Page 58 of Knotted

I take a breath. “Dad, only nut jobs and pathetically hopeless romantics marry when they’re not in love.”

Then Taylor adds, “He handed me his credit card and insisted I use it to make Jules happy. If that’s not a testament of love, I don’t know what is.”

My dad wrinkles his brow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Could be love. Could be lunacy.”

I can’t help but giggle as he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way, the ice cream shop just got in your favorite—Peach Cobbler Crunch.”

“Rain check, I promise.” Before I know it, he’s pulling me into one of his big, comforting hugs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

Just then, Mom and Halmeoni appear, wrapping their arms around us, turning the hug into a full family embrace.

Dad hands Mom a handkerchief to avoid drenching my gown, and Halmeoni, beaming with pride, presents me with an enormous bouquet of flowers that smell like home.

It’s a masterpiece—a few soft peonies in blush pink and cream nestled alongside delicate sprigs of Queen Anne’s lace and lavender. Each flower carefully plucked from the gardens back home. The greens of eucalyptus and ivy, gathered from the base of Bishop’s Mountain, weave in and out, binding the bouquet together like a thread of memories with roots that run deep.

I choke up. I know she spent hours making it and it’s the most beautiful gift I’ve ever seen.

“Uri gajok-ui sarangi yeogi itda,”Halmeoni says. Translation:Our family’s love is here.

We step outside, greeted by the gentle strains of a harp mingling with the soft hum of a small string quartet. Fairy lights twinkle around the old oak trees, casting a soft, golden glow over the gathering.

When we step into the garden, there he is—Brian. He’s in the middle of a lively conversation with Colby, probablycatching up on their time serving together. Brian’s animated, gesturing as he talks, his face lighting up with that easygoing charm that’s always been second nature to him.

The sight of him in that classic tux, all sharp lines and effortless allure, makes him look like he’s just stepped out ofThe Great Gatsby.

He’s always had that timeless, magnetic charm, the kind that feels like it’s woven into his very DNA, effortlessly drawing anyone in. But I have to remind myself—just like in Fitzgerald’s tragedy—this isn’t some grand romance.

Letting myself get caught up in the moment, in him, will only end in more pain, more heartache. Haven’t I been hurt enough by him?

It’s a business arrangement, Jules.

Nothing more.

But damn, why does he have to look so good?

The tux fits him like a second skin, molding to his broad shoulders and tapering effortlessly down to his trim waist. Every inch of him radiates that cool, measured restraint, like he’s never ruffled, always in control.

His wavy hair, tousled to just-fucked perfection pairs seamlessly with a steady, unyielding stance that radiates military dominance. He commands attention without even trying. A control freak to the end.

And no matter how many times I’ve looked at him—tried to ignore him, forget him, or outright hate Brian Bishop—the truth is always staring me in the face.

He’s under my skin so deep that not even an exorcism could get him out.

Then he turns, and our eyes meet.

There’s something in his expression that makes me stop cold. It’s not the cocky, self-assured grin I’m used to, the one that says he’s always got the upper hand.

No, this look is different.

There’s a flicker of something else—something raw and unguarded.

For the first time, there’s uncertainty in his eyes, a flicker of doubt that makes my pulse race. Is he reconsidering this whole thing?

Am I?

But before the thought can take root, the music shifts, and the opening notes of “Here Comes the Bride” fill the air, snapping me back to the whole reason we’re here. With my family.

Dad appears at my side, his presence solid and reassuring, and my hand slides naturally into the crook of his arm. “Showtime, kiddo,” he murmurs, a soft smile playing on his lips.

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