Sure enough, there’s a broken-down vehicle surrounded by people and musical equipment. Relief floods through me as Jace expertly guides Scarlett into the marina, the crisis finally within reach of being solved.
11
PARKER
The bridal suite smells like a perfume bomb exploded in a flower shop. Rochelle has the other bridesmaids lined up like soldiers, adjusting bustles and checking lipstick with military precision, while Sienna sits in front of an ornate mirror looking radiant and slightly overwhelmed. The air is thick with the competing scents of hairspray, vanilla body lotion, and at least six different perfumes that shouldn’t exist in the same zip code.
“Parker, come here,” Madison calls, waving a tube of mascara like a weapon. “Your lashes need another coat.”
The silk of my bridesmaid dress—a deep emerald that cost more than my monthly rent—clings to my skin in the humidity. My hair sits pinned in an elaborate updo that took an hour to achieve and feels like it weighs ten pounds. I love them. I do. But I need air. Space to think without someone telling me how to breathe or critiquing the angle of my blush application.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, slipping toward the French doors that lead to the terrace. “Just need a minute.”
“Don’t mess up your hair!” Rochelle calls after me, her voice cutting through the chatter of six women in various states of wedding preparation.
The gardens sprawl behind the hotel in manicured perfection—all crushed shell pathways and ancient live oaks draped in Spanish moss that filters the late afternoon sun into golden coins of light. The air out here tastes clean, salt-sweet from the harbor, a relief after the chemical cocktail upstairs. Gravel crunches softly under my heels as I follow the sound of water toward the fountain—a massive thing imported from some Italian villa, all carved cherubs and flowing water that catches the light like liquid diamonds.
And there’s Cal.
He stands with his back to me, still in his morning clothes instead of his groomsman attire—khaki pants that fit him like they were tailored to his body, a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms corded with muscle. His sandy blond hair, usually perfectly tousled, looks like he’s been running his hands through it. For once, he’s not performing for anyone. No audience to charm. No energy to project.
He looks... tired. Human in a way that catches me off guard.
The late afternoon sun cuts through the oak canopy, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. He flips a coin into the water—the sound is a soft plunk that gets swallowed by the fountain’s constant murmur. His shoulders are broader than I remember, filling out the cotton of his shirt in ways that make my mouth go dry.
“Making a wish?” I ask, stepping closer on the crushed shell path.
He turns, and that trademark grin slides into place like a mask he’s worn so long it’s become part of his face. But it doesn’t quite reach his amber eyes, which look darker in the dappled light. “Princess. Escaping the chaos?”
“Something like that.” I settle beside him on the fountain’s wide marble edge, careful with my dress. The stone is warm from the sun, heated through the silk to my skin. “What about you? Thought crowds were your natural habitat.”
“They are.” He turns a coin over in his fingers—a quarter, worn smooth at the edges like it’s been handled countless times. His hands are tan, long-fingered, with a thin scar across his right knuckle that I remember from when he punched a tree in high school over something stupid. “Doesn’t mean I don’t need to recharge sometimes.”
Up close, I can smell his cologne—something expensive and dark with notes of cedar and bergamot that seems to curl around me in the humid air. There’s something different about him today. The usual easy confidence is there, but underneath it sits something rawer. More real. The kind of vulnerability he usually hides behind jokes and that devastating smile.
“Heard you and Jace played hero this morning,” he says, voice casual, but his eyes are watching my face with uncomfortable intensity. “Saved Sienna’s perfect day.”
“Crisis management. It’s what I do.” I smooth my hands over the silk of my skirt, the fabric cool and slippery under my palms.
“Mmm.” His amber eyes study my face like he’s trying to read something written in a language he’s still learning. “Must have been some conversation on that boat.”
My pulse kicks up, and I can feel it in my throat, my wrists, behind my eyes. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you both came back looking like you’d been through something.” He leans back against the fountain, casual as breathing, but his gaze never wavers. The movement makes his shirt pull tight across his chest. “The kind of something that changes things.”
I don’t answer, focusing instead on the way the water catches the light, sending ripples of gold and silver across the surface. The fountain bubbles between us, filling the silence with white noise that somehow makes everything feel more intimate, like we’re sealed in our own private world.
“Can I tell you something?” he asks finally, voice softer now.
“Do I have a choice?”
His laugh is sharp, humorless, cutting through the afternoon air like broken glass. “You always have a choice with me, angel. That’s the problem.”
Before I can ask what he means, he’s holding up the quarter. In the golden light, I can see it’s old, worn, the edges smooth from years of handling. “I’ve carried this for six years. Same coin. Never spent it.”
“Why?”
“Insurance policy.” He flips it, the silver catching the light as it spins through the air. He catches it without looking, muscle memory. “Reminder of a promise I made to myself.”
