The thought should make me happy.
It doesn’t.
And the one behind the camera—
“Beautiful, Bailey. Just gorgeous.”
I know that voice.
Marilyn Yuson lowers the camera and beams at me.
Marilyn. My high school bully. The woman who walked into this very studio with a designer engagement ring and a smile that saidI remember exactly who you are, and isn’t this fun?
That Marilyn is now the photographer.
And I’m the bride.
What is happening?
I reach for my phone. It’s in my hand somehow, tucked against my palm like I was holding it before I arrived. The screen lights up and I see a photo.
A man.
My lock screen is a photo of a man with his arm around me, and we’re both smiling, and he’s—
He’s beautiful.
But not like Devyn.
Devyn is sharp edges and golden predator eyes. This man is...softer. Warmer. Thick blond hair that catches the light like wheat in summer. Hazel eyes with laugh lines at the corners. Features that are elegant but approachable—the kind of face that makes you feel safe, not seen through.
He looks like the hero of a different kind of story. The steady one. The kind one. The one who stays.
He looks familiar.
Very familiar.
My breath catches. My hand trembles so badly the phone nearly slips from my grip.
I swipe through my messages with shaking fingers. Texts between me and this man. This man who calls me “my love” and “sweetheart” and signs his messages with a simple “P.”
P.
His contact name.
Paul Theodore.
I nearly drop the phone.
Paul Theodore. As in...the mysterious detective fromOlympus Bewitched?The book I’ve listened to a hundred times? The hero I’ve swooned over since the first chapter, when Blair called him Mr. Handsome and I completely understood why?
ThatPaul Theodore?
I look at the photo again. The golden hair. The hazel eyes. The elegant, approachable frame.
It’s him. It’s definitely him.
And apparently...he’s my fiancé.
