Page 31 of Beloved Beauty

I soften my voice but not my stance. “I’ll always root for you, but I’ll never work for you again.”

Gabby nods, her voice lower when it comes. “You’re right. I broke your trust, and I hate that I did. You’re one of the most talented, genuine women I’ve ever worked with, Magnolia. You deserve everything that’s coming to you.”

My throat tightens, but I push through it. “Thanks, and I hope Soul Sync continues to thrive because it deserves to succeed.”

“Please thank Alex for the way he spoke about us in that interview.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Soul Sync will always hold a special place in our hearts because it’s what brought us together.”

Gabby presses her lips together and nods. “Take care of yourself, Magnolia.”

“You too.”

The screen goes dark, and I set the iPad down on the table beside me.

The room is quiet now—just the hum of distant voices from the renovation team and the low shuffle of fabric as I shift in my chair.

I sit for a beat thinking about our call.

She didn’t undo the past, but she acknowledged it.

And me? I’m not carrying it anymore.

I’m too busy building something new. Something beautiful.

Chapter 11

Magnolia Steel

It’s quiet in the house except for the low hum of game footage playing on the TV—one of Alex’s old matches, the kind where the crowd roars loud enough to rattle your ribs even through the screen. He’s half-watching, half-analyzing, elbow propped on the armrest, jaw tense with old instincts.

I’m curled up on the couch beside him, legs tucked beneath me, my laptop balanced on the curve of my thighs as I toggle between our wedding spreadsheet and a Pinterest board I swore I would not look at again today. But here I am—debating floral arches and linen napkin folds as though the fate of the world depends on blush versus ivory.

We’ve reached the part of planning where even the simplest questions are loaded. The wedding planner’s been nothing but patient, but she needs answers—and fast. With the date barreling toward us and everything on an accelerated timeline, even choosing a table linen seems like defusing a bomb. Every decision hits me like a freight train with no room to breathe between floral samples and seating charts. It’s beautiful. It’s exciting. But it’s also chaos, all wrapped in lace.

“The planner wants ranunculus, but I’m leaning toward white hydrangeas and pale pink roses. What do you think?”

Alex pauses the game footage and leans in from where he’s sitting beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he angles to see my screen better. He studies the photo for a beat, and taps the arrangement of hydrangeas and roses. “Whichever one that is. It looks like you.”

I smirk. “Is that your way of saying I’m classic and overpriced?”

He grins. “It’s my way of saying pick that one, so I don’t have to talk about flowers anymore.”

I groan and flop back against the couch cushions. “Men. Y’all don’t care about anything when it comes to weddings.”

Alex leans in, voice low near my ear. “You’re wrong.”

I glance up at him, one brow lifted. “Am I?”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “We care very much about weddings… and what happens when they’re over and the honeymoon begins.”

I smirk, tilting my head. “So the tux is just foreplay?”

His laugh is low and warm as he brushes a kiss against my mouth. “Everything before the honeymoon is foreplay.”

The buzzer for the front gate crackles through the house.

“Are we expecting someone?”

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