s already thinking about coming clean before the big day. We’ll just be creating an environment to make that confession feel a little more… front of mind.”

"And if it's not?"

He turned to face me, expression serious. "Then we try something else. We're not letting Richard and Dick manipulate their way into controlling your sister's business."

I stepped closer to fix his tie, though it didn't need fixing. I just wanted an excuse to touch him. "When did you get so protective of my sister?"

"Maybe I'm tired of watching families get destroyed by secrets. It might be nice to save a marriage instead of blowing one up for a change."

I gave a crooked smile. “Listen to you. Mr. Reformed Wedding Wrecker.”

“Easy,” James said. “Let’s not get carried away. I still have a business to maintain.”

“Mhm,” I said. Then I bit my lip and rose my tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He looked bemused. “What was that for?”

“For caring enough to help my sister. Thank you. But we should probably go," I said. "I need to check the table settings one last time."

"Of course you do." But his smile was fond. "Control freak."

"You know you love it."

His expression went gentle in a way that made my heart skip. "Maybe a little bit."

The rehearsal dinner went exactly as planned—at first. Lily's client, Sophie, dominated conversation at their table with enthusiastic plans for franchise opportunities. She had connections with several major retail chains interested in adding pet spa services.

"The potential is incredible," Sophie gushed. "You could have a Pawsh Pets in every high-end mall in America!"

I watched Marcus's face carefully. He kept glancing at his father, who was practically vibrating with poorly concealed interest.

"I don't know," Lily said, "I'd want to be really careful about maintaining quality. These are people's pets, not just..."

"Investment opportunities?" Dick cut in from the next table. "Sometimes you have to think bigger, sweetheart. Take risks."

James's hand found mine under the table, squeezing gently.

So much for seating them too far to intervene in the conversation. I guess we underestimated how pushy Dick would be.

"I like thinking small," Lily said firmly. "Quality over quantity."

Dinner dragged on as Richard and Dick barged into the conversation, practically drowning Lily in what seemed like unwanted business advice. To her credit, she was keeping calm and didn’t look outwardly bothered. But Marcus was obviously uncomfortable, and getting more-so the longer it went on.

"But think of the possibilities," Sophie continued. "With the right investors⁠—"

Marcus stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "Lily, can we... can we talk? Privately?"

A hush fell over the table.

"Of course," Lily said, looking concerned. She followed Marcus out onto the terrace, leaving the rest of us in awkward silence.

"Well," Dick said loudly, "who wants another drink?"

The next hour seemed to stretch on forever. James and I tried to maintain normal conversation while watching the terrace doors. The food was amazing, but it was hard to really concentrate on the taste.

Dick had slithered into the seat beside Sophie and had the nerve to talk about Pawsh Pets with her as if he was somehow part of the business. Once she got past the “who the hell are you” part, she had been happy enough to talk strategy with him, too.

Desserts were being set down in front of guests by the time Lily and Marcus returned to the room. Marcus fixed his suit, approached his dad, and actually lifted him by the arm and told him they needed to talk before practically dragging him out of the room. Richard gave a bemused smile, then played along before disappearing from view.

Lily’s eyes were red, but her spine was straight. She caught my eye and jerked her head toward the hallway.

"Excuse me," I murmured to James, "sister emergency."

I found Lily in the ladies' room, pacing the marble floor.

“Everything okay?” I asked carefully.

“No? Yes?” Lily made a sound that was somewhere between laughing and crying. “Marcus just admitted his family is in massive debt. They’re currently selling off properties at a rate they can’t sustain to maintain appearances, but they’re going to hit rock bottom soon.”

“Oh,” I said slowly. “Lily…”

She frowned, tilted her head, and then took a step closer. “You already knew? What? How?”

I carefully explained everything, from how I actually knew James to how I’d only found out yesterday about Marcus.

“I didn’t think it was my place to tell you before he had a chance, Lily. But I promise, I would’ve warned you before the wedding if we couldn’t encourage him to come clean by then.”

Lily was quiet for a few seconds, as if trying to take it all in. “Okay,” she said.

“Okay?”

“It’s okay. Thank you for letting Marcus tell me. And I knew something was weird about you and James. But I can’t believe you’re dating the wedding wrecker. Did you lose your mind?”

“Maybe,” I admitted with a small laugh.

Lily rushed in and hugged me tight, then let go with a heavy breath. “Well, I’m grateful you handled this the way you did. I think it would have been harder to forgive Marcus if it came from you.” She picked at the fabric of her dress, shrugging a little as she leaned against a bathroom sink. “Him coming clean shows me he cares. It shows he’s willing to face the consequences of his actions and learn from it.”

I nodded.

“And I think that’s why we’re still going to work. All I care about is that he stays open and honest with me, and I can understand why he was so scared to tell me the truth about this. Apparently, he’s been trying to find the right time to tell me for weeks."

"Are you sure you’re okay?"

"You know what's crazy?" She stopped pacing to face me. "I'm actually relieved. I knew something was wrong. He's been so stressed lately, always on his phone, having these intense conversations with his father..." She shrugged. "I was starting to wonder if he was having second thoughts about us."

"And now?"

"Now I know he was just scared. Scared I wouldn't want him if I knew his family wasn't what everyone thinks. Scared of disappointing his father." She smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. "But mostly scared of losing me."

"What did you tell him?"

"That he's an idiot," she laughed. "And that I don't care about his family's money. I care about him." She twisted her engagement ring. "I told him we'd figure it out together, but that he had to promise to always be honest with me from now on."

"And?"

"And he promised. He’s going to tell his father to stay out of my business decisions or he'd make sure the whole world knew exactly how broke they really are."

I blinked. "He’s going to say that to the Richard Wellington?”

"You should have seen him talking about it, Em. He was... magnificent." She grinned. "Also kind of hot."

"Gross." But I was smiling too. "So the wedding's still on?"

"Of course it is. If anything, I'm more sure now than ever." She hugged me tight. "I love him. The real him, not some perfect fantasy version. And he loves me enough to risk everything to be honest with me."

I held her close. As happy as I was for Lily and Marcus, I couldn’t help finding my own thoughts drifting to James—about how we both seemed to be holding our real truths locked away because we were too scared of where they might lead. Seeing how happy Lily was now that her and Marcus’ truth was out in the open made it hard not to wonder…

"I'm happy for you," I said, and meant it.

"Speaking of happiness..." Lily pulled back to study my face. "Where are you and James, exactly? It sounds like you’ve got the chemistry down. But what happens after the wedding? Do you two just go your separate ways?”

“I… don’t know,” I admitted.

She gripped my shoulders softly, expression lined with sympathy. “Em. I say this because I love you. You’re being a coward. You want to see where this thing goes with him. So see. Heartbreak is temporary. Regret is forever.”

I snorted. “I’m not sure either of those statements are objectively true.”

“Well, they’re true to me. So you had better take my advice to heart.”

“I’ll try,” I said, giving her another hug before we headed for the door.

I found James waiting in the hallway to the bathrooms, concern clear on his face. "Everything okay?"

I told him what happened—the parts about Lily and Marcus, at least—watching relief spread across his features.

"So… mission accomplished? Just like that?”

“Who knew people could fix their own mistakes?” I asked with a bratty grin.

“To be fair, our brilliant and subtle plan was what spurred this moment into existence. Sure, maybe Marcus was going to find a time to come clean before the wedding, but now we get credit. We did this,” he said, gesturing between us.

“You sound awfully concerned with taking credit. Are you sniffing out a new way to pivot your business if wedding wrecking doesn’t work out? The wedding fixer?”

He made a sour face. "Let’s just make sure this wedding goes well. I’m too invested now to see it fail.”

“That’s a plan I can agree with. Come on. We should get back before people notice we're missing."

He caught my hand as I turned to go. "Emma?"

"Hmm?"

“It… felt good to work with you on this. I’ve spent a long time looking for problems. So long, in fact, that I stopped asking myself if there was another way. I saw them all as fatal. But… it does feel nice to help a couple overcome an issue. So, sure, I’m not about to start calling myself the wedding fixer, but this was nice.”

My smile was wide, and for a moment, I wondered if maybe there really was a chance of things between us working out. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes lifting to something over my shoulder. “Dick’s coming. Quick. Casual kiss.”

I didn’t question him as I let him cup my face and kiss me in a way that was anything but casual. After a few moments, I pulled away, then risked a glance over my shoulder. The hallway was empty.

I frowned up at him.

“Whoops,” he said. “Must’ve been seeing things.”

28

JAMES

The entire wedding party, even Emma’s elusive father, was scattered around the outdoor ice rink and strapping on either rental skates or fancy skates they’d brought themselves. The resort’s ice rink was set on the edge of a hill that overlooked a small, wintery town below with mountain views in every other direction. Snow gently drifted down on us as we got ready.

Emma was beside me, struggling with her skates.

“Here,” I said, kneeling in front of her to fix her laces. “Let me guess. You’re about as good at ice skating as you are on the slopes?”

Emma stuck her tongue out at me. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfectly capable ice skater. Probably. It has been… a few years.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How many, exactly?”

She thought for a few moments. “Fifteen?”

I sighed. “You’re going to be holding my hand until I’m confident you aren’t going to fall and hurt yourself.”

“Is that an order?” she asked.

I gave her laces a firm tug. “Yes. Now, come on. I want to see what we’re working with.”

She smiled up at me, but let me lead her across the rubber mats and onto the ice rink. Ahead of us, Marcus and Lilly were somehow skating and hugging at the same time. It was both nauseating and sweet.

To my satisfaction, Dick was skating like a cat with tape on his feet. He looked absolutely lost, and the idiot was trying to keep up with a blonde woman who appeared to want nothing to do with him.

Emma’s mom and dad were holding hands as they skated, which was kind of adorable.

I guided Emma onto the ice, watching as she took her time getting her ice legs back. After one or two laps around the rink, she wasn’t actually doing so bad.

“There you go,” I said.

“If I get too good at this, does it mean you’re going to stop holding my hand?”

“That’s the idea,” I said.

Emma, who had been looking perfectly proficient at that moment, suddenly stumbled and seemed unsure on her feet.

I gave her hand a tighter squeeze. “Suspicious.”

She looked up at me innocently, then nearly tripped again. “Whoops,” she said.

Just as the sun started to set and turn the sky orange, mood lights kicked on, illuminating the rink and the falling snow. Music kicked on and a DJ’s voice came over the speakers. “Alright, Wellington-Marshall wedding party! Let’s kick it up a few notches!”

“Was this your plan?” I asked Emma.

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But I wasn’t planning to be skating with a hot guy when this happened. I kind of imagined myself watching from the sidelines.”

“I’m glad you’re not,” I said, pulling her a little closer as we skated a lazy circle around the rink.

“Me too,” she said.

Upbeat music began to play, and I smiled as I took Emma’s hands and made a clumsy attempt at dancing that nearly sent us both crashing to the ice.

She laughed, letting me pull her close as the other couples on the ice enjoyed the music.

Eventually, the DJ put on some slow music, and Emma’s ankles were getting tired, so she was happy to stand near the center of the rink where we were out of everyone’s way. I took her hands in mine and held her close, wondering if it was just the snow falling through the darkening sky, the music, or something else that had me feeling so… different.

“What are you thinking about? You look like you’re somewhere far away,” she said, lifting her snow-dusted eyelashes to look up at me.

“I’m right here,” I said. “And I was thinking about how I’m tired of pretending.”

Her forehead creased. “We only have to keep up the act another two days to get to the wedding, James. I don’t want to cause drama and ruin this for Lily.”

“No,” I said. “I mean me. I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this thing between us to be real.”

She audibly gasped, breathing suddenly coming faster as her chest rose and fell against mine. “What do you mean?”

“That my feelings for you are real. Every bit of it. Fuck, Em. I spent the last three years kicking myself for screwing things up with you. Wondering. Wishing… And now you’re here. I’ll be damned if I let this thing end without coming clean this time. I want to be with you. I want to be around you. I want any bit of you that you’ll allow me to have. And that is the truth. If you don’t feel the same, it’s fine. But I wanted to⁠—”

“I feel the same,” she said, eyes wide, almost as if she was terrified. “I feel all of that. And I’ve been terrified every time I thought about this thing ending. I didn’t want it to. I wanted it to go on—to see what we could be together.”

My heart clenched. "You should know I’m damaged goods. I have trust issues like you wouldn’t believe, and it won’t⁠—"

She cut me off with a kiss.

The kiss was soft, sweet, almost hesitant. Like she was asking a question. I could feel flecks of cold snow on her lips melting instantly against my skin.

I answered by pulling her closer, deepening the kiss until she made that little sound in the back of her throat that drove me crazy.

When we finally broke apart, she rested her forehead against mine. "I'm sure."

"Even though I'm⁠—"

"A wedding wrecker? Yeah." She smiled. "I’m willing to see if we can work through a few minor, totally nothing-burger obstacles.”

I brushed hair from her face, memorizing the way she looked in that moment. "You know, the wedding fixer actually doesn’t sound as bad as it did at first.”

“No?” she asked. “I could see a world where a wedding fixer and a wedding planner could form a… partnership.”

The way she said the word was more than a little loaded with meaning.

“I could get used to that idea,” I said, kissing her again.

“Gross,” Lily chided as she skated by, making us both look up from our kiss. Frankly, I’d forgotten we weren’t alone, but the scene came back into view around us—the snow, the mountains, the couples and people from the wedding party circling and casting glances our way.

But I didn’t care if they watched. Hell, I wanted them to see. For the first time since Katie betrayed my trust, I felt like I was part of something worth celebrating.

I might not know how long it was going to last, but I had Emma. For now, that was so much more than enough.

"You know,” I said, forehead pressed to hers. “You actually aren’t a half-bad skater.”

She rolled her eyes, but couldn't hide her smile. "Flattery won’t get you everywhere, Mr. Carter."

"I’m not worried about getting everywhere." I pulled her closer, nipping at her neck. "Just a few specific places on that gorgeous body of yours. Will flattery get me there, at least?"

"James..." She squirmed as I found that spot behind her ear that made her gasp. "We’re pushing P.D.A. to the limits.”

“Then let’s get the hell off this ice and back to our room.”

“People will⁠—”

“Fuck them. I need you right now, Em. Right now.”

29

EMMA

Our kiss was hungry, desperate, like he had been holding back as long as I had. The papers James had gathered on Marcus and his family were still all over the bed, and they scattered to the floor as he laid me back. His weight pressed me into the mattress in a way that made me forget how to breathe.

"Are you sure?" he murmured against my throat. "We can stick to the rules if⁠—"

"James?" I threaded my fingers into his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine. "I'm done with rules. I want you. All of you."

He groaned, the sound vibrating through me. "Say it again."

"I want you." I rolled my hips against his growing hardness, drawing another groan. "I've wanted you for three years."

"Fuck, Emma." His hands slid under my shirt, callused fingers leaving trails of fire on my skin. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me."

He sat back just enough to help me out of my shirt, then his own joined it on the floor. I couldn't help running my hands over his chest, tracing the hard planes of muscle I'd been dreaming about.

"Like what you see?" He caught one of my hands, pressing a kiss to my palm that was somehow both tender and erotic.

"You know I do." I arched as his mouth found that spot behind my ear again. "Though your ego hardly needs the boost."

In answer, he pulled me to him, one hand tangling in my hair as his mouth found mine.

I melted into him, papers crunching beneath us as he lowered me to the bed. His body was solid and warm against me.

"I've wanted you for so long," he breathed against my neck. "Since that first night in Ireland. Since every day after."

"Me too." I arched as his teeth grazed my pulse point. "I tried to tell myself it was just physical, but⁠—"

"But it was never just that." His hands slid across my bare stomach, then unclasped my bra. He threw it to the ground with a satisfied smile, eyes lighting up as he studied my hardening nipples. "Was it?"

"No." I reached up again, fingertips slowly sliding down the ripples of his abs and tracing the hard lines between them. "It was always more."

“You’re so damn dangerous for me, Em.”

"Me?" I gasped as his teeth grazed my earlobe before he planted a warm, perfect kiss there. "You're the one who's dangerous."

"I can hardly hold back," He breathed between his teeth. His hands slid up my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. "I've been thinking about this since that wine cellar in Ireland."

"Really?" Something warm bloomed in my chest at his admission.

He lifted his head to meet my eyes, his expression suddenly serious. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamed about you. About making you fall apart under my hands, my mouth..." He pushed his hips into me, making me gasp. "About being inside you."

"James..." I arched as his mouth found my breast, his tongue a warm jolt of ecstasy against my nipple. "Please..."

"Please what, beautiful?" He finished by kissing his way up from my breast to my neck, then lifted his eyes to meet mine. "Tell me what you want. Tell me exactly what you want, because all I want is to give it to you. Every. Fucking. Detail,” he said, punctuating each whispered word with a scorching kiss.

"You," I breathed, "just you. All of you."

His eyes darkened. "Say that again."

"I want you." I pulled him down for a kiss that was all heat and need. "I've always wanted you."

He groaned into my mouth, his hands everywhere at once. When he finally got us both naked and slid a condom on, I couldn't help staring. He was gorgeous—all hard muscle and smooth skin that I wanted to taste.

And for once, I didn’t hold back. I sat up, hooking my arms behind him as I kissed my way down his chest, scooting to my knees so I could reach everything.

His breath hitched as I moved lower. "Emma..."

"Hmm?"

"If you keep that up, this is going to be over embarrassingly fast."

I smiled against his skin. "Maybe I want to see you lose control."

He caught my chin, tilting my face up before I could take him in my mouth. "Later. Right now, I need to be inside you."

The raw honesty in his voice made me shiver. "Yes. Please, yes."

He took his time, touching and tasting until I was trembling beneath him. When he finally slid inside me, we both froze, overwhelmed by the sensation.

"Fuck," he breathed, "you feel incredible. So perfect..."

I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper. "Move. Please, just⁠—"

He sucked my lower lip between his as he began to move, setting a rhythm that had me seeing stars. Every thrust hit exactly right, drawing sounds from me I didn't know I could make.

"That's it," he murmured against my neck. "Let me hear you. Let me feel how much you want this."

"James..." I raked my nails down his back. "I'm close. I need..."

"I know what you need." His fingers found my clit, circling in perfect time as he continued to work his body against me. "Come for me, beautiful. Let me feel you."

I felt myself come apart around him, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed through me. He followed right after, burying his face in my neck with a groan that I felt in my bones.

For a long moment, we just lay there tangled together, trading soft kisses and softer touches. James brushed hair from my face, his expression tender.

"That was..."

"Yeah," he agreed, "it really was."

I traced patterns on his chest, feeling his heart thundering beneath my fingers. "We should have done that ages ago."

"Maybe not,” he said. “I think we had to earn that. Everything leading up to this… it made it that much sweeter. The wine cellar was enough to keep you at the front of my mind for years, sure. But this?" He kissed my temple. "This wasn't just sex, Emma. It wasn’t just chemistry or clicking with a beautiful stranger."

My heart skipped. "No? What was it to you?”

He pulled back to meet my eyes. "This was... everything. You're everything."

I blinked back the threat of tears. "When did you get so smooth?"

He laughed, pulling me closer. "Must be all that practice pretending to be your boyfriend."

"Pretending, huh?" I nipped at his jaw. "Are we still calling it that?"

His expression changed. "No. This is as real as it gets, whether you like it or not."

"Good." I curled into him, loving how perfectly we fit together, "because I like how real feels with you. I like it a lot."

We lay there trading lazy kisses until the sweat cooled on our skin. James pulled the blanket over us, careful of the papers still scattered everywhere.

"We should probably clean up all these papers now," I said, but made no move to do so.

"Probably." His hand slid up my thigh. "Or I could show you all the other things I've been dreaming about for three years."

Heat pooled low in my belly. "That's a pretty big promise, Mr. Carter."

His eyes glinted with challenge. "I always deliver on my promises, Ms. Marshall." He rolled me beneath him again, his mouth hot on my neck. "Want me to prove it?"

I pulled him down for another kiss, already addicted to the taste of him. "Prove it."

Turned out, James Carter was almost better at keeping promises than he was at breaking rules.

We lay sweaty and exhausted with our cheeks on the pillows, eyes locked.

James stroked my cheek. "I love you," he said.

My heart stopped, then started again double-time. "Don’t you think it’s a little soon to be dropping the ‘L’ word, Mr. Carter?”

“Frankly, I don’t give a shit. I love you, Em. I’ve spent the last three years thinking about you every day—wondering what could’ve been.”

I felt a little light-headed as I stared into his dazzling eyes and let the words wash over me. I smiled, biting my lip. “What if I love you too?”

He chuckled, hooking a finger under my chin and lifting my face. “Was that a question mark I heard?”

I kissed him again, pouring everything I felt into it. "I love you too," I whispered against his lips. "Even if you did ruin my career that one time."

He laughed. "I’ll make that up to you. However long it takes..”

“Oh, is that right? We’re already planning a future together, now?”

“Why not?” he asked.

Why not?

The words echoed in my mind, both tempting and exciting.

It felt like something lifted from my mind—some artificial barrier I’d been holding between us. But he was right, wasn’t he? Why the hell not? We were happy together, so why shouldn’t we take this thing and run with it as far as we possibly could? And who was to say we might not make it all the way to our own happily ever after.

But first, we needed to make sure Lily got hers.

30

EMMA

"The flowers are wrong."

I stared at Martha Wellington, who was frowning at the ceremony arch like it had personally offended her. "They're exactly what we ordered."

"They're too... pink."

"They're blush roses. The same ones you approved three times." I forced my voice to stay pleasant. "The same shade as the bridesmaids' dresses."

"Are you sure?" she said, squinting. "They look pinker."

A warm hand settled on my lower back. "Mrs. Wellington," James said smoothly, "I couldn't help but notice they matched your hat perfectly. The way they catch the light really brings out the subtle undertones."

Martha touched her hat—which was, of course, the exact same shade as the roses. "Oh. Yes, I suppose they do."

She wandered off, seemingly mollified, and I sagged against James. "My hero."

"Just doing my part." He pressed a kiss to my temple. "Everything looks perfect, by the way. Even if some people are too stressed to see it."

I surveyed the ceremony space. The morning sun caught on the snow-laden trees, making them sparkle. White chairs lined the aisle, each decorated with carefully crafted flower arrangements. The arch stood proud against the mountain backdrop, absolutely drowning in those allegedly-too-pink roses.

The historical weather patterns I’d obsessively studied even held true. It was an unseasonably warm day, meaning everybody was comfortable and happy.

It was exactly as I'd planned. Exactly perfect.

And for once, that wasn't the most important thing.

"Have you seen Lily?" James asked. “Is she doing alright?”

"She is still getting her makeup and hair finished. But she already looks like something straight out of a fairy tale. I kept crying every time I looked at her, so I had to make an excuse to get busy somewhere else.”

“Women,” James said with a small smile. “I saw Marcus in the lobby mingling as people arrived. He seems… lighter. I think the secrets were really weighing on him.”

"Amazing what honesty can do,” I said.

James's fingers traced patterns on my back. "Speaking of which, I feel the need to admit something to you. A secret, if you will.”

My stomach clenched and went cold. “What?” I breathed.

“The acoustics in our shower are amazing, and the walls must be very thin. Because I could hear every word of you whisper-singing in the shower this morning. ‘At Last’ by Etta James? Very romantic choice. I wonder if you were inspired by the wedding today, or…”

I blushed so hard I thought my cheeks might melt. “I always loved that song. My mom used to play it and lip sync with my dad. It was kind of their thing. And… I wasn’t thinking of the wedding today when I was singing. I was thinking of somebody else.”

“Yeah?” James asked, eyes smoldering. “Who?”

“One of those Wellington muscle brothers,” I said, trying very, very hard not to smile.

James took a step closer, swallowing up the distance between us. “Careful, Em. Tease me too hard, and I’ll have to make sure you know exactly who you want. If you think I’ve used every trick in my bag, you’re wrong. I’ve still got plenty more.”

I raised an eyebrow as warmth trickled through my body. “Well, if teasing gets you to unleash your bag of tricks, maybe I should keep it up?”

“Don’t torture me, Em.” He pulled me closer, voice dropping low. "And for the record. I thought your singing was incredibly cute. Especially the part where you changed the lyrics to 'At last, my wrecker has come along.' In other words, muscle brothers my ass. You’ve got it for me. Badly."

I elbowed him in the ribs, but he just laughed and caught my hands.

"I have to check on the cake," I said, trying to sound stern despite my smile.

"The cake is fine. Chef Antoine’s pastry chef won't let anyone breathe on it wrong, let alone mess it up." He tugged me toward the resort. "Come on. I’m sure your sister wants to see you again before the ceremony."

I found Lily in the bridal suite, surrounded by what looked like every photo album our family owned. She was already in her dress, looking like an actual princess.

"Oh good, you're here." She wiped her eyes. "Look what Mom brought."

She held up a photo of us as kids—me in my mom's wedding dress, which dragged on the floor and gaped at the shoulders, while Lily wore one of mom's veils like a cape.

"You were practicing," Mom said, dabbing at her eyes, "even then."

"Like how you should be practicing some common sense,” I said, voice full of mock reproach. “Seriously?” I asked, taking the album and pictures from her. “You’re trying to make yourself cry right after getting your makeup done?”

The makeup artist smiled. “It’s okay. I’ll get her cleaned up when she’s finished with the waterworks."

Lily caught my hand. "Thank you. For everything. Not just the wedding, but also for being an amazing sister and an even better friend. I love you, Em.”

"Love you too, Lily. And that's what sisters are for." I squeezed her fingers. "Now seriously stop crying. Your eyes are going to be all puffy, even if she can fix your makeup.”

“I’ll try. But look how sweet we were,” she said, pressing two fingers to another photo.

I headed for the door. "Wedding planner duties call. Send for me if you need anything. Okay?"

"Tell James I said hi!" Lily called after me.

I made a rude gesture without turning around, their laughter following me into the hall.

The ceremony was perfect, of course. Not because everything went exactly as planned—Dick knocked over a flower arrangement during the procession, and the flower girls got distracted halfway down the aisle and had to be herded back on course, along with a few other small mishaps.

But it was perfect because of the way Marcus's eyes filled with tears when he saw Lily. Perfect because of how she practically ran the last few steps to reach him. Perfect because when they said their vows, there were no secrets between them.

I didn't realize I was crying until James handed me a handkerchief.

"Thought you might need this," he whispered.

I dabbed at my eyes. "Since when do you carry a handkerchief? Are you an eighty-year-old man?"

"Shh," he said, but he was smiling. "We're about to get to the good part."

Sure enough, the officiant was asking if anyone had reason these two should not be wed. For the first time since Ireland, I didn't hold my breath waiting for someone to stand up.

Instead, I watched my sister kiss her new husband while everyone cheered. I watched Richard Wellington try to hide his own tears. I watched Dick hit on one of the bridesmaids and get spectacularly shot down.

And I felt James's hand find mine, his thumb tracing circles on my palm.

"Still think some weddings are worth wrecking?" I asked later, as we swayed together during the reception.

"Definitely." He spun me out, then pulled me back against his chest. "But some are worth protecting instead."

"Yeah?" I tipped my face up to his. "How do you know which is which?"

"Same way I knew you were different." He brushed his lips across mine. "Sometimes you just know."

"That's not very scientific."

"Neither is love."

I smiled against his mouth. "When did you get so sappy?"

"Must be all this time I’ve been spending hanging around with a wedding planner. They’re notoriously romantic and sappy.”

“We’ve done a lot more than hang around,” I teased.

“You’re right. I should be more specific. All this time vigorously fucking and⁠—"

I pushed my finger to his lips, laughing as his eyes sparkled. “Okay. Less specific was better. Somebody is going to hear you.”

“Good. I want everyone to know how obsessed I am with you. I want them to know how I can’t keep my hands off you. I want them to look at us and feel so jealous they can barely stand. And, of course, I want them to know they can’t have you, because you’re mine.”

“You know…” I said, swaying with my cheek pressed against his chest. “A lot of people would call you crazy for talking like that. How many days have we actually spent together in total? Five? Seven?”

“Eight. I’m hurt that you haven’t been counting. And frankly, I don’t care what a lot of people would call us. I only care what you think about us.”

“Well, I’m not the person to ask. I’m the one who was already falling for you back in Ireland. That’s why it hurt so bad when⁠—”

“Shh,” he said, silencing me with a tender kiss. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Em. Believe me when I say I’ll never do it again. Unless you ask. In the form of spanking, or something equally sexy.”

I swatted at him as the corners of my lips curved upward. “I believe you,” I said. “Finally… it feels like I’m able to trust. I know things might not go how I want. They might not work out perfectly, but I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than ride this thing and see where it goes.”

“Not to ruin the moment… but did I just hear you say you wanted to ride me? Because that can be arranged. Only I think we should find somewhere more private.”

“James,” I said, laughing softly. “I’m being serious.”

“I know,” he said. His fingertip traced my lower lip, eyes lowered so I could admire his long lashes. “Oh, there was something I meant to ask you.”

“Anything,” I whispered.

“Do you know if Emma Marshall gives discounts on wedding planning to her boyfriends?”

My heart stopped. "James..."

"Not right now," he said quickly. "But someday. When we're ready." He pressed his forehead to mine. "I just want you to know that's where I see this going. You and me, building something real together."

I pulled him down for a kiss. "I love you," I whispered, “even though you’ve made a career out of destroying exactly what I try to build.”

He laughed. "For a noble cause. I feel like that should be mentioned in your little jab.”

"Once you’re done making it up to me, I’ll stop teasing you about it.”

"Hmm,” he said, voice so deep it vibrated through his chest to mine. “I’ve enjoyed making it up to you quite a bit, Em. I can’t promise I’ll be done any time soon.”

I smiled up at him, my heart so full it hurt. "Good."

31

EPILOGUE - EMMA

One Year Later

"No, absolutely not." I stared at the PowerPoint slide James had added to my consultation deck. "We are not calling it 'Wreck-Prevention Services.'"

"Why not?" James lounged in his chair, looking unfairly good in a charcoal sweater that made his eyes pop. "It's accurate."

"It's terrible marketing." I changed it back to my original title: 'Relationship Readiness Consulting.' "We're trying to help couples, not terrify them."

"Fine." He pulled me into his lap, nuzzling my neck. "But I still think my tagline was better."

"'Let us wreck your relationship before someone else does' is not better."

"It's memorable!"

"We’re hoping we don’t have to wreck any relationships. The goal is helping them work through their issues and getting them to the finish line." But I was laughing as I said it. "We're also supposed to be preparing for this consultation."

"We are prepared." His hands slid under my shirt. "The March wedding is completely handled, the May couple just needs final details, and this new couple isn't here for another hour."

"James..."

"Besides," he murmured against my skin, "I seem to remember someone promising me a reward if I behaved at dinner with her parents last night."

"You call that behaving? You told my dad the story about my towel falling off when we did that couple’s spa day after the wedding.”

"He thought it was hilarious! And your mom couldn't stop laughing about the tiny tacos. She said they’re planning a trip back here to Colorado just to experience them."

I turned to face him, straddling his lap. "They do like you, you know. Even after everything."

His expression softened. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I kissed him softly. "Turns out they're suckers for reformed wedding wreckers."

Especially since James had helped save Lily's business from the Wellingtons. Richard and Dick had tried one last power play at the reception, threatening to expose Marcus's role in hiding their financial troubles unless Lily agreed to certain "partnerships."

James shut that down fast, pointing out that any scandal would hurt the Wellingtons far more than it would hurt Marcus and Lily. Especially since Marcus had come clean on his own.

These days, Marcus ran his own investment firm—one that specialized in helping small businesses expand sustainably. Lily's franchise plans were moving forward, but on her terms. They'd just opened their third Pawsh Pets location, with Marcus handling the business side while Lily maintained her hands-on approach with the animals.

"Speaking of reformed..." James said. "Have you seen the latest about your old friends?"

I followed his gaze to a magazine on my desk. The cover showed Dick Wellington's latest scandal—something involving three Playboy bunnies and a stolen yacht.

"Poor Charity had to cancel her Paris fashion week debut," I said, not feeling particularly sorry. Last I heard, she'd been cut off after Richard discovered she'd been adding to the family debt for the past few years, driving them even deeper into desperation.

"What about the wedding planner?” James asked, eyes sparkling as they met mine. “How are you feeling about our new business model now that we’ve been going nearly a year?”

I thought about how my wedding planning had evolved over the past year. These days, I worked with fewer couples, but more intensively. James and I helped them build solid foundations before the wedding, rather than just creating perfect surface-level events. If there were problems that would have normally summoned the wrath of the “Wedding Wrecker,” we helped address them early. Sometimes, that meant bringing in a counselor named Derek, who had been one of James’ former employees.

"No regrets," I said honestly. "I think this is the best of both our worlds. I still get to plan amazing weddings, and you get to make sure people aren’t walking into a huge mistake.”

"Wow,” he said softly. “No regrets, huh? Even if it means dealing with my cynical ass questioning everything?"

"Especially then." I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Your cynicism balances my optimism. We make a good team."

"Team?" His hands settled on my hips. "Is that what we're calling it? I was thinking of myself more as the rakish boss with the sexy side-kick."

"Call me a side-kick again and I’ll make the phrase literal.”

“Understood,” James chuckled.

“And I was going to say we have a partnership, but someone still hasn't properly proposed..."

His eyes darkened. "Maybe I'm waiting for the perfect moment."

"I thought we agreed perfect was overrated?"

"Some things are worth getting right." He pulled me closer. "Even if that means making you wait a little longer."

"James Carter, are you telling me you have a ring hidden somewhere?"

"Emma Marshall, are you trying to ruin my surprise?"

I kissed him instead of answering, loving how he immediately deepened it. One year together, and still every kiss felt like coming home.

My phone buzzed, making us both groan.

"That's probably Maggie. She has been calling me multiple times a day while she gets ready for the new shop in Savannah. She’s a wreck."

James smiled. "Still can't believe she's expanding already."

"All thanks to Marcus's investment firm." I checked the message. "And... yep. She says to tell you she's still mad you wouldn't let her call it 'Wake the F*ck Up Coffee.'"

"The FDA would never approve it. I saved her a headache."

"Since when do you care about approval?"

His hand slid higher under my shirt. "Since a certain wedding planner made me want to be a better man."

"Smooth talker." But I melted into him anyway. "We really should prepare for this consultation..."

"You’re right. I’ve got a… rather large problem I need to handle before our clients arrive.” James took my wrist and guided my hand to his lap.

“You weren’t kidding,” I said, gripping him through his jeans. “That’s a huge problem. How do you suggest we handle it? Were you thinking amputation?”

James shivered. “Not funny.”

I slid my palm across him, loving how he groaned against my neck. “Or… were you thinking about a more hands-on approach?”

“That one. Or… mouth-on. Or pussy-on. As your business partner, I feel I should let you take the driver seat.”

“I’ve always been bad at making choices.”

“Fine. You’ve twisted my arm properly, I’ll just have to settle for the sampler platter. Give me all three.”

I laughed against his neck, planting a few kisses there and loving his scent, as always. "The clients⁠—"

"Won't be here for fifty-eight minutes." He stood, lifting me with him. "You had better get started, Miss Marshall. I have been known to enjoy long samples, and we’ve got three to experience.”

“Is that right?”

He carried me toward the couch in the corner of our shared office. “I can never get enough of you. Fuck,” he growled. “I’m addicted, Em.”

“Good. You had better be.”

Fifty-six minutes later, we straightened our clothes and reviewed our notes one last time. James's hair was beyond help, but somehow he made it look intentional.

"Ready?" he asked as our clients approached the office.

I squeezed his hand. "With you? Always."

He smiled in that way of his that still made my heart skip. "I love you. Even if you won't let me call it 'Wreck-Prevention Services.'"

"I love you too. Even if you almost ruined my career twice."

"You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Nope." I kissed him quickly. "Good thing you have the rest of our lives to make it up to me."

His eyes went soft. "Promise?"

"Promise."

32

EPILOGUE - JAMES

The ring box burned a hole in my pocket as I watched Emma work her magic.

"I just don't know," the bride-to-be was saying. "What if we're moving too fast?"

Emma caught my eye across the table, her lips curving slightly. We'd been doing this long enough that I knew my cue.

"Let me ask you something," I said. "What scares you more—the idea of marrying him, or the idea of losing him?"

The woman—Jessica—twisted her engagement ring. "Losing him. Definitely losing him."

"Then you're not moving too fast," Emma said gently. "You're just nervous. Which is completely normal three weeks before your wedding."

I watched Emma guide the conversation, drawing out Jessica's real fears. Not about her fiancé, it turned out, but about living up to his family's expectations.

"My parents were farmers," Jessica admitted. "His family... they summer in the Hamptons. Whatever that means."

"It means they're probably incredibly boring," I said, making her laugh. "But you know who isn't boring? Their son. Who chose you exactly because you're not like the country club crowd."

By the time Jessica left, she was smiling. Emma waited until the door closed before crawling into my lap.

"You're getting good at this," she said.

"I had a good teacher." I pressed a kiss to her temple. "Who knew wedding wrecking skills would translate so well to wedding saving?"

"Speaking of saving..." She toyed with my collar. "Maggie called. She wants us to invest in her new coffee shop expansion."

"The one in Denver or the one in Savannah? I’m starting to lose track."

"Denver. Marcus already approved the business plan, but she wants us as silent partners." She pulled back to study my face. "What do you think?"

I thought about how far we'd all come in the past year and a half. Maggie's coffee empire was taking off, thanks to Marcus's guidance. She still sold her flavor bombs, but now guests could buy them in brick-and-mortar stores and combine them with her custom blends of coffee, too. Lily had just opened her fourth Pawsh Pets location. Even Derek, my old business partner, seemed to have really found his calling working as our intensive cases counselor.

"I think," I said carefully, "that we should probably discuss it over dinner. Maybe somewhere special?"

Emma's eyes narrowed. "How special?"

"The kind of special that requires that blue dress I like."

"James Carter." She poked my chest. "Are you planning something?"

"Always." I caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. "Pick you up at seven?"

"We live together."

"Humor me."

She studied my face for a long moment, then smiled. "Fine. But only because you're cute when you're being mysterious."

“Good,” I said, “I’ve got a few things to handle before dinner tonight. I’ll see you at seven?”

Emma narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re leaving the office before me? Something is definitely up.”

I smiled, kissed her on the cheek, and thought about the first time I saw her in that castle in Ireland. She'd been so focused on perfection then, and I'd been so determined to see the worst in every relationship.

Now here we were, building something real together. Something beautifully imperfect.

I drove off from the office with the engagement ring’s box still straining against my pocket. It had been months since I got this thing, but tonight was finally the night. I’d even gone the traditional route and asked her parents for their blessing a few weeks back.

After that, I called my own parents. That conversation had been... complicated. But necessary.

"You're sure about this?" my mother had asked. "After Katie..."

"Emma's nothing like Katie," I had said. "She makes me want to be better. To believe in something real."

There had been a long pause before my father said, "Then don't screw it up like your brother did."

It wasn't exactly a warm blessing, but it was something. A bridge, maybe, to whatever came next. I knew they had recently fallen out with Chase because he tricked them into lending money that was actually meant for Katie. It had been a final straw after so many that let them see how far gone he was. As much as I hated it for him, I wondered if it was finally an open door to start fixing things in my own family.

My phone buzzed with a text from Emma:

Emma: The blue dress you like is making my boobs look huge tonight. Are you sure you’re going to be able to control yourself around me?

Me: Absolutely not. Even more reason for you to wear it.

Emma: What’s the restaurant?

Me: It's a surprise. Trust me?

Emma: Always. Even if you did ruin my career that one time.

I laughed out loud, earning curious looks from our staff. That joke had become something of a running gag between us—a reminder of how far we'd come.

When I met Emma in Ireland, she was just starting out as a wedding photographer turned planner. In Breckenridge, she was a small-time wedding planner who was coming out of her comfort zone for the sake of her sister’s wedding. And now?

Our businesses had merged in an unexpected pairing that was shockingly successful. Turns out there was a huge market for couples who wanted more than just a perfect wedding. They wanted tools to build a lasting marriage.

My phone buzzed again:

Emma: Speaking of trust... Derek just walked by my office whistling and looking very suspicious. Should I be worried?

I made a mental note to kill Derek later. He had one job: get everything set up at the restaurant without being suspicious. But apparently, my oldest friend was incapable of acting normal.

Me: Just a coincidence. See you at 7.

I arrived at the restaurant early to check Derek's work, relieved to find he'd at least done his part right. The photos were arranged exactly as I'd planned—a timeline of our relationship starting at the entrance to the terrace. Ireland, the ski resort, and a few candid moments I’d managed to collect of us by begging everybody in attendance to look through their camera rolls for me. I’d had each photo printed out and included a handwritten note about what that moment or place meant to me.

Once I was sure everything was in place, I drove back to pick Emma up from our apartment. I had to dodge a hundred of her questions on the ride as she tried desperately to ruin the surprise. I also had to avoid pulling the car over and missing out on the plan because she looked so insanely sexy in that blue dress. She hadn’t been exaggerating about what it did for her curves.

I helped her out of the car once we arrived, smiling as I looked her over and reminded myself for the millionth time that she was mine. Somehow, some way, this gorgeous woman had picked me. And tonight… Tonight I was going to make it permanent.

"You're beautiful." I caught her hands, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Ready for dinner?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Why do you look nervous?"

"Do I?"

"James Carter, I’m beginning to suspect you’re about to —

"You'll see," I said, cutting her off. I led up the stairs past the indoor dining room and toward the rooftop terrace. "Close your eyes."

"Really?"

"Humor me."

She did, though her smile was suspicious. I guided her outside to the terrace, positioning her at the start of the photo timeline.

"Okay," I said softly, "open them."

Emma's hand flew to her mouth as she took in the first photo. It was the wine cellar in Ireland. Granted, it was empty, but I’d flown out just to get this one because I knew the collection wouldn’t be complete without it. I had put a little note card labeled “Emma” on the table and positioned a second labeled “Me,” just for the humorous touch.

"How did you..."

"Remember that boy’s weekend to Vegas?” I asked. “I flew out to get this one.”

“I can’t believe you did that…” she whispered.

I watched her move from photo to photo, reading each note. Her at the ski resort, covered in snow. Us dancing at Lily's wedding. Candid moments from our office, both of us caught up in work but stealing glances at each other.

"James..." Her voice was thick with emotion.

"Almost there."

The final photo was from just last week—Emma asleep on our couch, case files spread around her, wearing one of my sweaters. My note read: This is the moment I knew I couldn't wait any longer to ask you to marry me.

When she turned around, I was on one knee.

"Emma Marshall," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "You walked into my life and turned everything upside down. You made me question everything I thought I knew about love. About trust. About what's worth fighting for."

She was crying now, but smiling through the tears.

"You're the first person I want to tell when something good happens. The only person I want to talk to when things go wrong. You make me better, not because you try to fix me, but because you love me exactly as I am while making me want to be more."

"James..."

"Will you marry me? And maybe help me un-wreck a few more weddings along the way?"

She laughed through her tears. "Only if you promise to never actually wreck ours."

"Is that a yes?"

She pulled me to my feet, cupping my face in her hands. "Yes. A thousand times yes."

I slid the ring onto her finger with shaking hands, then kissed her like my life depended on it.

"I can't believe you did all this," she whispered.

"I had help. Even if Derek can't act casual to save his life."

She laughed, then kissed me again. "I love you.”

"I love you too." I pulled her close, breathing in the scent of her perfume.

Emma's response was cut off by the arrival of our friends and family. Lily launched herself at her sister while Marcus shook my hand. Maggie was already crying, clutching what looked suspiciously like wedding venue brochures. My parents stood awkwardly to the side, but they were here. It was a start.

Later, after toasts and celebrations, I found Emma at the edge of the terrace, looking out at the mountains.

"Happy?" I asked, wrapping my arms around her from behind.

She leaned back against my chest, holding up her hand to admire the ring. "More than I ever thought possible."

I smiled against her hair, thinking about how far we'd come. How neither of us was the same person who met in that castle in Ireland. We were better versions of ourselves—not because we'd fixed each other, but because we'd chosen to grow together.

And if you asked me, that was best kind of love story, because it was ours.

-The End

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Looking for your next read? Keep flipping for a sneak peak of my workplace romantic comedy, Hate Notes.

When my cheating ex destroyed my life, I did what any reasonable woman would do—I dove head-first into a petty revenge scheme. After all, I've always been more of a 'go down swinging' kind of girl.

My brilliant plan? Deliver hate notes to my ex's biggest business rival until he’s so fed up he hires me just to make it stop.

Too bad nobody warned me that my newest boss would be six-foot-three of grumpy, dimpled perfection—or that beneath his icy exterior beats the heart of a man who sends me scandalously demanding emails by night and gives glimpses of surprising tenderness behind his scorching glares.

Now I'm falling for the man I'm supposed to be sabotaging, stealing kisses between meetings and pretending I don't live for those moments when his perfect control slips. My ancient, possibly immortal cat judges me daily for this mess, but then again, he also judges me for showering.

Click here>> to get Hate Notes

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34

ORION

"You're doing the stomping thing again," Remmy said.

I cut my eyes to my little sister. She smiled up at me, completely immune to my glares—a superpower any number of my employees would have killed for. To them, my glares were weapons of mass motivation, known to clear boardrooms, close deals, and inspire all-nighters.

I tried glaring a little harder at Remmy, just to see if I could penetrate her defenses.

Her nose wrinkled in amusement. "What? I'm trying to enjoy my walk, and all I hear is the angry thump thump thump of your big feet." She gestured dramatically at my Italian leather oxfords. "And I see you narrowing your eyes. Ooh. Scary." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You're free to walk yourself to work," I suggested, even though we both knew I'd never let that happen. These morning walks with my little sister were non-negotiable, like quarterly earnings reports or my morning protein shake. I might be terrible at showing affection, but when people were important to me, I ensured they were safe and cared for.

Remmy rolled her eyes and kept strolling beside me, her artistic soul apparent in everything from her paint-splattered ballet flats to the way she moved like she was dancing to music only she could hear.

Last year, she'd landed her dream job as an event coordinator at one of Manhattan's most prestigious art galleries. She'd been sketching and painting since she could hold a crayon, and this position put her one step closer to her ultimate goal of representing artists as an agent. I was proud of her success, even if I showed it mainly by triple-checking the gallery's financial stability and running background checks on her coworkers.

"You'd miss me if I walked to work alone. Admit it."

"I won't admit any such thing," I said, adjusting my tie, even though it was already perfectly in place.

I knew what people said about me. They called me a grump, a bastard, heartless, cruel, a workaholic, and an asshole.

One of those wasn't even true.

But they could say whatever they wanted. I knew what mattered to me: family and Foster Real Estate. End of story. Everything else was just noise, and I'd built my empire on filtering out noise.

The problem with my otherwise enjoyable walks to work was the... spectacle that awaited us at my office. It was becoming more ridiculous every week, like a circus where I was the unwilling main attraction.

"What do you think they'll say about you today?" Remmy asked, as if reading my thoughts.

We shared the same jet-black hair and slightly upturned green eyes—a legacy from our mother. But that's where the similarities ended. Remmy was the artistic type, through and through. Eccentric outfits, a carefree vibe, and always the first to laugh.

My outfits were coordinated to the day of the week. I preferred not to waste valuable mental resources on trivial decisions like what to wear. Instead, I had my suits dry-cleaned, pressed, and delivered straight to my closet every Sunday night. They were arranged in the order I would wear them, along with matching shoes, belts, cufflinks, and ties. If I ever had the irrational urge to mix things up, I could throw in a vest, but I usually resisted the temptation.

As far as I was concerned, resistance was a virtue.

I also took my health as seriously as I took my company. To be the best CEO possible, I needed a nearly limitless supply of energy. I needed to avoid getting sick, tired, or having "off" days. I needed to stave off aging and its effects as long as possible. It wasn’t about vanity or pride. It was a simple matter of efficiency and effectiveness, which were two qualities I valued above almost any other.

So I stuck to a strict diet, exercise routine, daily vitamins, lotions, creams, and whatever else my health team advised. To some, it probably seemed excessive. To me, it was no different than maintaining a high-performance supercar. You didn't put regular gas in a Ferrari, and you didn't fuel a multi-billion dollar CEO with pizza and beer.

I demanded excellence from my people and led by example, extracting every ounce of potential from myself I could.

"What do I think they'll say?" I asked, spotting the gathering crowd ahead. "Something idiotic, as usual. It will be exaggerated, baseless, and overdramatic to get a reaction. Same as every day."

"But don't you ever ask yourself why so many people get so mad at you? Like... yeah, I'm sure it's a little over the top. But how many people do you know who have an actual hate fan club?"

"Hate Notes is a company with fourteen employees. They filed for an LLC a year before I got my first note. So, apparently, enough people want to send angry messages to fuel a growing business. It's not just me."

She smirked. "I should have guessed you already CEO-stalked them."

"I didn't—" I closed my mouth and sighed. Alright. I supposed I had CEO-stalked them. I didn't need to tell my sister I also knew their tax status, the education history of their owner, and kept a close profile on all their new hires. But it wasn't stalking. It was called being thorough. There was a reason I excelled. I turned over every stone, no matter how dirty or how far out of the way it might seem.

"With the number of angry messages you get every morning, you may be single-handedly keeping them in business, Ry."

I didn't dignify that with a response. Remmy was also the only one I let call me by that nickname, as she had been doing it since she was in diapers. The fact that I was thirty-four now didn't seem to matter to her.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.

We were getting close.

Despite the early hour, the usual crowd was already outside my office. The vultures liked to watch. One woman, who considered herself an "influencer," even livestreamed this daily fiasco. She provided commentary on the hate notes and tried to guess what I had done to earn each one with her "fans."

Maybe calling her a vulture was too generous.

The bottom-feeders stood with coffees in hand, snacks, and excited smiles on their faces, like they were waiting for a Broadway show to start.

One of them pointed at me as I approached with Remmy at my side.

"There he is," they mouthed.

I sighed again, though my six-foot-three frame remained perfectly straight. A Foster never slouched, especially not in the face of adversity.

Remmy waved happily at the crowd. "Sorry we're late!" she shouted, cupping her hands over her mouth and nearly dropping her bag. "He had trouble getting the stick far enough up his ass, so we're running behind!"

I shot my little sister a glare, ignoring the laughter from the crowd.

She shrugged, biting back a smile. "Admit it. That was a little funny."

"No," I said. "And you shouldn't encourage them."

"It's like your little fan club, though. I think we should start a social media account for you. You could go viral, you know. Grumpiest Boss in New York," she said, spreading her hands as if she was visualizing a billboard.

"Absolutely not," I said, my voice as crisp as my collar.

"It could help your profits," she singsonged.

"You really think so?" I asked.

She laughed. "No. But it's hilarious how quickly you switched your tone when you thought it would."

I shook my head and stopped in front of the steps leading up to my office. I knew from experience that the Hate Notes employee would follow me inside if I didn't wait. When forced to choose between doing this in front of strangers or my employees, I chose strangers.

That didn't stop a small crowd of my employees from gathering at the lobby windows on the first floor of the Foster Real Estate skyscraper.

I turned my gaze their way, and they scattered like pigeons in Central Park.

The Hate Notes employee tasked with reading my notes today was named Matthew. He started last week, and I was certain I would get to him soon. They all had a price, and I had to admit I kind of enjoyed trying to find it.

Matthew saw me and jogged down the steps, note cards in hand. He glanced down at one as he descended the stairs, mouthing something silently to himself, almost as if he was practicing his delivery.

Wonderful.

Matthew wore the Hate Notes uniform—a garish red hat, matching shirt, and even more ridiculous red gloves, as if they needed protective gear for this nonsense.

The business logo was a letter folded to look like it had a mouth, complete with lipstick to drive the point home. It was open wide, as if shouting, with three squiggly black lines coming from the mouth. The text above the letter said "Hate Notes." Below, their slogan was printed in chipper letters: "When an email just won't cut it!"

"Let's get this over with," I said, my voice carrying the same authority I used in board meetings.

"Morning, Mr. Foster," Matthew said.

"I know they can't be paying you enough to turn down a thousand," I said. Yesterday, I'd offered him five hundred dollars to take his notes and leave. It was admittedly part of the game for me. I enjoyed bribing the employees of this ridiculous company and forcing their owners to hire and train new people. Because once an employee accepted my bribes, they were always fired. It was hard to hide that they weren't doing their jobs when the vultures were filming, after all.

Matthew was a guy in his mid-thirties, I guessed. I would've sent him to the mail room if he'd stepped into my office for an interview. He had "failure to launch" written all over his droopy, slack-jawed face.

But I had to give the man credit. He wasn't easy to bribe. Most of them caved when I hit two hundred, which said something about how much people enjoyed working for Hate Notes.

He leaned closer. "Two thousand, and I'll only read a couple of them."

I raised an eyebrow. I had to respect the backbone. Nobody had ever tried that one on me. "One thousand, and you can only read two."

He looked down at his stack of notecards. There were at least twenty of them. "Ten," he said. "If I only read two, it'll be too obvious."

"Three, and you get seven hundred instead. Final offer."

Matthew pressed his lips together. "Dammit. Alright. Alright. My rent is due.”

I slipped him the money, then folded my arms and waited, my stance radiating the same confidence that had helped me close multi-million-dollar deals.

Matthew lifted the first card, cleared his throat, and projected his voice so everybody could hear. Part of the gimmick with this company was that the employee had to read the card with real emotion, as if they were angry, too.

Matthew met my eyes, glancing down occasionally at the card to remember his lines.

"Dear Mr. Foster,

You suck. You SUCK. Did I mention you suck? And I bet if your company had a dick, you'd suck that, too. You just love your company so much. I bet you stay late so you can whisper sweet nothings in its ear, don't you? I bet you'd drill a hole in the wall and, uh..."

Matthew trailed off, flipped the card to the back, and started reading. I could see there had been a lot more written on that card. Apparently, Matthew was too embarrassed to read it aloud.

"Dear Mr. Foster, Ever wonder why your coffee tastes weird? I bet you do. I'd love to tell you what we put in it when you're not looking. But I won't tell you, because I'd rather picture you up all night wondering if it was toenails, hair, or spit. Or maybe all three? I'll give you a hint. It was all three. Bahahaha. Yeah! Fire that, bitch!

With Deepest Animosity,

Somebody You Should Have Been Nicer To"

Damn. I made a mental note to warn my secretary they were tampering with his coffee. I didn't touch the stuff myself—caffeine was too crude a tool for peak performance—but they obviously assumed he was making it for me.

Idiots.

Matthew flipped through a few cards as if looking for the right one. He stopped, licking his lips. "Dear Orion (Yeah, I used your stupid first name, you little asshole. How do you like that? Can't do shit to me because you don't even know who I am! HAH! Rub that on your face, you prick-whistler)

"Anyway, you got my white elephant gift at the Christmas party. And I can't believe you just threw it away. WHAT THE FUCK, ORION? A blanket with sleeves and a hole for your head is the greatest thing that has ever been invented by mankind. Or do you prefer to stay cold like your shriveled, dead heart?

"GOD. You are the WORST! I hope you forget how to breathe and drop dead, asshole.

"P.S. I don't even pray, but I started praying every night just to ask if God could please smite you for me. Eventually, he's going to get tired of me asking and end you."

Matthew tucked the rest of the cards in his fanny pack—yes, he was wearing a fanny pack. "Alright, folks. That's it for today."

"What?" one of the people in the crowd shouted. "You had more cards!"

Matthew shook his head. "Those are for other clients. I just had them mixed up."

There was some disappointed grumbling, but I ignored it all and told Remmy I'd see her later. She smiled, waved, and headed off to work.

Matthew was probably getting fired for not reading all those cards. I wondered who they'd send next. Whoever it was, I'd enjoy finding their price. Everybody had one, after all.

That was something else people said about me: I always got what I wanted.

They weren't wrong about that one.

35

EMBER

"Trust me, Em. I'd rather not have to do this," Cole said, his voice dripping false sympathy.

"Then don't," I suggested, hating how small my voice sounded. I didn't do small. I was the girl who once organized an office-wide protest when they tried to replace the broken vending machine that sometimes gave free sodas. I once orchestrated a two-year-long petty prank involving ping-pong balls and the locker of a guy who broke my best friend’s heart. Small wasn’t my style.

Yet here I sat in front of Cole's massive mahogany desk, feeling like I was shrinking by the second.

He sighed, standing from his chair as it groaned with relief. Cole was a large man, thick with muscle and well over six feet. Once upon a time, I had swooned over him. Now, it was impossible to look at him the same way. After our breakup, the mask had slipped, revealing the nasty, heartless man who had been there all along.

Outside his office windows, Manhattan sprawled before us like his personal kingdom. With an ego like his, he probably stood there regularly having thoughts like "I own this fucking city" or "This city wishes it could ask to suck my cock! And if it did, I'd turn it down... unless Chicago was watching. Then I'd do it just to make that slutty little city jealous."

Okay, maybe I was just a touch bitter. But I had wasted two years of my life on this man, and now I was dealing with the repercussions of letting my career get tangled up with him, too.

"No," I said carefully. "She doesn't have a single point, Cole. If this were a math test, it would be zero out of a hundred points.”

"What am I supposed to do, exactly? Choose my ex over my fiancée?"

"Sure. Let's do that," I said with forced cheer. "Or, door number two says you can not make it a competition since I have absolutely no romantic interest in you. I'd happily swear as much under oath. I'll take a lie detector test. Hell, I'll skywrite it if that would help your precious Kylie sleep at night."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and turned. "Kylie isn't comfortable with you around the office. She says you give her looks."

"Looks?" I blurted. "Is it my fault that I look more closely at snakes than rabbits?"

"What?" Cole asked, voice heavy with exasperation. "You're always making things so... ridiculous. Can't we just have an adult conversation about this?"

"Snakes bite people," I explained with exaggerated patience. "So if a snake was slithering around the office in designer heels and smiling at me, then yeah, I think I deserve some slack if I keep a close eye on it."

"This is exactly why we've reached this point, Em. You can't talk about another employee that way. Technically, she's your superior now, too."

"I'm aware," I said. After all, she was quickly riding the coochie train to the top of the company, and she had purchased an express ticket. "You want us to have an adult conversation about this? Okay. You’re asking me to do something I’m pretty sure is illegal and threatening to fire me if I don’t. Am I understanding correctly?”

“All I need is a little information, Ember. He wouldn’t even need to know it came from you.”

“Right. Somehow infiltrate your business rival’s company, wait until they show me something you can use to sabotage him, report back, and hope nobody is the wiser. You do realize my degree is in business, right? I passed on the espionage classes. Speaking of educated and qualified employees… what is Kylie’s degree in, again?”

Cole clenched his jaw. We both knew Kylie didn't have a college education. She started as an intern and worked her way down below his belt, then up the company ladder, qualifications be damned.

Cole had blonde hair and a beard that made him look a little like Chris Hemsworth. I had always told him his hair looked best short, but he started growing it out when he met her. Kylie was the type of woman who treated a relationship like it was a process of breaking in a wild horse. In her mind, successfully dating somebody was like taming them and seeing how much influence you could exert on your partner.

Bleh. If you asked me, a relationship was about bringing out the best in your partner, not molding them as if they were a ball of clay.

"I'm not saying I need you to be a spy," he said carefully. "I just need you to keep an eye on things at Foster Real Estate. Maybe feed me some information now and then."

"Is that all?" I asked sweetly. "Just casual corporate espionage? No big deal?"

"Em—"

"How about you tell me why I would ever agree to this. Let's start there. Because I'm pretty sure I could lawyer up and go after your ass if you’re actually threatening to fire me over this."

"We don't need to make this dirty," he said, voice dropping to that warning tone I used to find sexy. Now it just made my skin crawl. "But I'm sure I could find a reason to fire you. The incident with Tucker, for example."

"Oh, come on," I complained. "That was funny. And no staplers were harmed in the prank. They were just... stickier. It's hardly a fireable offense."

"What about the time with Lauren?"

I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. Okay. That one had gotten slightly out of hand. I could admit that much. In my defense, she really shouldn't have eaten my clearly labeled lunch three days in a row.

The truth was, I didn't have the patience or the money to pursue legal action. That lack of money was exactly why I knew I would lower my standards and do whatever it took to keep my job, no matter how much it stung.

"I'll consider it," I said with a defeated sigh.

Cole's smile was predatory, even though I knew he was trying to look gracious. "That's all I ask."

Except it wasn't. The subtext to this conversation was that I was done at Northman Group, whether I accepted this job or not. Saying "yes" would just be a way to collect a few more paychecks while I tried to find new employment.

The phone on Cole's desk rang. He tapped the button, opening up the speaker line.

"Mr. Northman, Kylie is here to see you. She brought flowers."

Barf. He hates flowers.

Cole smiled. "Uh, just tell her to wait there for a minute."

He lifted his eyes to me like I was a shitstain on his brand-new carpet. "You need to go."

I gave Cole a sarcastic salute, stood, and happily left his office.

I smiled at his secretary on the way out and purposefully detoured in the direction that would bring me right past Kylie.

Yes, there was a time when I would have made sure to slip out without her seeing. I would have happily avoided causing a potential fight in their perfect little relationship. But today, I learned I was probably going to lose my job, even though I was damn good at it. If strolling past Kylie on my way out of Cole’s office made his day just a little worse, I could live with that.

"Hi, Kylie," I said, smiling and reaching for a handshake.

She was the type of woman who smiled to your face and poisoned your drinking water, so she flashed pearly whites and extended a limp hand toward me. I took her stupidly well-moisturized skin in mine, shook it around a little, and nodded toward the flowers she carried.

"Flowers, huh?" I asked.

Kylie was twenty-two, gorgeous, blonde, and she did things like "hot yoga."

I was thirty-three, pretty in the right lighting (so long as you squinted a little), brown-haired, and sometimes walked by "hot yoga" studios. I liked animals that were so ugly they were cute, rainy days, finding out exactly how casually I could manage to dress without getting in trouble, and peanut butter jelly sandwiches.

Kylie probably didn't even eat bread.

As far as I was concerned, that fact alone solidified her as an alien presence I could never relate to.

Bread was life. If I had to choose between men and bread, I would take bread. Every time.

"Everything okay?" Kylie asked. She was wearing a fake smile as she tilted her head. "You looked like you went to outer space for a second. And you shouldn't frown like that, Sweetie! You'll make that wrinkle worse." She gave the spot between my eyebrows a little boop.

I flinched.

I took a therapeutic moment to plot Kylie’s hypothetical murder, including how I would dispose of the body and get away with it. If my time watching crime drama and movies taught me anything, it was that body disposal was probably the most important step to successfully getting away with murder.

"There's a smile!" Kylie said, voice just oozing patronizing tones. She leaned closer. "If I age even half as gracefully as you, I'll be happy. And if not, that's why they invented plastic surgery! Right?”

"I need to go," I said. Before I start stabbing you with pens, I didn't say. "Oh, by the way. Good call on the flowers. I told you he loves those."

"Thanks for the tip, girl!" Kylie said, her fake smile fading just a little too fast as she turned and walked toward Cole's office.

"Guh," I breathed. Don't ask me what "guh" means, either. It was just the sound that came out of me as I walked back to my desk.

My office bestie, Kora, saw me coming and rushed over.

Kora was one of those aggressively pretty people who somehow made business casual look like runway fashion. Today she wore a cream-colored sweater dress that probably cost more than my rent, her dark curls artfully messy in that way that definitely took an hour to perfect. Most people assumed we were an odd match as friends—her being all polished elegance and me being... well, me. But beneath her intimidating exterior was the kind of woman who would help you bury a body while cracking jokes about proper excavation techniques. Which, given my recent murderous thoughts about Kylie, might actually come in handy.

"So?" she whispered. "How did it go?" She paused, eyes flicking up and down my body, taking in my disheveled state and defeated posture.

"I... see," she said. "So we're doing ice cream tonight?"

"Ice cream," I agreed. "And lots of plotting. We're gonna plot so hard."

"Ooh," Kora said, rubbing her hands together. "I love plotting. Revenge? Glow-up? Or... wait. Did you say plot or pot? Because I’ve never tried it, but I guess there’s a first time for everything. Wait… do you mean pot, like planting flowers? Because I’m down for that, too.”

“Plotting,” I said, smiling my best evil smile. “But we are going to get our hands dirty. That’s for sure.”

Kora’s smile was uncertain but eager. “Right… So I’m still not sure if we’re going to be working with plants, but I’m loving the energy either way!”

"Good," I said. "Because I’m going to do several stupid things all at once. But I think stupid works like negative numbers. As long as you combine the right amount of stupids, you wind up with a smart.”

Kora frowned and tapped her chin. “I… don’t know if it works that way, Em.”

“Well, we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

I would show Cole exactly who he was messing with. And if this Orion Foster guy was half the tyrant people said he was? Well, maybe he deserved whatever was coming to him, too.

36

ORION

Iwas exhausted. A recent hire had accidentally forwarded a private company email to a client—an email which didn’t paint us in the best light. I had spent a few hours on various phone calls trying my best to smooth things over, which meant completely missing dinner and fucking up my carefully ordered nighttime routine.

I spent a good deal of time and money making sure I knew how to optimize my body, and part of that was sticking to routines. Thankfully, I pre-portioned my meals and kept them in the fridge, so I would be eating late, but wouldn’t need to sacrifice nutrition.

It wasn't the first time I'd been grateful for my systems. They were like armor against the unpredictability of life, a shield against the disorder that had nearly broken me when Dad died.

I stifled a yawn as I slid my key into my apartment door. I tried to push it open, but something was in the way. I gave it a few shoves, but whatever was blocking it was solid and did not budge.

Frowning, I stuck my hand through the narrow opening and flicked on a light, which caused... sounds.

What the fuck?

I gave the door a more brutal shove and heard a thump.

"Ow, shit!" Somebody hissed.

I pushed my way in and found a dozen people in various states of sleep scattered across my pristine living room. Colton was the first to lift his head from his impromptu nap.

"Surprise!" he yawned.

"There are people in my apartment..." It was a statement more than a question. The last thing I wanted to see right now was people. My sanctuary had been invaded.

Everybody was rubbing their eyes, sitting up, and blinking through their sleepiness.

I spotted Remmy and my mom on the couch. That answered my next question. I was going to ask how they got inside, but of course my mother still had her key. A key that was supposed to be for emergencies only.

"Happy Birthday!" Remmy shouted. "Surprise!"

Ah. Of course. I had foolishly thought this was my lucky year when Remmy and mom hadn’t reached out asking for some sort of party today. I should have known better. "I hate surprises..." I said slowly.

"Oh, come on," Remmy said. "You love them. Remember how happy you were when we got you the cat?"

"I was not happy you got me a cat. He and I are still enemies," I said, though my voice softened slightly at the thought of my nemesis. As if he could understand me, Goblin made that weird, whispery meow of his and stalked into view.

Goblin was easily the world's ugliest cat. It wouldn't even be a competition. He was hairless, wrinkled, bug-eyed, and his paws all had an extra toe. He looked like something that had crawled out of a nuclear testing site and decided to make my life hell.

There may have been a secret, never-spoken-aloud kind of bond that had formed between us over the years as our quiet war of wills went on. But it was more of a grudging respect for a worthy enemy and less of the gushy love my sister expected me to feel for him.

I was still pissed that she had the audacity to surprise me with a pet. You didn't give people pets as a surprise. Pets were living creatures who needed to be cared for. She was just lucky I happened to bond with him. Sort of.

I glared at Goblin, who gave my leg a combative headbutt, as if he was promising this was only the beginning. Goblin wandered toward his litter box, leaving me with my unwelcome guests.

“Oh, come on, Orion,” Colton said. He was maybe the closest thing I had to a true friend. Colton was thirty-eight and traveled extensively for his work. He was a highly specialized expert in medical technology, and either flew to distant hospitals to fix million-dollar equipment or sell it. He was tall with a permanently serious expression and dark, wavy hair. “Even you can let loose every once and a while, right?”

“Let loose?” I asked, scanning my eyes around at the expectant faces. I took inventory of everyone Remmy had roped into this. I recognized three of her friends—Ruby, Celeste, and Ivy. All three were just as artsy as my sister but weird in their own ways. There were a couple of my mom’s friends, too. I spotted a handful of people from the office, and while I worked closely with them, I hardly counted them as friends.

The other eight or nine people were faces I recognized from various places but felt no particular attachment to. They were invaders in my space, disrupting my routine, contaminating my carefully controlled environment.

I was happy to stand there glaring, hoping they'd all feel awkward and decide to leave, but Remmy clapped her hands and smiled. "Alright, people! It's party time! Let's play Orion's favorite song."

Favorite song? I hardly even liked music, let alone⁠—

I sighed as "Bye, Bye, Bye" by N-Sync began blasting from a Bluetooth speaker. One time. I had hummed along to it one time while working late, and Remmy had never let me forget it.

I was tired as hell, and nobody seemed to be in a hurry to leave. Why should they? The assholes had all taken a power nap while I was working late.

My mom and Remmy had me cornered in the kitchen. I heard laughter and voices from the living room as people danced, probably scuffing my hardwood floors.

"Colton’s right, Orion. You could loosen up. It probably wouldn’t even kill you," my mom said. She was in her late fifties, still beautiful, and one of the few people in this world I used my manners around.

"Sorry," I said, folding my arms and glaring at Remmy.

"Don't be mad at your little sister!" Mom said, touching my arm. "You know she just wants to make you happy."

Remmy couldn't do wrong in mom's eyes. Then again, neither could I. She taught us the meaning of unconditional love, especially after dad passed. She was always putting us before herself in ways I hadn't seen at the time. When I looked back, I realized how much of a sacrifice it must have been for her. She had held herself together for us, and I always tried to remember that.

Maybe I didn't have the same compassion she did, but I ran Foster Real Estate a bit like my mom ran our family. I showed strength. I showed unwavering conviction at all times, and I trusted my subordinates to follow my lead. The number of Hate Notes I got each morning demonstrated that it wasn't exactly a tension-free method of operating, but our quarter-after-quarter growth said it worked where it mattered.

My employees could hate me if they wanted, but I paid them highly competitive wages and offered them steady employment. That was more than most CEOs could say.

"If Remmy wanted to make me happy, she could stop surprising me," I suggested.

"Admit it," Remmy said. "You love Goblin. I see the way you two look at each other. That's why I still surprise you. You don't even know what's best for you. So I take it upon myself to give it to you."

"Coming home to a bunch of people in my apartment instead of getting to sleep is what's best for me?" I asked.

"If it was up to you, you'd die alone," Remmy said, her voice taking on that edge that meant she was only half-joking.

"That's not true. What about Stephie?" I asked.

"Your fake girlfriend?" Remmy asked, smiling crookedly.

"What?" Mom asked, eyes flicking between the two of us.

Damn it. Remmy planned this. She knew I couldn't lie to mom. I sighed. "How long have you known?"

"Uh," Remmy said. "Since, like, forever? I saw you two together one time. And you looked like somebody had shoved a lemon so far up your ass you could taste it with your eyeballs."

My mom sputtered with laughter, composed herself, and gave Remmy a slight whack on the arm. "Remmy," she said without much conviction.

"I'm tired of hearing the speech," I said. "It's why I may have allowed you to think I was dating Stephie."

"Allowed me to think," Remmy asked, eyebrows rising. "You specifically told me you were dating. And when I literally asked you, 'so you're not just pretending this is a relationship to get me off your back,' do you remember what you said?"

I rubbed the back of my neck. "The details escape me at the moment."

"Bullshit," Remmy said. "You have a photographic memory, asshole."

"Be nice," mom said, but she was smiling.

"You said," Remmy continued, "'No, Remmy. It's real, and we're in love.' Love. You said that."

"Alright. So I got a little carried away trying to avoid your matchmaking efforts. Can you blame me?"

"Yes." Remmy stared into my eyes, face serious. She raised a finger and pointed to her face. "This is the face of me blaming you, by the way. Look familiar?"

"I don't have time to date," I said. "It's pretty simple. Women take time, and I don't have time to give them. Ask Goblin."

"You mean ask Goblin how sweet and loving you are when you get over your stupid, stubborn belief that you can't care about anything except work?"

"Orion cares about his girls," my mom said, hugging my side and smiling. "Me and you, Remmy. At least we get to see how sweet he can be."

"See?" I said.

Remmy shook her head. "Doesn't count. He's going to die alone if we don't push him, Mom."

"Oh, I know," she said.

"Hey," I said indignantly.

She looked up from her hug, smiling. "She is right, honey. I think you would date your company if you could. Not that it isn't a beautiful company. I just don't think you can make grandbabies with it for your sweet, patient, loving momma."

"Babies?" I laughed, though something in my chest tightened at the thought. "They're worse than interns. At least interns can perform some tasks with a degree of competence. What can a baby do?"

My mom closed her eyes in the long-suffering way of a mother who has failed her son. Remmy shook her head.

"Do you see, Mom? He's hopeless. He thinks babies don't make sense because he can't understand how they would benefit the company. How do you salvage a man like that?"

"He just needs to find the right woman," Mom said, patting my cheek. "Once you find the special someone, your body has a way of making the illogical seem logical and the crazy seem sane. Trust me, honey. He'll come around."

I thought about Dad, about how he'd worked himself to death trying to provide for us. About how I'd sworn I'd never let that happen to the people I cared about. But sometimes, late at night when even Goblin was asleep, I wondered if I was missing something—if there was more to life than… this.

But those thoughts were dangerous. They led to chaos. To weakness.

"If we're done with the intervention," I said, "I would like to get these people out of my house so I can get some rest. I have meetings in the morning."

And I needed time to restore order to my apartment. To erase all traces of this invasion and return to my carefully controlled routine.

It was safer that way. Simpler.

Even if sometimes, in moments like this with my family, I wondered if simple was really what I wanted after all.

This is the end of the sneak peak. If you want to keep reading, you can continue for free with Kindle Unlimited! Click here to keep reading>>

37

EMBER

Kora sat cross-legged on my couch with her phone in her lap. My cat, "Catman," was lurking behind her, plotting her demise. Catman was going for the world record as the oldest living cat, though he seemed to be approaching it through spite and stubbornness alone. He had been my parents' cat, and legend says he was their parents' cat before that. Some even claimed he existed before time itself began.

The only thing we knew for sure was that nobody remembered buying or finding Catman. They all just said he had been living in the house as long as they could remember, like some sort of ancient evil that came with the property deed.

Kora gave Catman a mistrustful look. "Stop looking at me like that, Catman. I know you're judging me."

He meowed in response, managing to sound both ancient and condescending at once. No matter how much I tried, he was always kind of greasy-looking. He was missing half of one ear and had stopped using one of his eyes a few years ago. I was pretty sure it still worked, but he just... closed it and never opened it again. The vet had been perplexed, and her official diagnosis was that he was "dramatically depressed." When I asked what that meant, she just shrugged and said "he's doing it for attention."

Wonderful. My cat was a drama queen.

"Focus," I said. "We were talking about what the hell I should do."

"Well," Kora said, setting her phone down to take a heaping spoonful of ice cream. She swallowed, then handed me the tub.

Kora would probably aggressively exercise these ice cream calories off. And me? Well… Calories were just energy, right? Some might say I could lose a few pounds, but me? I liked to see it as having an emergency storage supply of energy.

"I see a few options,” Kora said. “You could always do what he's asking. Infiltrate this dude's company. Sabotage him. Do such a good job that Cole realizes he made a mistake letting you go. You two have a dreamy reunion in the rain. Maybe you're wearing white, so he can totally see your nipples. They are hard enough to cut diamonds. His eyes fall to them, and he bites his lip, then you bite yours. You get on your knees, and then⁠—"

"No," I said, voice flat. "First of all, I've told you this before. I have camo nips. Same color as my skin. It's ridiculous, and nobody wants to see that."

"Your camo nips are awesome," Kora said. "I've seen them, and let me tell you, they are great. Lets your boobs do all the talking without two distracting blobs stealing the show."

“Mhm,” I said around a mouthful of icecream.

"At least you're not cursed with pepperoni nips like my cousin Janet."

"I don't want to know how you know about Janet's nipples."

"Family beach trip," Kora said with a shudder. "Some things you can't unsee."

I snorted ice cream up my nose, which was exactly as pleasant as it sounds. "Anyway," I said, wiping my face, "exactly zero percent of me wants back with Cole. I just... I wouldn't mind if he regretted dumping me for whats-her-name, but that's purely speaking from a place of spite. I'd rather eat a toenail than get back with him. There's wanting revenge on your ex because you secretly want him back, and then there's wanting revenge because you realized he's a piece of dick who deserves to get kicked in his metaphorical, human-sized dick nuts."

Kora raised an eyebrow at that, then shrugged. "The other option is you lawyer up on his ass. I'm pretty sure him asking you to do this infiltration bullshit breaks some kind of law. Probably several of them. They could put a wire on you, and boom. He's busted."

"Sure. I'll just hire lawyers with all the money I don't have. The plan is brilliant. Maybe they'll accept monopoly money? An IOU written in crayon? Look at my beautiful apartment if you really think I have money stashed away somewhere."

Kora didn't even have to move her head to look at my whole apartment. You could see the kitchen from my bed and everything else in the 132-square-foot studio apartment. The only thing you couldn't see was the bathroom. Yay for scraps of privacy.

"What about the police?" Kora asked.

"One, that's so lame. Two, I don't have the time to deal with it. If I'm getting fired by Cole soon, I need to make sure I've got another job lined up."

"So... What are you suggesting?" Kora asked.

"I’ve been scheming all afternoon and I think I’ve got the perfect plan. I'm going to get hired by this Mr. Foster guy like Cole wants. I'll even let Cole believe I'm planning to sabotage his rival. But in reality, I’m just seeing how long I can collect two salaries before Cole figures out what’s going on. Imagine his face when he finds out I duped him."

Kora smiled and clapped her hands. "Yesss. It's wicked. I love it. So you're just milking Cole's money while you get your foot in the door at your next job. He'll be so pissed when he finds out."

I smiled around a mouthful of ice cream, then paused and looked down at my pudgy belly. Hmm. I guess I was less of a "hit the gym and get the perfect beach bod" kind of ex and more of a "let's destroy his soul with my diabolical schemes" type. But my brilliant plan was way cooler than just getting a great body. Anybody could do that! In theory...

"So," Kora said, eyes narrowed. "How will you get a job working for Foster Real Estate? Isn't the boss kind of notoriously dickish?"

"Another dickish boss," I said thoughtfully. "Thankfully, I've already got experience handling dicks."

Kora burst out laughing as she raised two fists, pumped them in the air, and opened her mouth like she was really going at it.

"That's not what I meant at all," I sputtered.

"Hold on, they're almost done," she said, continuing to pump while making obscene slurping sounds.

I tossed a pillow at her as she fell back, accepting a phantom money-shot on her chest, which she pressed together to make a bigger target.

"You're ridiculous," I said, trying not to laugh. “Anyway, asshole bosses are all the same on the inside. Deep down, all they care about is obedience. They want fear, respect, submission, or a combination of all three. The real secret is not giving them any of it."

"Ohh," Kora said with a wiggle of her brows. "She's spitting wisdom, now."

"So," I continued, leaning forward. "You get your foot in the door, and then you drive them crazy by resisting. You show them you won't bend, break, or even tilt. It pisses them off, and they will put you in more and more important positions of responsibility. They'll think the weight of it will make you crack. But you just keep on resisting."

"What happens if you are the one who cracks?"

“They will crack first. Think about it,” I said, tapping my temple. “They call them assholes for a reason, right?" I asked. "Every asshole is hiding behind a massive crack. All you have to do is dig into it... to..." I trailed off, realizing the metaphor was both gross and not exactly applicable. My lips scrunched as I held back a smile.

"That's either some fortune cookie shit, or the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

"Thank you," I said, smiling around my spoon as I shoveled another bite into my mouth.

From his perch on the couch, Catman gave me his signature one-eyed look of judgment.

"What?" I asked him. "You got a better plan?"

His meow seemed to say "I've lived nine hundred years and that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

"Nobody asked you, you immortal drama queen."

The way he turned his back to me said everything.

At least I had ice cream.

And a plan.

Sort of.