Tension you can feel in your molars.
The bride and groom not looking at each other.
The best man practically confessing his heart in front of the crème Brulé.
Not ideal.
You can prepare for weather changes. You can carry extra safety pins and stain remover and a backup steamer and a backup-backup steamer. But you cannot pack an emergency kit for “unrequited love detonates in the middle of the toast.”
I felt the awkwardness crawl up my spine, curl around my neck, and whisper,good luck with the rest of the evening, sweetheart.
I straightened my tablet like it was armour and told myself it was going to be fine.
Everything was fine.
Totally fine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time the last guest wandered off to their suite, the terrace was like the aftermath of a very glamorous battle, half-empty wine glasses glinting, wrinkled napkins slumped in surrender, candles burning low.
“That went well,” Noah said while stacking the chairs.
“Well?” I said, grabbing a few abandoned menus. “No one cried, fainted, or set fire to a floral arrangement. That’s a resounding success in my line of work.”
He gave me a sideways look, amused.
The night air was cooler now, tinged with the smell of cut grass and wine. Somewhere out in the vines, frogs were starting up their midnight chorus.
I leaned against one of the tables, watching Noah work. “That speech from Ethan…”
“…was something,” he finished, lips twitching.
“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Something awkward.”
We both laughed, the kind that comes when you’re too tired to care and too relieved to stop.
And that’s when I heard it. An angry voice carried up from the garden.
Noah paused mid-stack, his head tilting slightly.
“That’s James.”
I nodded, heart suddenly thudding. “And the other one?”
We both knew before he said it.
“Ethan.”
My eyes widened before I could stop myself, the memory of Ethan’s speech flashing back, that pause, the way James’s jaw had set like concrete.
Noah caught my look instantly. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
“That we’re about to witness the first-ever rehearsal-dinner brawl in Langston’s history?”
“Something like that.”
The voices carried up to us again, sharp, too close. Not the polite kind of disagreement that people have when they’re aware of other ears. This had that clipped, angry rhythm that only comes from something real.
