Even though you could just tell her how youfeel
I look at her sleeping face. The way her breathing is slow and even. The way she’s completely relaxed against me.
She knows. Maybe not all of it yet. But she knows.
Almardon
You’re a better man than me
I know
Almardon
Shut up
I pocket my phone and let my head rest against the window. Juliette shifts against me, making a small sound in her sleep. Her fingers tighten around mine.
Even unconscious, she’s holding onto me.
Yeah. I’m completely in love with her.
Terrified. Hopeful. And more sure of this than I’ve been of anything in my entire life.
Three more days. We have three more days of this wedding, of pretending that’s not really pretending anymore, of sleeping in the same bed and trying not to cross lines we’re both desperate to cross.
And then Monday we fly home and figure out if any of this survives real life.
I’m not ready to think about Monday yet.
For now, I’m just going to sit here with her sleeping on my shoulder and her hand in mine and pretend I’m not absolutely terrified of losing this.
Back at the hotel,we’re barely through the door when Juliette’s phone buzzes.
“Olivia’s having a crisis,” she says, staring at her phone.
“Does she need help?”
She shows me the screen. Where Olivia is scream-typing in caps about the favor bags not being done for the rehearsal dinner
“I’ll come too,” I say immediately. No way I’m letting her deal with stressed-bride Olivia alone after the day we’ve had.
“You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sitting on the floor of Olivia and Owen’s suite, surrounded by what looks like a craft store explosion. Tiny bags, maple leaf shaped candies, ribbons in ivory and gold, little tags with all the wedding details printed on them.
“Assembly line,” Olivia directs, only slightly manic. “Owen, you’re on candy duty—five per bag. Jules, you tie the ribbons. Rodriguez, you can attach the tags. I’ll do quality control.”
“Quality control means she redoes half of what we do,” Owen says quietly to me.
“I heard that!”
We fall into a rhythm. Owen counting candies with the focus of someone defusing a bomb. Juliette’s fingers working the ribbons into perfect bows. Me trying to attach tags without destroying them. Olivia hovering and occasionally swooping in to “fix” something.
I watch Juliette work. She’s different with her sister—less guarded, quicker to laugh. When Olivia starts telling a story about their childhood dog, Juliette actually snorts with laughter. The sound is so unexpected and genuine that I nearly drop the tag I’m holding.
“What?” she asks, catching me staring.
