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And now Luke. I thought he was the one thing she couldn’t touch.

I was wrong.

Chapter One

Rosie

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I roll my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck as I push open the bathroom door with my shoulder. “Mabel,” I say, tucking the phone between my ear and shoulder, “you’ve asked me that same question, like, six times this week.”

“Five,” she corrects.

I set the phone down on the marble counter and lean toward the mirror, uncapping my favorite red lipstick, the one that makes me feel like I could walk through fire and come out smiling.

“Exactly. And for the umpteenth time, I’m okay. I’m fine.”

She sighs, long and dramatic, the way only Mabel can. “It’s just… this weekend. Luke and Sharon’s wedding. I mean, she didn’t just want him as a side piece after all, she’s locking it down.”

I trace the perfect cupid’s bow, pressing my lips together once, twice. “Yeah, and apparently, the best way to really twist the knife is to hire my company to plan the whole damn thing.” I laugh. “Nothing says ‘suck it’ like forcing your stepsister to arrange the flowers and seating chart for the man she used to date. It’s almost impressive, how committed she is to the pettiness.”

Mabel makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a growl. “That bitch! I hate her.”

I cap the lipstick and drop it into my makeup bag. “But here’s the part she doesn’t get: I’m over him. They deserve each other. I’m good.”

There’s a pause. I can practically see her chewing her lip on the other end. “Do you need me to come down? I can be on a train in an hour.”

I smile despite myself. “No, babe. I can handle it.”

She groans. “You’re too good for your own good, you know that?”

“Maybe. But I’m still doing my job. Professionally. And then I’m walking away with my head high.”

“Okay, fine.” Her tone softens. “But promise me, if you need me to come over, you’ll call?”

“I promise.”

“And when it’s over? You’re in the Hamptons, girl. Go out. Have fun. Drink something expensive. Flirt with someone who doesn’t come with baggage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, grinning now.

We say our goodbyes, and I end the call. I stare at my reflection one last time—red lips, sleek black dress that hugs in all the right places, hair swept up so my neck looks long and elegant. I look every bit the badass event planner I am.

When I first found out Sharon had hired the event planning company I work for to handle her wedding, my first instinct was to ask to sit this one out. Any sane person would have.

But the truth? I just got hired full-time not long ago. No way I can start making excuses now.

And more than that… stepping aside would mean letting them think they’ve won. I refuse to give them that satisfaction.

I head back into the bedroom, grab my purse from the bed, sling it over my shoulder, and head out to make sure the rehearsal dinner goes as planned tonight.

I stand near the entrance of the private dining room at the resort, clipboard in hand, as I double-check the seating chart for the hundredth time. The soft glow of string lights overhead makes everything look expensive and romantic, exactly what Sharon paid top dollar for.

Dad and Sarah are going to walk through those doors any minute now. I haven’t spoken more than a handful of polite sentences to either of them since I packed my bags the day I turned eighteen and left that house for good. Not that we were ever close before that. The moment Dad slipped that ring on Sarah’s finger, everything changed.

I was six when Mom died. Seven when Dad sat me down and told me he was remarrying, that I was going to have a new mom and two stepsisters close to my age. I remember the stupid, hopeful flutter in my chest. A mom. Sisters. Playmates.

Someone to braid my hair or watch cartoons with me when Dad was working late. I pictured movie nights, family dinners where everyone laughed. We haven’t had any of those since Mom got sick and died.