Page 64 of Sparks Fly

The other constant was the bridal party group chat lighting up my phone like a live wire.

Brooke: Okay but real talk… so Lilly’s Aunt Becky might be a problem.

Natalie: Wait, what? Why?

Caroline: Oh god what happened now.

Brooke: Apparently she and Aunt Susan had some kind of falling out. No idea what it’s about but Lilly’s worried it’s gonna blow up at the shower.

Me: It’s not. I’ll handle Aunt Becky.

Caroline: Of course you will. You’re the only one who can glare someone into submission in heels.

Natalie: Addie for president. Or security detail. Same thing.

Brooke: Okay, so: 11 a.m. arrival for the bridal party. Guests come at 12. Lilly gets there around 12:30. Games after lunch, gifts, then cake and speeches.

Me: I’ll bring the clipboard. Don’t worry.

By Friday night, I got home with my phone battery at single digits, my feet throbbing and my social battery dead. I kicked the door shut behind me harder than necessary, dropped my bag by the entryway, and peeled off my heels with a soft groan. I didn’t even look at the living room. I went straight to bed.

Tank top. Cotton underwear. Covers up to my chin.

I grabbed my phone, the screen dim against the dark, my thumbs heavy.

Me: Too tired to flirt. Please know I’m still thinking about your boobs.

I barely had the energy to hit send.

The screen lit up again almost immediately.

Sawyer: That’s okay baby. I’ve got enough charm for both of us. Sleep tight.

I read the word baby twice.

Even exhausted, even wrung out, my body reacted with a soft flutter low in my stomach, warmth that had nothing to do with sleep. I pressed the phone to my chest for a second, let the thought of her settle into me like an exhale, then shoved it under my pillow and let myself go.

* * *

Saturday morning, bridal shower day. My alarm went off at seven. I gave myself some time to sleep in. I didn’t need that much time. I stared at the ceiling, letting the dread pool in my chest before I finally forced myself up. Shower. Coffee. Hair curled into soft waves. A full face of makeup.

The counter in my bathroom looked like a cosmetics ad exploded across it. Lip gloss, setting spray, the pearl earrings my mother bought me last Christmas because they were “timeless.” The necklace lay beside them, delicate gold with a tiny diamond pendant. Mom had said it went with everything, which really meant it went with the life she preferred.

I fastened it around my neck and studied the result in the mirror. The Addison Hart everyone recognized looked back at me, soft hair, careful makeup, shoulders straight without even thinking about it.

I tilted my head slightly, testing a smile the way I had done since I was a teenager at charity luncheons and debutante events.

Perfect. Convincing. Not quite me.

By 9:30, I out the door in a pale pink wrap dress that hugged my waist just enough to look delicate, heels, and a designer clutch in hand.

The Rosemont Country Club was exactly as it always was: white columns, perfect landscaping, hydrangeas in full bloom, valets in navy blazers. It looked like a place you belonged to if you had been born into it.

And I had.

The valet smiled when I stepped out of the car. “Morning, Ms. Hart.”

“Morning,” I said easily, handing over the keys like this was a completely normal way to arrive somewhere.