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“Eight tonight,” I mutter, sheepish.
“Fine. We’re heading there now.”
“But you don’t know where it is.”
“The entire world knows where it is, Jules,” he snaps, his voice edged with frustration. “It’s at Donovan’s. We just didn’t know when. And before you even think about dodging this all-in family affair, your mother is bringing Korean honey cookies, and Halmeoni is picking your bouquet from the garden now.”
Then the line goes dead.
I’m still breathing through the tightening in my chest when I look up, and Taylor’s already dialing, her fingers moving fast.
“Who are you calling?” I ask, my voice more strained than I’d like.
“Logan.”
“Is this really the time for that?”
“I think so,” she says, not missing a beat. “Logan said if anything came up, he’d cover our six. Whatever that means.”
True to his word, within minutes, Logan is at the door, all business, flanked by another guard who seems to have materialized out of thin air. “We’ll take care of everything,” he says, as the other man gathers my belongings and quickly ushers Taylor and me into a waiting SUV, with an identical one shadowing us like a ghost.
“I just need to pay for this dress,” I stammer, looking back.
“I took care of it before we collected you.”
He did?
We take off just as swarms of paparazzi descend like vultures on roadkill. “What a nightmare. Is this what Brian deals with all the time?” I ask, more to myself than anyone.
Logan glances back in the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting mine. “Unfortunately, yes. Since the article came out. But he’ll make sure you’re protected.” His words cast Brian in a new light for me—protector. Then Logan adds, almost offhandedly, “Beautiful dress.”
“Thank you,” I murmur, forcing a smile up my lips, still processing it all. Brian—the guy whose only way out of this media storm is me. The same girl who threw him into the spotlight in the first place.
My phone rings, flashing anUnknown CallerID. I’m about to ignore it when Logan says, “I gave the boss a heads-up about the situation. That’s him.”
Oh.
I pick up, and Brian’s voice comes through, soft and full of regret. “I’m so sorry, Jules. This isn’t how I wanted things to go down. I had a plan and, hell, I don’t even know what the plan was anymore. I just thought I’d have more time to get ahead of this. If you want to back out?—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice firmer than I expected. “I can handle it.” I have to. I caused it to begin with.
“It won’t last long,” he promises, steady and reassuring.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because the media thinks we’re just high school sweethearts. It’s the kind of ‘nothing to see here, folks’ story that they’ll drop in no time. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I am, but you might not be.”
A pause. “What do you mean?”
“Um, my family’s coming to the wedding.”
“You told them?”
“No. Social media did. Pretty sure they were tipped off by the lady at the bridal shop.”
He inhales sharply, then lets out a low chuckle, nerves and amusement threading through his voice. “On a scale ofall goodtoyour dad is picking out headstones, how worried should I be?”
