19. Bailey

As I stoodin the courtyard, I quadruple-checked the list on my tablet and saw that I had checked everything off. Even having the proof that not a detail had been overlooked in my hands, I still walked the grounds one more time. The guests would be arriving in thirty minutes for the welcome cocktail hour, and I did not want a single candle, photo, flower, glass, or napkin to be out of place.

A message popped up on the screen. It was from my little sister.

Birdie: Traffic was crazy. Just pulling up now. Reinforcements are here! What do you need?

I glanced around once more before responding. Everything was… perfect.

Me: All good here. You can check-in and change. No rush.

After meeting with Miranda, I'd rushed back to the room, grabbed a quick shower, and got ready in the bathroom. I'd told Cole what time the cocktail hour started and where it was, in case he wanted to come, but I also said it was fine if he wanted to skip it.

When I'd walked out of the bathroom, his eyes had lit up the same way they had when he'd seen me sitting on his front stoop. I was wearing the same style of dress, except this one was floral printed instead of white. I wondered if maybe it was one he liked. They both had spaghetti straps, form-fitting bodices, flowy skirts, and ended just above my knee. I'd always thought the style was romantic and suited my curves. Simon told me they reminded him of something a peasant would wear in a fairytale.

"Bay."

Speak of the devil. I heard my name—well, the name Simon called me—and I felt my stomach drop. I turned around and saw him standing beneath an oak tree that had lanterns hanging from it. He was alone, wearing a button-down black shirt and gray slacks. His sandy blond hair was perfectly styled. Not a single strand was out of place in his signature just-rolled-out-of-bed, messy locks. His strong jaw was clean-shaven, which I always preferred because, when there wasn't the distraction of stubble, his big, brown eyes stole the show. Which is exactly what they did now.

He was handsome, objectively. I still found him attractive, but for the first time in my life, I didn't feel attracted to him. The usual zip-zang-zing that always occurred when I was near Simon didn't happen as I stood just a few feet away from him.

I wasn't sure if the change was due to the fact that he was engaged and about to be a married man. Or if it was the side effect of spending the better part of the day with Cole and my hormones were exhausted from being on high alert.

I'd had to hold in several sneezes today. One, when he picked me up and helped me with my bags, it was his hands; they were so large and manly. Whenever I saw them, I wondered what they would feel like on my body. The second sneeze was suppressed during the drive when he'd reached over and placed his arm across me when the car in front of us slammed on their brakes. Even though the situation had been scary, I'd never felt safer in my life. And the third time I'd swallowed a sneeze was when we were in the room, and he'd brushed a strand of hair off my face and told me to let him know if I needed anything. The look in his eyes nearly had me blurting out that I needed him to kiss me.

Simon surveyed the courtyard with his trademark assessing gaze. It was a look I was all too familiar with. He'd had it even on the first day I'd met him. I'm not sure if he developed it as a child or if being born into a family of billionaires meant he had it from birth, but by the time he was seventeen, he exuded an air of superiority.

"Thank you so much for doing this. Everything looks perfect."

"Sure, yeah, no, absolutely. Miranda and her team are amazing." They actually were. I wasn't just saying that.

He took a step toward me, and I felt the familiar flutter in my heart that happened every time he was within a ten-foot radius of me. It wasn't the zip-zang-zing, but it was something. "I've wanted to get a moment alone to talk to you. I stopped by your apartment and the shop, but you weren't there."

"Why didn't you just call?" I asked.

"I don't know. I think maybe I thought you wouldn't answer or want to talk to me."

"Why wouldn't I? We're friends." I'm your oldest friend.

He nodded. "I know, but I just think…all of this must have come as a shock to you. I mean, the last time I saw you?—"

"Matty! I've been looking all over for you! I thought you were taking a call." Devin's legs appeared endless as she strolled toward us with the confidence, style, beauty, and grace of a model on a catwalk during Paris Fashion Week.

Simon and I both remained silent as she joined us.

She glanced between us, her expression curious. "Was I interrupting something?"

"No." I rushed to assure her.

"We were just catching up," Simon explained curtly.

His assurance didn't sound quite as, well, assuring as mine.

"I'm going to go check on the kitchen to make sure everything is ready." I made my escape quickly and didn't look back as I walked as fast as my average-length legs could take me.

My speed was fueled by my desire to put as much distance between Simon and me as possible. I hated that I was still affected by that man. He was getting married. I was his wedding planner. There should be no pitter-pattering of hearts.

As emotions I had no business feeling tried to break through the barriers I'd put up, I mentally placed a pillow over their faces and suffocated them. This weekend was not the time to grieve my relationship with him. This weekend was all about survival.

After confirming with the kitchen that the appetizers and hors d"oeuvres were trayed and ready to be circulated, I gave myself a quick inner pep talk, one that included Grandpa Bill's favorite saying, "Life is tough, but so are you. Suck it up, Buttercup."

Armed with my grandpa's motto as a shield, I walked back into the corridor off the lobby at the same time Cole entered it. He wore black slacks and a charcoal gray button-down that clearly had been tailored to fit him perfectly. The color complemented his dark hair and navy eyes. He was wearing the exact opposite of what Simon was, which struck me as fitting since the two men could not be any more different.

"Hey!" I smiled.

His lips began to curl in a smile, but then they dropped. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied.

He stepped closer to me, and I could see concern brimming in his eyes. The worry that clouded his expression started to chip away at the protective barrier I'd just built around my heart. Tears began to swell in my eyes.

"Bailey, darling. Is that you?"

My head turned in the direction of the voice, and I saw Mr. and Mrs. Prescott. Mr. Prescott was on a call and stayed in the lobby as Mrs. Prescott approached me with her arms extended.

I'd always liked Simon's parents, even if I never felt like I belonged when I was around them. It wasn't because of anything they did. They had welcomed me and always treated me like one of the family since the first time I'd had dinner at their house, when I was only fourteen.

I hadn't seen them since their sixtieth-anniversary party four years earlier.

"Hi!" I forced myself to smile widely.

"Hello!" Mrs. Prescott greeted me with a hug and kiss on each cheek. "How have you been, sweet girl?"

"Good, yeah, great."

She patted my cheek. "I was so sorry to hear about Betty."

"Oh, thank you." I nodded. "And thank you for the beautiful flowers."

"Of course, dear." She glanced to my left. "And who is this?"

"Oh, um, sorry, yes, this is Cole?—"

"Cole Crawford," Cole said at the same time, holding out his hand.

"Annie Prescott, nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Prescott."

"Bailey Bliss!" Mr. Prescott's voice echoed off the walls as he ended his call and walked toward me. "How are you, my girl?" he asked as he pulled me into a bear hug.

Mr. Prescott had always given the best hugs. My dad had never been a big hugger. I'd always wished that he had been. I remember when I was a little girl, every summer when I saw him, I would race toward him and throw myself into his arms. My affection was returned with a brief pat on the back before he'd move away.

"I'm good. How are you?" I asked as I stepped back.

"Well, I'm not gonna lie; I'm a bit surprised that this is happening. It's not like Simon to take things this far."

"Matthew." Mrs. Prescott said her husband's name in a warning tone.

Since his father and grandfather were both Simons, everyone called Mr. Prescott Matthew. I wondered how they felt about Devin calling Simon, Matty. I wasn't a huge fan of it, but it was none of my business.

"What? It's the truth. I figured when Simon walked down the aisle, it would be with this one, not some twenty-something?—"

"Matthew, this is Cole Crawford. Cole, this opinionated man is my husband."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Prescott."

"Call me, Matthew."

Cole smiled and placed his hand on my lower back.

Mr. Prescott must have noticed because he asked, "Oh, are you two together?"

"Yes," Cole responded.

"Oh, well, I didn't mean anything about Simon walking down the aisle with?—"

"It's fine," I assured him, wanting to talk about anything other than Simon and me walking down the aisle together. "Simon and Devin are in the courtyard for welcome cocktails."

"Oh, lovely," Mrs. Prescott sighed.

"So, son, what do you do?" Mr. Prescott slapped his hand on Cole's shoulder as the two men walked toward the courtyard.

"Construction."

As Mr. Prescott launched into a story of summers spent working with Habitat for Humanity, Mrs. Prescott slid her arm through mine as we followed behind the men.

She leaned down and whispered, "I like him. You did good."

I smiled at her, but I couldn't help feeling guilty. I cared about Mr. and Mrs. Prescott and didn't like feeling that I was lying to them or tricking them. I could care less about the rest of the people here. Especially Simon's Harvard friends. But his parents—they'd always been so kind to me.

Just get through the weekend, I told myself. This was about survival.