Page 58 of This

Last year, I walked across the stage, stripped out of my cap and gown, and declared myself a week away from freedom. Nothing else stood between me and leaving—no more reasons to stay.

That’s what I was celebrating the night I was supposed to meet Liam’s cousin. The man Keaton had claimed I would fall in love with and who would make me want the white dress and a house full of belongings I wouldn’t want to ever move again. Dane Masters is the real reason I left the bar early, desperate for none of those things to happen.

But here we are.

Apipe bursts in therealtor’s office a few days before I’m supposed to leave for Phoenix for the wedding. I make sure to get Maggie an extra few brown-spotted bananas and drive down early to surprise Keaton. It gives me an entire week in town to help with last-minute preparations. Dane fully approves of the change of plans and kidnaps me not long after I get there. Five days straight of each other will be the most we’ve gotten, and I think we’re determined to become sick of each other.

The day of the rehearsal I spend with Keaton at the venue. We walk in with our overnight bags, leaving the other six bags of makeup, hair supplies, tape—both Scotch and body—and everything else we could ever need for Liam to carry. The bridal suite is enormous, an entire room for Keaton and a pull-out couch in the living room for me.

Liam will be in a series of cabins with the groomsmen and ushers and an assortment of other wedding guests. Dane has already devised a plan to scale the building. I’m not mad at the idea, but I think the pull-out will get a little crowded when Keaton has a moment of panic in the middle of the night.

We unload our bags and lie on her bed for a twenty-minute meditation in which she repeats her mantra for the weekend, “I am a classy bitch and won’t slap anyone.”

Then we head to the garden where she’ll say her vows in twenty-four hours. As breathtaking as the sight was a year ago when we visited, to see it in all its pre-wedding glory is divine. The arches wrapped with vines and flowers and a white fabric runner laid down the aisle with white padded chairs on either side.

Our afternoon consists of wrapping ribbon around candelabras and putting bows on the end chairs. When we head inside, we have another moment of shock at the ballroom. The tables are set, stemware perfectly spaced. Accents of deep purple and black dance around the room in the table runners and napkins, and even the potpourri in the bathrooms matches her wedding colors. We add in the centerpieces we put together at Christmas, the fresh flowers on their way in the morning.

It’s only as we’re standing in the center of the dance floor with a gorgeous chandelier above us that Keaton sucks in a deep breath, holding it until I think she’ll pass out. When they met, Keaton told me she hated Liam. He was a sexy Clark Kent in glasses, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She told me the same the second time she saw him. But now, she blows out the breath and smiles, looking around at everything he put together for her.

“He’s kind of perfect, huh?” she says.

“No,” I tell her. “He’s completely perfect for you.”

I tug her toward the door and shut off the lights as we leave. I don’t think I’m supposed to, given people are still running in and out, but it feels symbolic, so I do it anyway.

With Patrick and Joyce helping the grandparents on their side settle in, Keaton and I are free to go back to the suite to change. I’ve been saving a specific red dress for rehearsal.

Keaton eyes it when I pull it on. “Since when do you do cutouts?”

I twist to see the bare skin on my back and shrug.

“Well, do them more often.” She runs a finger along her lip line to clean up her lipstick.

When she’s nervous, Keaton turns into a little old lady. We need to rush down to the gardens with her insisting we’re late even though we arrive half an hour before anyone else. Except for Liam. He’s perched on a chair, tapping his brown loafer on the grass.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “I was getting worried.” His lips twitch, giving way to a smug smile when she checks the time.

Ugh. Disgustingly perfect.

We spend the extra time moving things a few feet over one way and adjusting them back. If Keaton needs to work off her nervous energy with mindless organization, the least I can do is shift things around a few dozen times. By the time she has everything perfect—and precisely the way it was when we started—a few people have wandered in.

I, as always, search for Dane’s face. Unlike Keaton, he has a tendency to show up whenever, so I check my phone. The text waits for me.

So late. Don’t let Keaton kill me when I get there.

Given Liam's frown, he received a similar message.

Keaton walks over a few minutes later, repeating her mantra with an extra edge to her tone. “The best man can’t even make it on time.”

“I’ll stand in.”

We both turn at the sound of Ford’s voice.

“Unless you think I need to practice walking Grandma up and down the aisle more than once.”

When she hesitates, giving a quick look to check with me, I nod. “We both know if I don’t have someone to steer me the right way, I’ll get lost.”

Ford smiles and offers his elbow, and I grab hold, letting him lead me away. We hang around the archway at the back of the garden while everyone else is organized and instructed.

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