"Okay, alright, everything's fine," Harper says, dropping the clipboard to her side. She takes one breath. Two. Then the General Harper switch flips. "Okay, we need stand-ins."
***
"Three stand-ins," Harper announces after ten minutes, checking something off on her clipboard. "Dev, Jonah, and Tyler. That should be enough for a walk-through."
"Look at you," I say. "Assembled a party in ten minutes flat."
"I could coordinate a royal wedding in ten minutes flat if the catering was already handled," she says with pride.
I believe her.
I find a quiet corner near the coat rack and try to finger-comb my hair into something approaching a shape. My reflection in the window is... a lot. But I'm here. I made it.
My chest is still doing a thing, though. Because somewhere between here and my dead rental car on the shoulder of the highway, three alphas piled into a truck without a secondthought. Mason heard my phone was dead and justwent.Knox and Arthur didn't ask questions either.
I press my hand flat against my sternum, take a breath, smooth my blouse, and scrape my hair behind my ears and accept that this is what we're working with.
Then the front doors open and a small crowd pushes in. Dev walks in first—tall, easy smile, already rolling up his sleeves, reporting for duty. Behind him is a lanky guy with kind eyes who must be Jonah. Next to Jonah is a guy I don't recognize either, compact build, quiet energy, who gives a small wave to Ben, Tyler, I assume.
And behind them all, with his hands in his pockets and a smile that makes my skin prickle... is Grant.
He looks exactly the way he always looks. Tailored. Pressed. Every hair in place. He's got a sweater draped over his shoulders like he's posing for a catalog and an expression of polite helpfulness that I'm sure, from years of experience, is a mask for something much less generous.
Dev jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "Grant was at the bar with us. Said he'd tag along in case you needed an extra set of hands."
I watch Grant scan the room, his mouth arranged in a half-smile.
Harper's gaze flicks to me. Fast. Checking.
I realize, in this fraction of a second, that I have a choice. Old Beth would send Harper a look that saysget him out of here.But my alphas are away on a highway, and, aside from a slight annoyance, I don't feel much.
In fact, it's impressive how little I feel.
"Let's just start," I say to Harper.
Harper watches me for one more second, then nods. "Okay. Places, everyone. We're walking through the full processional.Bridesmaids, you're lining up at the back. Stand-ins, you're up front with Ben. Just follow his lead."
For the next fifteen minutes, the wedding coordinator walks everyone through the order of procession, the timing, the music cues. Dev takes his role extremely seriously. Jonah keeps accidentally walking to the wrong side of the altar. Tyler gives a thumbs-up every time he completes a task, which is endearing.
Grant stands near the back with his arms crossed, watching everything unfold while wearing that same persistent half-smile.
He remains mostly just a shape in my peripheral vision, though. I go about my business, adjusting Maren's sash, laughing at something Luna whispers about the officiant's mustache, and helping Harper's mom find the right playlist on the Bluetooth speaker.
Being quite unbothered is the strangest thing. Like finding out you're not allergic to something that made you break out in hives for years.
"Okay." The wedding coordinator claps her hands. "Walk-through time. We're going to pair up and do the processional exactly as it'll happen tomorrow. Bridesmaids with groomsmen—or, today, our wonderful stand-ins."
She starts pairing people off. Luna with Dev. Maren with Jonah.
"Beth, you're with—"
"I'll do it," Grant steps forward.
The coordinator looks at Harper. Harper looks at me. Tyler, cheerfully oblivious to the tension, is already backing away to fiddle with the music system.
"Sure," I say, shrugging.
Grant falls into step beside me as we line up at the back of the hall for the practice walk. He's close enough that I can catch that iron-edged scent of his, which just a few weeks ago used tocoil tight around my chest and drag up baggage I'd spent months trying to bury.
