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Chapter Four

Julia

I'm aware that Zoe has already arrived at the venue ahead of me and confirmed (multiple times) that everything is under control and running like clockwork. I'm aware she encouraged me to get an extra hour of sleep since the next few days will be hectic and unpredictable despite our attention to every single detail.

But Piper is going to be there. This curveball is enough to set me on edge.

I'm pulling off the freeway when Zoe FaceTimes me. I've ignored her last few texts, something I never do, which immediately signals suspicious behavior.

"You're in the car." She squints into her camera to get a better look at me. The phone is on the dash in my hands-free holder, so she can easily see the scenery behind me. "I recognize that hill of sand and scrub. You're almost to Joshua Tree. Oh!" she exclaims. "That was a Joshua tree you just passed. You're basically here."

"Did you confirm that Millie secured entertainment for this evening?" I don't have a roster of tarot readers to draw from, but I do have Google and I will use it in a pinch.

"If you had looked at my texts…" she begins, her tone playful despite the annoyance flaring up her nostrils and making her already massive eyes bug out a little.

"I was driving," I say. "That's illegal."

"Ha, wow, you text and drive all the time, Julia," she says with a grunt of amusement. "The other day you texted while driving with your eyes slightly dilated." I don't need glasses, but sometimes stress makes me think I do, which leads to an eye exam that is largely unwarranted.

"You're straying from topic," I counter. She huffs.

"Yes, Millie confirmed Mystic Maven last night."

I cough, choking on a laugh that catches in my throat. "What a name."

"She's really good," Zoe says coyly.

"I didn't know you were into that stuff." I have one eye on the road, but the other is focused on her and the way she's squirming at being found out.

"This is LA." She shrugs. "Everyone is looking for answers in the stars." Or the cards, if you're consulting tarot. When my face screws up again, she rolls her eyes. "Anyway, what I'm getting at here is that you did not have to leave until at least noon. I am holding down Homebase just fine."

Homebase is what we call the central meeting point at any wedding venue, on location for a whole weekend or just for a single day at a single site. For the Morgan-Hayden wedding, it's my hotel room. I feel a pang of remorse in my gut that Zoe thinks I'm coming in early because I don't trust her. "It's not about whether you can handle it or not. This wedding has a lot riding on it for me. I just need to personally make sure all goes well."

Zoe's face softens and she nods. "See you soon."

In the time I've been talking to her, the number of Joshua trees sprouting from the sand has multiplied exponentially. I can almost see the outline of Celestial Sands in the distance. I'm not a person with a sixth sense. My five normal ones work great, but trying to stretch beyond those is like trying to dig up concrete with a shovel. I wish I could reach out now and sense whether Piper has arrived yet, how she is feeling, if she knows I'm the wedding planner. When we split I said I'd rather eat glass than ever see her again, but Piper promised worse. Vindictive is a word I'd use to describe her. Cutthroat , too. And scorned, carrying a grudge, she might be lethal.

It's nothing I can't handle. I just wish I could make a plan of attack ahead of time.

I pull off the road to a more rugged dirt path. I rented an all-terrain vehicle for this weekend, used my per diem for the expense. My Jag would not be able to handle this rustically magical setting.

Celestial Sands was built from an existing estate once owned by a TV medium from the late '80s. The home was designed with spiritual flow in mind. Drawing on Asian and Moroccan influences in its sculptures, carved trim, stained glass windows, organic contours, log-beamed ceilings, and colored tilework, the original main house was a five-bedroom oasis of tranquil energy and artistic embellishment. It was turned into a hotel in the early 2000s, at which point they added multiple guesthouses, a yurt, and even a few luxe-designed Airstream trailers.

The gate into the property opens, and I pull through onto the winding road that leads to the entrance. The green canopy feels like a jungle oasis in the middle of this desertscape, unfolding into a succulent garden planted around an ornate fountain pluming from the center. I then take a curve in the drive that directs me through a grove of date trees, which clears to reveal the white stucco cutout design of the Celestial Sands entrance.

Two strapping males wave me forward, both wearing loose, heavily patterned pants and thin tank tops. One has a septum piercing, the other a smattering of tattoos. Both have buff pecs and biceps. They wear woven raffia sun hats to stave off the heat, and sunglasses to protect their eyes. As soon as I stop the car, they shoot into action. Opening my door, welcoming me in, asking if these are all my bags.

"Julia Kelley, arriving for the Morgan-Hayden wedding," I say, unhooking my phone from the charger and climbing out. I'm dressed in jeans and a crisp pin-striped button-down—my go-to dressed down but still on duty look. The jeans ride up my ass and I adjust them. This guy, the driver's side greeter, notices.

"Just the bag in the trunk, plus the garment bag hanging," I say, ignoring his interest. "I can take this monstrosity." I yank out my catch-all purse. It's vegan leather, covered in pockets, and still manages to look sleek, sophisticated but practical. I hate it, and not just because I bought it with careful guidance from my ex-girlfriend. It's form and function on all points. It's also boring as fuck.

"We were told you'd be arriving soon." The driver's side greeter extends a small envelope that is clearly made from that compostable paper you can plant to sprout wildflowers. Nice. Millie's guests will love this detail. "Room information and key inside. We'll make sure your bags arrive shortly."

I feel a small smile creep up. There's nothing like pro greeters at an on-location wedding venue. When the staff is well trained, our events always run more smoothly. They are easier to coordinate with and are usually willing to work with us to problem solve while also not getting in our way when we can handle it on our own.

I hoist my purse over my shoulder and walk through the double door entrance into the lobby. My eyes take a second to adjust to the new dimness of this room. Furnishings sit low and sexy—it's the only way I know how to describe them. Mixed textures, velvets, burlap, funky glass sculptures, candles. A grouping of Reiki singing bowls are situated on a round table at the entrance with a sign that says UNLEASH YOUR SONG . The interior designer is famous for his mixed-media approach to décor, utilizing sculpture, glass, antiques, and modern one-of-a-kind pieces.

My eyes search the room while I walk. There's a sunflower-yellow-painted fireplace decorated with brightly colored lanterns hanging in a staggered pattern in front of it. On the wall is a towering piece of colorful artwork. To the left are double doors covered in velvet and studded with iron buttons. They lead to Oasis, the main bar and lounge on the property. I peek inside as I pass, curious.

Sleek dark countertops. Low light. Candles.

And Piper Cunningham, a ray of sun in the atmospheric, dreamy space.

She looks good . Her long red hair is up in a tight pony, cascading over her bare left shoulder. She wears a light green strapless jumpsuit that makes her creamy, freckled skin glow. Her breasts mound, full and soft, showing tasteful cleavage beneath the strands of gold chains around her neck.

Her lips are the perfect red.

She's still stunning. I still feel heat between my thighs when I see her, but I would never, ever go there again.

Her eyes flick up from the bar, where she is clearly fine-tuning the offerings on the charcuterie board that was just delivered. Picking it apart just like she does everything else in life.

Like she did me.

Her eyes trail up and stop right on my face. Something flickers in them. Not hate, not love, probably not any human emotion since she's practically soulless.

"You're here," she says. Her voice is bright and bell-like, a perfect match to her flawless Connecticut socialite persona. The Cunninghams are one of those families with ties that go way back to the first settlers off the Mayflower, and they are so out of touch with popular culture that they still brag about it at dinner parties.

"Of course I'm here. I'm the wedding planner," I say, dry, matter-of-fact. "You're the one making a surprise appearance."

"I was coming anyway, even if Ellen hadn't shattered her leg."

"Being here as a guest is different from attending as a bridesmaid."

She's unreadable, and I immediately feel paranoid. When a person breaks your trust over and over, it's easy to see them as a villain, to believe the worst. I have a hard time believing that Piper didn't know I was Millie's wedding planner, and that this knowledge didn't influence her behavior.

I'm not saying she somehow sabotaged Ellen in a plot to get her bridesmaid spot.

But I'm not not saying it either.

She doesn't look away from me as the bar attendant delivers an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and four flutes. "Thanks so much. All looks great. Can you please have this waiting in the bride's room for her two p.m. arrival?"

I have to pull it together. Piper sucks, but she didn't brutally injure someone just so she could spend the whole weekend here with me.

The bar attendant nods, walking away with the offerings.

"Wasting no time making sure you have Millie under your thumb," I say. My tongue is a sword slicing her open to expose her true nature. Bomb people with love, then squash their spirit. Piper gets what she wants, and she gets it no matter the cost.

"I don't know what you mean by that, Julia. I'm just giving the bride a welcome present. It's proper etiquette." Etiquette, of course. She had an honest-to-God coming out party—the debutante kind, not the closet kind. She's still in that second one as far as I know.

"Right, and etiquette is important to you." Socially, she's a saint. Her reputation as an opportunistic, whatever it takes journalist is a better indicator of her true personality. Her face twitches. A little tremor of hurt passing over it. I don't have to stand here and be emotionally manipulated, either. I turn to go, and she rushes up behind me.

Her fingers graze my wrist but don't hold on. "Wait." One word, a plea in her voice. I stutter to a stop as if her desire still has a hold on me. I twist around so I can glare in her face. "I've wanted to text you so many times over the last year, but this is better. This way we can really talk."

"I don't have anything to say to you." I step away from her. I feel words bubbling up in my throat, threatening to spew like acid. There are a lot of things I've wanted to say to her over the last year, but none of them are kind or professional.

And I'm here to work. Not be vindicated.

"Oh thank God, Julia, there you are." Zoe's voice comes from the Oasis entrance. "We have an emergency."

I let my molten stare cut through Piper one more time before walking away. Zoe's eyebrows dance, and then her eyes flick back and forth between us. She has the presence of mind not to ask the details.

"What's the emergency?" I ask as we walk.

"Geometric altar drama," she says. And then she adds with a squeak, "Guess it's good you arrived early."

"If I hadn't, then you would have handled it." Her posture immediately grows with pride. "I need to drop my bag at Homebase and then you can take me to the ceremony site."

Shake it off, Julia. Just shake. Her. Off.

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