And maybe that was the real problem.
Some part of him had never stopped dreaming.
Finally, Blaze set his glass down then pulled his phone from his pocket and texted a message.
Ryan grinned immediately. “Oh, this about to be good.”
Blaze ignored him and MacKenzie’s satisfied smirks.
His thumb hovered briefly over the screen.
See you soon. ~ Blaze
He hit Send. Then leaned back slowly. His pulse immediately became irritatingly aware of itself.
Ryan barked out a laugh. “About damn time.”
Blaze shrugged and looked toward the front windows again. Toward Main Street, the ocean beyond it, and the life he once thought he had lost.
And for the first time in a long time… hope felt dangerous again.
Chapter3
Johanna Bennett officially hated weddings. Not marriage. Not love. Just weddings. Or more specifically, Beaumont weddings.
Because Beaumont weddings weren't normal celebrations, they were high-budget emotional warfare wrapped in imported silk, luxury florals, and enough family drama to fuel an entire reality television franchise.
By nine o'clock Tuesday morning, Johanna stood in the center of the grand ballroom inside the Beaumont Hotel staring at a floral arrangement taller than her future and seriously reconsidering every decision that had led her to this moment.
“Why are there lemons?” Bianca Beaumont demanded.
The florist blinked nervously. “Because Ms. Sedona requested Italian coastal elegance.”
Bianca looked one inconvenience away from diving headfirst into the Atlantic Ocean. “She requested champagne gold yesterday.”
“Now she wants Amalfi Coast romance,” the florist explained.
“Tomorrow she'll probably want live swans and Andrea Bocelli.”
Johanna pressed her lips together hard enough to hurt because laughing in Bianca's face felt professionally irresponsible.
Barely.
Morning sunlight poured through towering floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean, bathing the ballroom in soft gold and illuminating the chaos in expensive detail. White orchids overflowed crystal vases. Linen samples draped across chairs like abandoned couture gowns. Seating charts coveredevery available surface, while half-empty champagne glasses sat beside laptops, floral catalogs, and color palettes with names like Whispered Pearl and Coastal Ivory.
The Beaumont Hotel always looked breathtaking. Marble floors gleamed beneath massive chandeliers, and the faint scent of orchids drifted through the air. Wealth lived in every polished detail.
Today, however, the place felt less like a luxury resort and more like a pressure cooker in designer heels. Every vendor within three states was fighting for the chance to work Sedona Beaumont's wedding. The ceremony wasn't until summer, but that hadn't slowed the madness. If anything, it had made things worse.
For months, wedding planners, designers, florists, caterers, and event companies had been practically campaigning for the opportunity to land one of the most visible weddings on the East Coast. Beaumont weddings routinely appeared in bridal magazines, luxury blogs, and social media feeds. Being selected as a vendor could transform a business overnight.
Florists had practically entered battle royale territory. Two wedding planners had already quit. One allegedly cried in the lobby before leaving.
And somehow Bianca, head of marketing for the Beaumont Hotel brand and apparently a volunteer glutton for punishment, had stepped in to help screen vendors, coordinate logistics, and keep the entire operation from collapsing beneath the weight of its own expectations.
Bianca wasn't a wedding planner. She was a marketing strategist who routinely orchestrated luxury events, celebrity appearances, and magazine-worthy campaigns. Unfortunately for everyone involved, that made her the most qualified person in the building to manage the vendor circus surrounding Sedona's wedding.
“Mary Johanna.”
