“Kind of hard not to react when the guy who wants to kill me is watching my sister’s wedding rehearsal.”
“He wants you to react. He wants you afraid.” Julian’s voice is steady, but I can still feel the tension. “Deny him that.”
Easy for him to say. He’s had two hundred and fifty-seven years to practice not reacting to threats. I’ve had less than a day.
But I take a breath. Keep my eyes on Violet and Chris, who are now posing for practice photos while Tammy adjusts their positioning.
“Is he going to do something?” I ask.
“Not here. Not now.” Julian places his hand on my back. “This is reconnaissance. He’s mapping the terrain. Learning the players.”
“For what?”
“Tomorrow. The wedding. The reception.” A pause. “Maximum impact.”
I think about what Julian told me. About how Damien doesn’t just want to hurt—he wants to destroy. Publicly. Dramatically.
“He’s going to try to ruin my sister’s wedding,” I whisper.
“Not if I can help it.”
“How?”
“Everyone is in place—watching. Marcus is running surveillance. If Damien makes a move, we’ll be ready.”
“And if you’re not?”
Julian doesn’t answer.
I glance back toward the palm trees. Damien is gone—vanished as quietly as he appeared.
“Poppy!” Violet calls. “Come take a picture with me! Sister shot!”
I paste on a smile. The professional one. The one that says everything is fine.
“Go,” Julian says. “I’ll be watching.”
“You’re always watching.”
“Yes.” His eyes harden. “And I’m not going to stop.”
I walk toward my sister. Toward the photos and the laughter and the normal things that normal people do at wedding rehearsals.
And I pretend—like I’ve always pretended—that everything is exactly as it should be.
The rehearsal ends with Tammy pronouncing us “adequate”—which, from her, seems like high praise.
People drift toward the resort bar while waiting for the rehearsal dinner. Violet and Chris disappear for what Chris calls a “quick debrief” and Violet calls “hiding from my mother for fifteen minutes.”
I’m looking for Julian when Preston finds me.
“Poppy.”
I stop. Turn. There he is—my ex-fiancé, looking exactly the same as he did eight months ago when he told me he’d found his “true path” and that path apparently didn’t include me.
“Preston.” My voice is neutral. The voice I use for brand deals I don’t want to do.
“You look good.” He says it like he’s surprised. Like he expected me to fall apart without him.
