She stops in front of me, her kohl-lined eyes locking onto mine in a way that makes my stomach clench.
“I found it,” she says, her voice low and smooth.
She lifts the baby-chick yellow gown with reverence. Silver rings adorn nearly every finger and clink together like chimes as she touches the airy fabric.
“The powder blue is for the bride.This”—she raises the yellow gown a little higher—“is yours.”
I try to thank her, but my mouth is dry.
The way she’s watching me feels…off. It’s like she’s not simply seeing me. She’s reading me. Every thought. Every secret.
A chill tickles my back, and I wrap my arms around my middle.
Her gaze flicks to Alder, then back to me. A knowing smile curves her lips.
“Such strange energy in the air today,” she muses, almost to herself, her eyes narrowing slightly as she traces a pattern in the air with her fingers. “I felt it the moment you walked in.” She steps closer, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. “You’re standing at a crossroads, dear. Becareful which way you turn.”
Her eyes hold mine, and it feels like she’s waiting for me to say a thought she already sees swirling inside my head.
“Thank you?”
I take the dress and nod numbly, retreating into the dressing room with the new outfit and the singed ends of my ponytail. My fingers tremble as I pull off the too-tight wedding dress, the fabric sticking to my skin like a Band-Aid.
“Two things!” Amanda’s voice buzzes through the phone, sharp and urgent. “One, I am so happy you didn’t go up in flames. I’m way too old to find a new best friend. Two…” She leans closer to the screen, eyes wide. “Did I just hearAlder Fucking Hawke?”
I groan. “Yeah, yeah you did.”
Amanda’s brows shoot up so high they practically disappear beneath her bangs.
I hang Mackenzie’s dress on the hook, my heart still hammering. “What the hell is he even doing here? This is a bridal boutique not a…a—”
“Corporate boardroom? Offshore tax haven? Or, I don’t know, a fucking villain’s lair?”
My laugh comes out shaky. “Exactly.”
Amanda’s eyes narrow. “Hand him the phone.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, chin tilted at an angle that means she’s ready to throw hands. And this wouldn’t be the first time she’s torn into him via FaceTime. Amanda’s been my best friend since our first soul-crushing corporate retreat in our early twenties, back when we were both fresh-faced assistants at the publishing house. She may live in New York, but she’s had front-row seatsto every adult version of me—including the Alder years.
Shaking my head, I pick up the phone. I can’t let her do that again. Not when my own emotions are violently rattling around inside me, already unraveling everything I’ve tried so hard to hold together.
“I have to go.”
“Gem—”
“I’ll call you later.”
Before she can protest further, I hang up.
I press my back against the satin-covered wall and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the storm raging in my chest. But it’s useless.
The icy weight of his gaze. The way my name drips from his lips like a prayer. The smirk that told me he already knew I’d be back.
Six months ago I walked away from Alder Hawke. Now I am back in South Carolina standing dead center in a past I never fully let go of.
I clear my throat, flexing my fingers, willing them to stop shaking as I fumble with the zipper of the correct dress.
My hands are too unsteady, my body too hot, my mind too full ofhim.
