“Wonderful, honey.” Vivien sat up, more awake now. “Weren’t you going to Jacksonville with Roman today?”
“I am,” she said, longing to get inside the bathroom. Her mother knew about the trip—but not about the apartment. Lacey wanted to make a decision before announcing the news to her. “I’ll handle it. It’s all good.”
“Then I’ll make you coffee and let you get ready in peace.” Her mother climbed out of bed and for a moment, Lacey considered sharing her dilemma.
But she was twenty-five. Regardless of the fact that she was bunking with her mother, at some point, she had to make life decisions alone, right? Especially one of this magnitude.
She smiled. “Thanks, Mom. I do want to look sensational for this one.”
Almost two hours later, Lacey was certain she’d pulled off sensational—in cream silk pants and a pale blue shell and matching sweater—as she spotted the entrance of one of the most beautiful venues in the whole 30A and Panhandle area.
The Tidewater Estate was set far back from the road, the long drive winding beneath live oaks draped in Spanish moss, the world growing quieter with every curve. The main house rose ahead like something out of a Southern novel—white brick, wide wraparound porches, tall columns standing proud against the morning sky.
Beyond it, the Gulf shimmered.
The place was big, but a walkthrough wouldn’t take more than an hour…right? She’d have some time to answer questions for the bride and groom, and zip back to Roman’s house by…she cringed.
Eleven-thirty. He said they had to leave by then to make the appointment, and they would.
She let out a breath, then checked her phone again anyway, as if time might suddenly jump forward without telling her. Ithadn’t. She still had room. She just needed everything to move efficiently.
Kendra Sharpe, the venue event coordinator, met her near the front steps right on time, polished and composed in a navy sheath dress, hair swept back in a low, professional knot. She had the cool, competent air of someone who had walked this property hundreds of times and never once worried about how long it took.
“Morning,” Kendra said warmly. “They should be here any minute.”
“Perfect,” Lacey replied, giving her best calm smile as they exchanged niceties about the property, the weather, the wedding…and time ticked.
Right before nine, a sleek black sedan pulled up the drive. Punctual—thank goodness.
Rachel Fairchild stepped out first, tall and graceful, her dress understated but unmistakably expensive—linen, maybe silk, something that moved beautifully when she walked.
Sebastian Crawford followed, equally composed, tailored slacks, pressed button-down, shoes that probably were handmade in Italy. They looked like people who belonged in places like this. People who were used to being impressed—and unimpressed.
People who didn’t rushanything.
Lacey straightened her shoulders as introductions were made, moreendlesspleasantries were exchanged, and finally they began walking, letting Kendra do her spiel.
From the start, the questions came quickly—and thoroughly.
Sebastian wanted to know about operations. Valet parking options. Guest arrival timing. Vendor access points. How many shuttle buses could fit on the drive at once?
Rachel, meanwhile, slowed at every turn, taking in the space. She asked about how guests wouldfeelmoving from ceremonyto cocktail hour. Where the light would be at sunset. How the sound of the Gulf carried on still evenings.
All legitimate concerns for any six-figure event, Lacey reminded herself.
Kendra fielded most of the questions, with Lacey chiming in on wedding planning logistics, stressing their capability to keep things moving, anticipate problems, and know how to solve them.
Every few minutes, she surreptitiously checked her open tablet screen to see the time flying by.
They reached the gardens, and, whoa, things got slow.
Rachel drifted from one plant to the next, phone out, taking photo after photo—close-ups of blooms, wide shots of the lawn sloping toward the Gulf, finding angles no professional photographer had probably considered.
She crouched. She stood. She circled back and took the same picture again from a slightly different perspective. And, goodness, shedrawledon and on with her sweet Carolina accent and her careful, deliberate moves.
“Oh, this would be stunning,” Rachel murmured. “Just stunning.”
Sebastian powered on about logistics.
