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“How long until we get there?”

I check my Cartier watch. Though I don’t usually wear such an expensive piece, it’ll be expected tonight. “About an hour and a half.”

“Perfect.” Willow digs through her purse, retrieving her phone and tapping open a movie app. “Our childhood experience for the day can be watching Cinderella.”

Wordlessly, I pick up a remote from the side of my chair, clicking buttons to descend a full-size screen from the ceiling, cue up the movie, and dim the cabin lights before lifting the armrest dividing us. When I gesture for Willow to nestle into the crook of my arm, she just stares, mouth agape.

“Okay, Bruce Wayne.”

I grin. “Now, I’m Batman? I thought I was a mafia boss. Or maybe an international spy.”

“You’re a lot of things,” she mutters, setting down her glass, folding her legs up on the seat, and snuggling against me.

I flick a cashmere throw over her, knowing she’ll get chilly, before starting the movie.

About an hour in, I can’t help but pause it.

“You’re telling me that he’s smitten but doesn’t go looking for her himself. Instead, he sends his henchman to bring back athlete’s foot by having everyone try on her slipper. And no one considers that another woman in their village could have the same shoe size?”

Her nose wrinkles. “There are some major plot flaws, but it’s an old movie. You have to give it some grace.”

A half-grunt/half-scoff leaves my mouth, but I press play.

The good thing is the movie distracts me from the anticipatory doom of seeing my family. The bad thing is, as soon as we land, anger flares in my chest like an old friend. My phone pings with a litany of texts from my brothers—calling me names and asking why I’m not already there, drinking with them.

Sally sent my itinerary weeks ago, but apparently, my brothers can’t read. Since Dustin didn’t want me standing up with him—saying something along the lines of no losers allowed in the wedding party—I figured we could attend like any other guest. Minimizing the time spent trapped on an island with my father and brothers, we’re arriving just in time to get ready for the ceremony. I also set our return flight for eight tomorrow morning.

In my mind, this is a tactical event—get in, get out.

Crisp sea air blasts us the second the doors open to the tarmac. As we descend the stairs, I catch sight of the driver I hired, waiting beside a black Alfa Romeo Giulia while holding a bouquet of daisies.

“Ms. Huntley.” He extends the flowers toward Willow with a nod of his chauffeur’s hat.

“You can call me Willow,” she says, taking an appreciative inhale of her favorite blooms. “What’s your name?”

“Joaquin, miss.”

Willow envelops the older man in a hug. “Nice to meet you.”

He meets my eyes over her shoulder, puzzled. I simply pull our carry-ons toward the trunk, feeling very much the grump.

Willow’s chatter with Joaquin is the only thing keeping me from breaking the door handle off of this very expensive car. Halfway through the short ride, Willow settles a reassuring hand on my tense knee, but it doesn’t help. Irritation continues to course through me as we meet the concierge at the sumptuous hotel and are escorted to our room.

Lucian, a renowned stylist from New York, waits for us with two assistants and three racks of dresses, shoes, and accessories for Willow to choose from. Beside him, Brittany, a famed hair stylist, leans against her mobile kit. I didn’t hire a makeup artist, knowing Willow would want to do her own.

As the concierge leads everyone into our room, Willow leans into my side. “All I need now is a pumpkin carriage.”

“The ceremony and reception are downstairs,” I tell her with all the personality of a rock.

Willow tugs me to a stop in the middle of the hallway, her brown eyes etched with concern before cradling my cheek in her palm.

“We’ve got this.”

I shake my head, my hands clenching and unclenching. “This was a bad idea. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’m going to murder them.”

“Nothing like a murder to kick off a couple’s nuptials.” She gives me a cheeky wink.

When all I do is growl, Willow’s affectionate smile softens. Then she places her hand directly over my heart, stepping so close I have to tip my chin down to maintain eye contact.