I scoff. “What? Romance and love?” I interrupt with that bitter tone I keep trying not to let out.
Our gazes lock.
“It would seem so.”
A heavy weight charges the air. I should say no again. I should shut this down before I get pulled back under. Being around him, talking about romance, about forever, is the last thing I need when I’m carrying this secret.
But maybe if I help him quickly, he’ll leave quickly. And once he’s ready to leave and all the lights and cameras roll off the ranch, I’ll tell him about the baby.
“Strictly professional?” I ask.
He nods slowly, finally stepping back. “Of course.”
“Okay.”
He nods. “Do you mind walking me around the venue? Do you have some videos or pictures from previous weddings?”
“Yeah. But we’re not copying anything I’ve already done. We’ll make it unique. First though, we have some things to go over, so let’s walk the venue.” I move toward the hall, desperate for distance.
“Lead the way.”
I don’t know what the hell I’ve just agreed to. Alone time with Zander Shaw is dangerous, but I need to keep reminding myself that he isn’t who I thought he was.
Chapter Eleven
Zander
I step into The Knotted Barn and scan the space. Romy’s nowhere in sight.
I’ve deliberately kept out the crew. This video is the first I’m co-directing. I want it to be entirely my vision, but even that’s a risk. Since I’m going to be in front of the camera, I’ve brought on Jack, who I’ve worked with before, to help as the other co-director. Still, if it fails, it’s on me… He might be helping me execute, but I’m in charge of the direction we’re going, and it’ll be my vision everyone sees on-screen.
A loud crash rings out from somewhere in the back.
“Son of a bitch.” Romy’s voice carries through the quiet.
I follow the noise, my heart thudding with concern. There’s an open door I haven’t noticed before.
“Romy?” I call, stepping in.
“Yeah… shit… in here.”
The room is packed tight with wedding décor. There’re arches, chairs, and floral pieces scattered around.
“Be careful!” she calls from somewhere behind a stack of archways. They’re all stained different colors and etched with unique designs. “I do not need you spraining an ankle or getting some gash on your forehead.”
I find her sitting on a table, sucking on her finger, glaring at a jagged nail sticking out of one of the arches.
“You okay?”
“It’s nothing. Just a cut. Someone didn’t take out a nail, and it cut me.” She yanks her finger away from her mouth, inspecting the blood that’s still pooling.
“Let me see.” I hold out my hand.
“I’m fine,” she says quickly, standing before I reach her. “I just need a Band-Aid.”
She moves past me, still nursing her finger, winding through the room as though she’s mastered the chaotic labyrinth. I follow close on her heels.
She stops abruptly outside the bathroom door and points at the frosted glass with Women’s stamped in bold black letters on it.
