CHAPTER ONE 

Rosie

Some girls get fairy-tale weddings. I got viral headlines, a ruined career, and a fake husband who’s six-feet-four-inches of sin in cleats.

* * *

“Okay, next.”

The ultra capable wedding planner checked her stopwatch and sent the final bridesmaid to do her walk.

“Straight up the steps and across the hallway to the ballroom doors,” she said, repeating the same marching orders she’d given to each of my attendants.

There were a lot of them.

All of them drop-dead gorgeous and handpicked by Randy, my groom, to fit the aesthetic he wanted for our wedding.

The women probably thought they were auditioning for a role in his next feature film—and they might have been right.

“Slow down,” the wedding planner called after the leggy brunette. “It’s a wedding processional, not the runway.”

The planner, whose name was Olivia, pointed to my maid of honor and best friend Danielle, the only bridesmaid I’d chosen for myself.

She actually smiled at her.

“Get ready, honey.”

Danielle nodded and turned to me, grabbing my hands and whisper-squealing. “I can’t believe you’re about to be Randy Ryland’s wife!”

“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling like I was in a daze. I couldn’t believe it myself.

It had all happened so fast. I’d met him six months ago, and in that time we’d shared one movie shoot, fourteen nights at his house in the Hollywood Hills, and the most public of public proposals.

Of course I’d said yes.

Now I was about to walk down the aisle and marry my co-star, who was also the producer of our upcoming film—my very first.

Randy had plucked an absolute nobody out of obscurity and made my acting dreams come true. Now he was about to make me his wife.

I’d never stop being grateful that he’d given me my first big break—and that he’d been there for me during one of the most difficult seasons of my life.

Danielle wiggled her fingers from my involuntary deathgrip and gave me a concerned look.

“You okay? Are you thinking about your mom?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m actually glad she’s not here. She would have absolutely hated this whole circus.”

Now Danielle’s forehead creased even more, and her eyes grew serious.

“So what’s the matter? You have that look on your face that you only get when you’re kind of freaking out,” she said. “You don’t have to do this, you know… if you’re not sure.”

“Right.” I giggled nervously, though nothing felt the slightest bit amusing at the moment.

“I’ll just stroll into a mansion ballroom filled with five hundred of Hollywood’s biggest stars and most powerful directors and producers and tell them I’ve changed my mind,” I said. “No biggie.”

“Uh oh,” Danielle’s eyebrows lifted to her auburn hairline.

“I’m fine,” I assured her. “I can do this.”

The concern on her face doubled. “But do you want to?”

“Time to go,” Olivia announced.

Danielle and I shared a long look before I nodded again, working hard to keep from hyperventilating.

“My feet are just a teensy bit cold. I’ll be fine.” I gave her a big smile. “Go, go.”

Danielle left the room, tossing one last worried glance over her shoulder.

Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I pictured her entering the ballroom and walking slowly down the long aisle lined with blooming crepe myrtle trees.

I’d seen the room earlier when it was empty. By now it would be packed with designer-clad bodies and unnaturally youthful faces, most of whom I didn’t know.

Randy was the one who knew everyone, so he’d been in charge of the invitations, inviting a who’s who of the Hollywood scene. The fact they’d traveled all the way to the East coast for this event demonstrated his popularity and power in the industry.

As I had no family left and a small number of real friends, his insistence on handling the guest list had been fine with me.

Still, I was nervous. Very nervous.

It was probably just the public speaking thing.

Delivering well-rehearsed lines on camera? I could do that all day.

Speaking live in front of a crowd of hundreds? Not my favorite.

In fact, utterly terrifying. I’d begged Randy for a small ceremony.

I took another deep breath and closed my eyes, counting to four on the inhale and holding it at the top as the grief counselor had taught me to do whenever it felt like I was about to fly apart.

On the exhale, I repeated the mantra I’d been saying to myself since we’d boarded the plane to Eastport Bay, Rhode Island.   

You’ll be fine. You know your vows. You’ve practiced them. Everything else is just a yes or no answer. Imagine you’re on set, and all those people in there are extras.

Olivia checked the running timer again and spoke into her headset as if directing troops on the battlefield.

“It’s go time. Cue the orchestra to start the bride’s processional music.”

Then her expression morphed from her usual I got this smile to a WTF? grimace.

“What?” she gasped into the microphone.

“What?” I echoed, tottering closer to her on the torturous stilettoes the stylist had picked out for me.

Clearly Olivia had heard something alarming through her earpiece. Something was wrong.

So why did that sudden floaty sensation in my chest feel a little like hope?

Olivia held up a finger as she continued to listen to whatever was being said on the other end. Then her eyes came up to meet mine.

For the first time since I’d met her, they contained something other than total confidence.

It looked like… pity.

And then the dauntless facade slid back into place. Olivia gave me a strained smile before speaking in an extra-calm voice.

“Everything’s fine,” she said.

The smile grew a little more strained and a lot less believable. “It’s being… handled. It’ll only take a moment.”

Handled? Was that a normal wedding planner term? Because as far as I knew, the only thing you handled was a problem.

“Is there a problem?” I asked. “Did Randy not show up?”

That odd floaty feeling got even floatier, threatening to carry me to one of those altitudes that made people pass out.

Olivia was speaking into her microphone again. “Yes, just tell them to hold off on the bride’s processional and keep playing the movie score until you hear back from me. I’m coming up.”

To me she said, “Oh no, honey, he’s here. Don’t worry about a thing.”

But a bead of sweat trickled from her neat hairline to form a trail down one temple. And the strained smile had turned her face into one of those brightly painted sugar skulls from Dia de los Muertos, minus the flowers and glitter.

Something was definitely wrong.

My acting classes had trained me to portray pretty much every human emotion you could imagine on cue, so I was good at reading facial expressions and body language.

This unflappable woman was seriously flapped.

Reading between the lines, I asked, “Is he having second thoughts?”

She didn’t answer the question directly. “Just a teensy delay. An unexpected guest. Everything’s fine. Don’t worry honey.”

Gripping her clipboard like it was a parachute and she’d just been told to jump out of a plane, Olivia turned to leave the dressing room.

“Please wait here. I’ll be right back. Just stay here okay?” she said before closing the door firmly behind her.

What was going on?

What kind of last-minute guest could cause this kind of delay? Did Randy know the Pope or something?

I blew out a breath, pacing the dressing room in the mansion’s lower level. My feet hurt already, and I’d only had these stupid heels on for thirty minutes. I was going to be crippled by the end of the reception.

If it even happened.

Screw waiting. I had to see what was happening for myself.

If the wedding planner was up there applying a blowtorch to my groom’s icy feet… I needed to know about it.

Leaving the dressing room, I rushed—to the best of my ability in the enormous dress and cruel stilettos—up the stairs and into Bellevue Manor’s opulent entry hall area outside the ballroom’s glass doors.

The crowd visible through them was even larger than I’d expected.

It really did look like a movie scene in there with huge floral arrangements overflowing their containers around the room and candlelight sparkling all along the walls and in the crystal chandeliers overhead.

At the front of the room, live trees adorned with tiny twinkle lights bloomed with pink petals and overhung the podium where the officiant stood at the ready.

There were cameras everywhere. Apparently Randy wanted the ceremony to be captured from every angle.

But I didn’t see him standing up front with the officiant and the groomsmen and bridesmaids. The wedding planner must have lied about him being here.

And then I heard her voice.

Turning to the side, I spotted her in a romantic little marble alcove where a fountain poured water into a lighted pool, speaking in hushed tones with a man and woman.

I couldn’t see much of the guy—he was short enough that his face was blocked by Olivia—but he was in a tux, so it must have been an usher.

The woman I could see clearly. She was wearing yoga pants, flip flops, and a t-shirt, and she was pregnant.

Like, really pregnant—at least eight months I’d guess.

She was crying, and the man’s arm was around her back, comforting her.

My first thought was that her luggage had been lost by the airline, and they were refusing to let her in because she wasn’t properly attired or some such nonsense.

My heart went out to her. It was probably impossible to find a semi-formal maternity dress at the last minute.

Well, I wasn’t going to stand for someone being turned away from my wedding for a silly reason like not matching the aesthetic.

I marched over to them, prepared to give Olivia and the rude usher a piece of my mind and assure the unfortunate guest she was welcome.

But when I reached them and Olivia stepped back to face me, I saw the man.

It was not an usher.

It was my groom.

“Randy,” I said in surprise. “Why are you out here?”

Had Olivia actually dragged him out into the foyer to deal with the clothing snafu? My mind was having a hard time processing.

“Rosie,” my fiancé said in a calm voice. His eyes were wide, though, and they held a spark of panic.

“What’s going on? Did her bag get lost?” I asked.

“My bag?” the expectant mother practically yelled. “What bag? What are you talking about?”

Randy tightened his arm around her back and took her hand, rubbing her knuckles. “Try not to get too worked up, darling.”

Darling.

Ooooookay. So not a random guest.

My insides went cold, my stomach lined with ice. I looked away from the woman’s red, tear-streaked face to Randy’s wary expression.

“Randy?”

A deep breath inflated his tuxedoed chest, and he let it out in an audible gust before speaking.

“Rosie, this is Gina.” There was an extended pause. “My girlfriend.”

It felt like an invisible crane had swung in my direction, and I’d taken a direct blow from the wrecking ball. All the air left my lungs in an instant.

As I couldn’t respond, what with the spontaneous asphyxiation and all, Randy continued.

“I was going to tell you after the wedding. I’m sorry you had to find out this way, in this moment. I guess this has all been harder on Gina than I realized.”

The other woman (or was that my role?) still looked distraught but appeared a bit mollified by his acknowledgement of her distress—and her apparent role in his life.

Randy looked down at her again, adding a shoulder rub to his gentle tone. “We talked about this, Pumpkin. You know the wedding’s not real.”

I sucked in a breath—finally. It’s not?

“I know, but I can’t stand it.” She pointed to the crowded ballroom. “That looks real.”

Gina pouted and rubbed her rounded belly. “And it looked real when I saw the video of you two leaving the airport together, all snuggly.”

“Well, you know what a good actor I am,” he purred. “You and I will have a much bigger and better wedding—very soon, I promise. Lake Cuomo, right? Or Fiji. Anywhere you like. Pick a date next year after the film comes out and call a wedding planner. In fact, Olivia here is excellent. You can talk to her right after the ceremony and get the ball rolling.”

“What?” the wedding planner yelped, rocking back on her sensible low heels. Apparently she was just as blindsided as I was.

Olivia’s reaction was the only thing assuring me I wasn’t having a very vivid nightmare. In a nightmare, the wedding planner would be just as calm and matter-of-fact about this as Randy was.

And everyone would be naked.

Randy placed Gina’s hand on the wedding planner’s arm and patted it.

“Would you mind taking her up to the bridal suite?” he asked. “She needs to settle down and rest. Today’s not exactly the best day to have a baby.”

To Gina, he said, “Darling, I’ll be up to check on you as soon as this is over.”

The wedding planner shot me a bewildered glance, and I nodded to her. My groom was the one who’d hired her after all—she worked for him, and none of this was her fault.

Besides, he and I needed a moment alone to talk.

As soon as they were out of sight, he smiled at me.

Smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said in a breezy tone. “Obviously the hormones got the best of her. Ready to get on with it?”

I blinked. Blinked again. “Get on with what?”

Surely he wasn’t referring to this nightmare of a wedding.

“Oh right. I guess we need to wait for the wedding planner to get back or the music and stuff will be all messed up.”

“The music,” I deadpanned. “Honestly I’m less concerned about the playlist than the fact that my fiancé has a pregnant girlfriend.”

My voice had risen and continued to rise until I’d nearly shouted the end of the sentence.

“Shhhhh. Keep it down,” Randy said, pressing the air in front of him with his small, manicured hands.

Darting my eyes toward the ballroom doors, I tried to modulate my volume. This was embarrassing enough without the glamorous attendees turning in their seats to gawk at us.

“How could you do this to me?” I hissed.

Randy smiled at me again—the same wide, ultra white grin moviegoers had been swooning over for the past twenty years.

If I’d thought punching him in the mouth might have actually damaged those perfect veneers instead of breaking my hand, I’d have done it.

“You didn’t think this whole thing was for real, did you?” he asked, sounding incredulous. “I mean, we only met six months ago when I cast you.”

My mouth opened then closed again. Open. Close.

“Oh God, you did,” he said.

He shook his head, his eyes sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. I mean I assumed you had someone else in your life, too. We never even talked about being exclusive.”

My jaw literally dropped open. After a few seconds of trying, I finally managed human speech.

“I sort of assumed the proposal made it clear we were monogamous.”

“The proposal that just so happened to occur on live national television?” he asked. “The one that was broadcast over and over again on all the entertainment programs? This is show business, Rosie. There aren’t any real love stories in Hollywood. You should know that by now.”

His condescending tone shamed me. It was echoed by the ever present voice inside me that oh so helpfully reminded me of all my past mistakes and warned I couldn’t trust my own instincts.

How could I have been so stupid?

Again?

I dropped my chin to my chest, my ears growing hot and no doubt glowing like taillights on the highway. I wished I could fold in on myself, forming smaller and smaller shapes until I disappeared altogether.

He was right. I should have known it.

Fans had started shipping us as soon as the announcement went out that Randy and I would be co-starring in Once Upon a Charm.

Anticipation of the movie’s premiere was now at a fever pitch thanks to our “true love story,” which echoed the film’s Cinderella-inspired storyline.

A rags-to-riches story with a fairytale ending. A nobody chosen by a wealthy, highly sought-after man.

As one of the film’s producers, Randy had been nothing less than thrilled by the public buy-in to our off-screen relationship.

He loved to tell the story of how he rescued a struggling actress from poverty and anonymity, presenting himself as a starmaker.

A real-life Prince Charming.

While I’d craved privacy and had sought to protect our new love from invasive attention, he’d been positively triumphant about all the press and was eagerly anticipating a blockbuster opening weekend.

Now I understood.

My face dropped into my hands as my head spun, and my meager breakfast curdled in my stomach.

What a fool I am.

For the first time since her death six months ago, I really was glad my mom wasn’t here.

Today’s event was never meant to be a real wedding but the crescendo of a strategic run-up to a big budget film release.

A PR stunt.

I just wished someone had bothered to tell me.

CHAPTER TWO

Presley Lowe—two hours earlier

“I appreciate everything you and Dad have done for me this week, but really, I need to go home and be in my own house. I’ll be fine.”

My mother paused in the act of sliding a fresh batch of doughnuts onto one of the many food platters lining the kitchen island and slid me a chiding glance that made me feel nine years old again.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Presley,” she said. “It’s only been five days since your surgery. You can’t possibly take care of yourself yet. You can’t even button your own shirt. Wil, talk some sense into your son.”

Dad, wise man that he was, didn’t contradict her. “Your mom’s right, Pres.”

A former player himself, my father towered over my five-foot-two mother. Physically.

Her will stood tall though, and she’d rocked an enormous stage presence back when she’d been the frontwoman in a popular 80’s rock band—thus her younger sons’ musician-inspired names.

Our oldest brother Wilder had been named after our father.

“I’m a thirty-four-year-old man and a professional athlete,” I argued. “I think I can manage showering alone and scrambling a few fucking eggs.”

“Presley,” Mom fussed. “My goodness, I’ve never seen you so grumpy.”

“Sorry. Getting your throwing arm dissected and your season cut short will do that.”

Taking in a breath and letting it out, I tried to chill out.

“I promise I won’t overdo it, okay?”

Looking over at my younger brother Dylan, I silently pleaded with him to support my argument.

He shot me a good luck buddy grin and turned back to the NFL pre-game show on the big screen opposite the kitchen island.

This was our family tradition. Before every home game, we ate a big meal at our parents’ house here in Eastport Bay then headed to the stadium in Providence to start warming up.

Of course Dylan would be going alone today. I was out for the season.

Supposedly.

I planned to do everything in my power to defy the doctors’ and trainers’ dire predictions and get back to the team as quickly as possible.

Which was the main reason I needed to get back to my own house where I could work out in my home gym and have control over my own meals.

Perfect nutrition was paramount to recovery.

Not that my mom’s homemade doughnuts weren’t fantastic—there was just no room in my life for them right now. Not if I was going to get back on the field and lead my team to another Superbowl.

“But Dad and I are happy to help you,” Mom protested as she dropped a spoonful of batter into the pan of hot oil on the stovetop. “And the surgeon said you might need help for a couple of weeks post-op. It hasn’t even been one.”

I knew what was going on here. My mother was enjoying having one of her “babies” under her roof again.

My three brothers and I had long since moved out, and one of us—Merc—was living all the way on the West Coast, playing wide receiver for San Francisco.

My injury during last week’s season opener had unexpectedly put her back into full-time mothering mode, and I suspected she was enjoying it a little too much.

“What can I say? I’m an overachiever,” I teased and gave her a big smile as I reached for a protein-rich deviled egg with my good arm. “You raised four strong men.”

She laughed. “I raised four hungry bears. If Mercury and Wilder were here, we would have run out of food today. Next time I’ll have to cook an extra dozen eggs I think.”

She seemed to relish that prospect. I wasn’t sure how she’d survived our teenage years when it seemed like all my brothers and I ever did was eat, but she’d never complained.

All four of us were football players, though only three played in the NFL like our father had.

Our oldest brother Wilder had opted for a career in the military out of college instead of going through the draft. Then, badass that he was, he’d become a Navy SEAL.

As Dad liked to say, out of all of us, Wilder was the real hero. Now discharged from the military, he ran a highly successful security company based here in Eastport Bay.

“Protein is important for healing,” I said to Mom, tilting my head toward my bandaged shoulder. “I’ll buy the eggs next time.”

Now Dad spoke up. He was definitely not afraid to contradict me.

“Your mother and I can afford a few eggs. Save your money for retirement, son. Speaking of…”

I cut him off. “I’m not ready to talk about retirement. Not by a long shot.”

As if on cue, the game-day hosts on TV started discussing last week’s Nauticals game and the punishing hit that had resulted in a sack and a nasty fracture of my right collarbone, abruptly ending my season.

I’d be damned if I let it end my career.

I turned to look at the screen where film of the brutal hit played in slow-motion and the announcers speculated about my chances of ever returning to the field.

“Lowe has been miraculously injury-free during his twelve seasons in the NFL, but unfortunately it only takes one sometimes,” one of them said.

The other nodded. “Especially for a quarterback whose arm is his calling card. And it’s his throwing shoulder. I guess only time will tell if he can overcome it and play at his former level again. At his age—”

“Change that channel, would you baby?” Mom asked Dylan in a loud but pleasant voice. “We’ll all get plenty of football later today.”

Still trying to protect me.

My brother immediately picked up the remote, and the image on the screen changed to an aerial shot of Eastport Bay’s coastline, Oceanview Avenue in particular—Rhode Island’s version of Billionaire Row

Several of the famous Gilded Age mansions with their expansive green lawns and sweeping Atlantic Ocean views could be seen from above.

The camera’s perspective switched to a street view of one of the stately homes, Bellevue Manor, and the line of limousines arriving in front of it for some special event.

An excited female voice chattered about the celebrities who were expected here in town today. Dylan was about to change the channel again, when our sister-in-law Jessica walked into the room from the back hallway, holding her two-year-old son Theo.

She glanced at the screen. “Oh! That’s the wedding Wilder is working today. Leave that on, Dylan, I want to see it.”

She smiled at the parade of famous faces going in, dressed to the nines and waving to the cameras.

Made sense. Jessica, who went by the stage name Jade in her music career, probably knew a lot of those people personally.

“Any video of the bride yet?” she asked eagerly.

“Nah, we just turned it on,” Dylan said, getting up from his chair to tower over her and the baby. “Want me to take him so you can watch?”   

“Sure.” She handed the toddler to his favorite uncle.

The kid was supposedly tall for his age—like father, like son—but he looked tiny in Dylan’s arms. Well, most adults looked tiny compared to the guys in my family.

“Who’s the best boy?” Dylan crooned to him as Theo grabbed his nose and squeezed it. “Is it Theo? I think it is. I think it’s Theo.”

My younger brother was pretty great with kids. He had one of his own, a six-year-old daughter who’d come along unexpectedly when he was a senior in college. He didn’t have her full-time, but whenever I saw them together I was in awe of his apparently natural parenting skills.

“Actually a slightly less good boy today,” Jess corrected him.

Turning to me, she scrunched her face in a comical wince. “Uncle Presley, I’m sorry to inform you that your phone is not waterproof.”

“Did Theo spill his sippy cup on it or something? That’s no biggie.”

Not used to having small children around, I had left my phone on the coffee table, directly in the kid’s line of sight. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen the device in a while.

Jessica rolled her eyes upward then brought them back to meet mine.

“Not exactly. We’ve been working with him to, you know, get him interested in the toilet in preparation for potty training? And well… he’s interested,” she said. “He’s mastered the part about some things belonging in the potty. There’s just a little confusion about which things. I’m not sure how he got it without me noticing, but he kind of… flushed your phone.”

What?” I barked a laugh. “Like, all the way down the pipes?”

“No. No, it didn’t go down, but it did… drown.”

“Bye bye!” Theo yelled at the top of his lungs, and we all laughed at his unintentional comedic timing.

She pulled the dark, lifeless phone from her back pocket. “I dried it off as best I could, but I think it might be dead. Oh, and there was nothing else in the potty at the time, in case you’re wondering.”

“Thank God for small favors,” I said.

“We’ll replace it of course,” Jess rushed to add as she sheepishly placed the doomed phone on my open palm.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I have a backup at home. I’ll contact the carrier tomorrow to tell them to transfer service to it.”

“You want me to run by your house and pick it up for you?” she offered. “I’m about to go home and put Theo down for his nap, but I could bring it by tonight. Or Wilder can stop by your place after the game—he’s heading to the stadium in Providence right after the wedding, but afterward, I know he’d be happy to pick up your other phone and bring it here for you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get it myself. I’m going home tonight after watching the game with Mom and Dad,” I said.

“Oh.” Jess wore a look of surprised concern.

Darting a glance at my frowning parents, she asked, “Are you sure that’s okay, Pres? Do you want someone to stay with you at your place?”

“Definitely not.”

My tone had been maybe a little too emphatic, so I adjusted it. “I mean, no thanks. I’m good. I’ll be fine on my own.”

To deflect the uncomfortable attention from myself, I pointed at the TV behind her.

“There’s the bride.”

It was a long-distance shot, but you could see a blonde in a poufy white dress getting out of a limo and making her way toward the mansion’s front entrance.

Jessica whipped around to face the screen and clapped her hands.

“Oh I can’t wait to see the photos of her in the dress,” she squealed. “She is so beautiful. I got to meet her last night after the rehearsal dinner—Wilder was working it. The groom seems like a piece of work, but she was lovely.”

“Who is it?” Mom asked.

“Rosie James, the co-star in Randy Ryland’s next film. He’s the groom, and he’s producing the movie. It’s her first starring role. She’s a local, you know. She went to Eastport Bay High. Older than me, but Wilder said he’d met her. You probably knew her, Presley. I think she would have been in your grade.”

I knew her alright.

In fact, Rosie James and I had gone out for a while during our senior year, and I’d liked her. A lot.

So much in fact that I’d broken things off with her before they could really get started.

She wasn’t the kind of girl you fooled around with and left behind, and back then I hadn’t been able to afford the distraction of a real relationship.

Not if I was going to make it to the NFL and become the greatest quarterback of all time.

Actually not much had changed in that department since I’d gone pro. I was still in pursuit of that goal, and I still kept my relationships with women pretty simple.

Maybe someday when my career was over I’d think about getting serious with someone.

Now was not that time. I needed full focus to recover and get back to work on breaking the all-time record for Superbowl wins.

“Yeah, I know her—knew her. Nice girl,” I said, though the word nice was inadequate to describe Rosie. “At least she was back then.”

It had been a long time. Who knew how much she’d changed? She could be a whole different person by now.

I was sorry to hear she was marrying a potential a-hole, though, even if he was a rich and famous actor and movie producer. And so good looking women worldwide swooned over him.

“What do you mean the groom was a ‘piece of work?’” I asked, surprised the question that had popped into my head had actually come out of my mouth.

Now that it was out there though, I wanted the answer.

Jessica turned back toward me and wrinkled her nose.

“You know how guys act when they’re really in love? He didn’t act like that,” she said. “And it was his rehearsal dinner, you know? The night before he’s supposed to marry the love of his life.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe he was just being guarded—he is a big star after all. But she seemed so genuine and sweet.”

Jessica walked over to the vegetable plate on the counter and popped a baby carrot into her mouth.

“I hope I’m wrong,” she said, “but some of the catering staff were commenting about how arrogant and entitled he acted. He apparently really undertipped as well. And they said he sort of ignored Rosie all night while he chummed up with his director and producer friends. He toasted just about everyone but her.”

A bitter wave of something that felt like anger swelled up inside me.

What the hell was that about?

I hadn’t seen the girl in fifteen years. I’d never even met the guy. And their relationship was none of my business.

So why did I feel so protective suddenly?

Randy Ryland was probably just a highly focused guy who didn’t have time to spare for pleasantries. Several of my own former girlfriends would probably say I was an a-hole because I hadn’t given them the kind of time and attention they’d wanted from me.

But then I hadn’t proposed to any of them, had I?

Not even close.

And Rosie deserved the best. She was one of the sweetest girls I’d ever met. Crazy talented too.

I’d kept up with her career from afar, seen her in a couple of commercials, and sure, I’d admired her beauty. Who hadn’t?

And of course I’d been happy for her when the news came out about her big break, that she’d be co-starring with the great Randy Ryland in his upcoming romantic comedy film.

Like me, Rosie was going for it and achieving her dreams. Until this minute, I’d assumed she was getting everything she’d ever wanted, including true love.

Now I wasn’t too sure.

“How long have they been together?” I asked Jessica.

“I don’t really know any details, just what I read online,” she said. “Apparently it’s a whirlwind romance kind of thing. They pulled this massive wedding together really fast. He proposed on Oscar night. On TV. In front of nineteen million people.”

Dylan, who was walking around with Theo on his shoulders, snorted. “How romantic. No pressure there, right?”

“Well she’s a lovely girl from what I remember, and I’m happy for her,” Mom said.

She picked up my empty plate and carried it to the sink.

“Now we need to work on you two,” she said, eyeing me and Dylan. “I bought several mother-of-the-groom dresses for Wilder and Jessica’s wedding, and I want a chance to wear the others before they go out of style—or the menopause spread turns them into scarves.”

“Oh yeah, I’d be a great marriage candidate.” Dylan snickered. “Barely hanging onto my job with the Nauticals, making NFL minimum wage, oh—and with a sassy six year old as part of the package deal.”

Mom patted his shoulder. “You’re an excellent catch, and Lily is the most adorable little girl who ever lived. Any woman would consider herself lucky to have you both.”

My brother rolled his eyes and bobbed his head, using a silly tone. “Thanks Mom.”

“Sanks Mom!” Theo echoed in his high baby-voice.

We all laughed, my nephew most of all.

“Have you ever considered that a wife might actually help with your career? Not to mention be good for Lily,” Mom said.

She gestured toward the TV. “Take Rosie for instance. The fact that she and her co-star fell in love during filming and are now getting married is going to make that movie so much bigger than it would have been. It’s already making her a household name. Marriage can double your happiness and success, not halve it— if it’s the right person.”

“Hear that, Pres?” Dylan called out. “Maybe that’s what you need to win that eighth Super Bowl and be the G.O.A.T.—a wife.”

“I won’t be winning anything ever again unless I focus on rehabbing my shoulder.”

My tone sounded grouchier than I’d intended.

Yep, it was high time I got back to my own house where I could be alone and focus—away from other humans who required actual civility.

“Who are we kidding? You had no time for a relationship even before you were injured,” Dylan teased. “What Presley really needs is a dog… unless he can find a girlfriend who’s happy with a relationship consisting of being fed once a day and getting an occasional walk around the block.”

“Haha.” I shot him a death glare before we both cracked up. My brother could always manage to make me laugh—even with throbbing surgical pain.

And he wasn’t wrong. Which was why I’d never pursued things with Rosie or any other woman who’d require actual effort.

My eyes drifted back to the screen where a reporter delivered breathless commentary on the upcoming nuptials of my high school dream girl. 

No, a woman like Rosie would be far too much of a distraction—something I never allowed.