“They couldn’t have all been bad,” Finn cajoled. “Surely there was someone there who liked you for your sparkling personality.”
I looked up at him. “Is there something you need from me?”
“I just wanted to see how you were.”
“All of you need to stop treating me like I’m some sort of invalid,” I snapped, knowing I was being too harsh but unable to stop it. “I don’t need a girlfriend, because she’s just going to distract me, and you and my family are doing quite enough of that.”
Finn was silent for a moment.
“Sorry. I just need to get some work done,” I told him lamely.
He patted me on the shoulder.
For all my misplaced ire, I still couldn’t concentrate after Finn left. Normally, over the last couple of years, when I was having trouble concentrating, my thoughts turned to that night when my world had ended. But now? Now all I could think about was Brea.
Why had she shown me that picture?
* * *
Over the next few days,I barely accomplished anything on my to-do list. I had trouble sleeping. I spent hours scrolling through Brea’s Instagram feed. I had no idea how anyone could post thousands of pictures, but there they were—usually her modeling or displaying something she had sewn. By the time I finally started to calm back down, it was time for yet another wedding-planning meeting.
Of course Wes had flaked out. I was regretting agreeing to be the best man, especially when I saw the long wood table in the Weddings in the City office covered with a dizzying array of paint swatches, pictures of flowers, fabric swatches, and a small-scale model of the Holbrook estate ballroom.
I felt nauseous. That was where it had happened, when my whole family had almost died, and it was all my fault.
“I can’t stay long,” I told Liz after greeting her.
“Why? Do you have another speed-dating extravaganza to attend?” Brea interjected.
“You went to speed dating?” Liz exclaimed. “I’ve done those before. The men are usually weirdos.”
Brea snickered.
“But you’re not a loser, Mark,” Liz added.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
“Since you’re supposed to be the stand-in for everyone’s favorite Holbrook,” Brea drawled and gestured to a plan of the Holbrook estate grounds, “how do you feel about having the ceremony on the terrace? The other alternative is to set it up out in the gardens.”
I tried to focus past the anxiety about having to go back to the Holbrook estate. Over the last year and a half, my mother had been in charge of organizing the rebuilding effort after the fire, but I had refused to visit the property.
Don’t think about it. You can come up with some excuse not to be there.
But I would have to be there for the wedding.
There will be alcohol. Anything can be withstood with alcohol.
“I’m not sure if we should put the open bar here or here,” Brea said, pointing to two locations on the site plan. “It could really change the flow of the whole space. What do you think, Mark?”
I shook myself. “I—sorry, what was the question?”
Brea gave me a smug look. Suddenly it all made sense.
“While he gets that big brain going, I need a restroom break,” Liz said, standing up.
“I’ll show you where the powder room is,” Ivy said, leading her away.
As soon as they were gone, I turned to Brea, eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to make me quit,” I hissed at her.
