“Only a minute,” I whisper, like I’m still pretending I have control. Like I haven’t just made the choice I swore I never would. Like I haven’t already given in.
I let out a long breath, my gaze drifting to the stars. They’re brighter now, scattered like diamonds across the dark expanse of sky. The moon catches my eye, a crescent sharp and thin as a sliver of glass. My brow furrows. I could’ve sworn it was full earlier. I blink, my eyelids growing heavy, vision blurring with the pull of sleep.
The night feels…different. The sounds of the lake are faster, rushing, sweeping, as though we’re no longer where we were before. But that’s absurd. That’s impossible. That’s the champagne talking.
The steady beat of Alder’s heart, his promise of security, his unshakable certainty lulls me into that space between awake and asleep. I close my eyes, letting the warmth of his body pull me deeper.
And for the first time in a long time, I let myself go.
I let myself rest.
I let myself be taken care of.
Five
Icy cold water slaps my face, yanking me from the edgeof a dream.
I gasp, bolting upright, my fingers clawing at my soaked dress. For a bleary-eyed second, I’m sure it’s spilled champagne, but the chill seeps through the fabric and covers far too much of me. I blink hard, wiping water from my eyes, squinting at the rising sun—a runny yolk smeared across puffy white clouds.
“Wake up, lovebirds!” a rough voice snaps through the morning quiet, slicing through my disorientation.
Alder stirs beside me, groaning as he sits up, golden hair plastered to his forehead in wet strands. Slowly, he drags a hand down his face, blinking against the brightness.
I turn toward the voice, and my surprise lodges in my throat.
A man stands on the dock holding an empty wooden bucket, water dripping from its rim. He looks like an actor who stepped straight out of the EnchantedRenaissance book event I coordinated last spring, only dirtier, rougher, more authentic—like he belongs in the past instead of playacting in the present. His mud-stained tunic clings to his wiry frame, his boots caked with clay. His weathered face twists into a scowl as he glares down at us.
The venue must be putting on some kind of medieval faire. Maybe a cleanup crew in costume, working the early shift.
“You two better clear out.” He leans down, his voice rougher than the wooden planks beneath me. “Can’t have the likes of you sleeping here. You’ll drive away the fishes.”
Beside me, Alder tenses, water dripping from his chin. “What the hell?”
I force my stiff, aching limbs to move, scrambling to get to my feet as my mind tries to catch up. The wedding. The drinks. The dock. My head throbs, last night’s events returning in jagged fragments.
“I understand, we overstayed,” I say in a rush, brushing at the damp fabric of my dress as I struggle to shake the feeling that something isn’t right. “We’re with the wedding party, and we’ll get out of your way. But was the bucket really necessary?”
The fisherman’s eyes narrow. “Wedding? Ain’t no wedding ’round here, missy.”
My stomach plummets.
No wedding?
That’s not possible.
Did we sleep so long they’ve already cleared the whole venue? We couldn’t have. It’s barely sunrise…
I glance around, expecting to see the tent andremnants of last night’s celebration, but—nothing. No chairs. No flower arrangements. No distant clatter of a cleanup crew. Just an endless stretch of wild grass and a dense tree line, framing a river I don’t recognize.
Wait. A river?
I blink, trying to clear the fog in my brain.
This wasn’t a river last night. It was a lake. A calm, glassy lake on Charleston Island Country Club’s perfectly manicured grounds.
My heart stutters, and my legs wobble as a flare of panic goes off in my chest.
Alder exhales sharply. He’s taking it in too, but his face is unreadable, his jaw ticking as his sharp gaze sweeps the horizon.
