“Portia!” Sasha beamed. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“You, too. You clean up almost too well for daylight.”
She laughed. “Don’t tell the after-dark crowd. I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
Isabel leaned in. “This place is dreamy, isn’t it? Ryker always says Verandelle reminds him of old money, but I think it just reminds him of croissants.”
I smiled. “You’re not wrong.”
The brunch was in full swing now. Will Harper, Ryker’s best friend and Isabel’s brother, stood near the fountain with two of the Dominion Hall guys, laughing over something that looked suspiciously like wedding-themed poker cards. Pia had gathered a small crowd by the lavender pots, demonstrating some sort of champagne-saber technique she definitely wasn’t qualified to perform. And Anna’s parents, Alexey and Irina, sat at a corner table dressed like a diplomatic envoy, watching the festivities with polite detachment.
Near the main table, Hallie Mae’s mother, Leanne Calhoun, dabbed her eyes with a cloth napkin while talking quietly to Vivienne. I made my way toward her, slower than usual, my chest tightening. Monte caught my eye from across the courtyard and gave me a small nod.
“Portia,” Leanne said when she saw me. “This is beautiful. Thank you.”
“I didn’t organize today, but I’m glad it’s going well.”
“It’s just …” she pressed the napkin again, voice cracking, “I keep thinking about him. He would’ve loved this. All the flowers. The old-world charm.”
“Your husband?” I asked softly.
She nodded. “He was supposed to walk her down the aisle.”
I felt my throat close. “I’m so sorry.”
“She’s strong, our Hallie Mae. She gets that from him.”
I reached out and squeezed her hand. “And from you.”
She smiled through her tears. “You’re kind. I just want to make it through the day without embarrassing myself.”
“You’re allowed to cry,” I said. “This is what love looks like, too.”
The rest of the brunch flowed with gentle energy—laughing toasts, clinking glassware, spontaneous piano renditions. Monte checked in with the Danes’ security detail, Bea subtly managed asnafu with a delivery truck, and I floated through the event like a wraith in designer heels, smiling, nodding, absorbing.
But the truth was, I didn’t feel like myself.
Because no matter how many charming guests I greeted or champagne flutes I raised, a part of me was still back in that guest suite. On that bed. Wrapped in arms I shouldn’t crave.
Silas.
I hadn’t seen him since yesterday. No texts. No smirking glances. And I had no idea what we were now.
What it meant.
Maybe it had meant nothing to him. Maybe it had meant too much to me.
I closed my eyes for a second, breathing in the lavender, the laughter, the moment.
I was here to plan six weddings, not fall apart under the weight of stolen kisses.
Keep it together, I told myself.
Then, I saw him.
Silas stood near the back of the courtyard, beside a tall wrought-iron trellis twined with jasmine and roses. He wasn’t alone.
The woman he was talking to was laughing—head tilted back, hand on her hip, mouth painted in something glossy and coral. She was shorter than me by a good half-foot, all soft curves and sun-glow. Light skin, big breasts practically spilling out of her floral dress, thick thighs hugged by ruffled fabric that didn’t even try to pretend at subtlety. Her voice floated over to me, syrupy and warm, and whatever she was saying made Silas’s mouth twitch into a half-smile.
