Page 55 of Knotted

He sighs, giving in. “As long as you avoid anything that involves pink slips or deeds.”

And from the time I wake up, it’s a whirlwind, with Taylor dragging me all over town, swiping that card like it’s the Olympic sport she was born to dominate. Driven around by Logan, no less.

The ladies at the bridal boutique practically roll out the red carpet the second Taylor flashes it. By the time I’m slipping into the sixth gown—after countless glasses of overflowing brut, fresh berries, and bite-sized cupcakes that are too adorable to eat, not to mention the endless selfies—I’m done.

“No matter what, the next one I try on, I’m taking,” I declare, half-joking, half-serious. “Maybe I’ll end up serving burgers and fries in it at Donovan’s.”

Taylor giggles, her eyes bright. “Remember when we thought we could serve twice as many people on roller skates?” She snorts, and I nearly collapse, a wave of uncontrollable laughter hitting me as the ridiculous image of us wobbling around with trays full of drinks and food floods back.

It’s all so perfect. Too perfect. And that’s when my phone starts blowing up.

First, a text from Colby.

Colby

Is there something you want to tell me?

About you.

And

Brian Bishop???

WTF—Over???

Next, the nameEommalights up the screen.

“Shit.” My eyes go wide as I glance at Taylor. “It’s my mom. What do I do?”

She shrugs. That’s not exactly reassuring. “Answer.”

I swallow the knot of nerves tightening in my throat and pick up. “Hello?”

“Hello? Is that all you’ve got to say?” Eomma’s voice leaps from mildly annoyed to full-blown panic. “Juliana Grace, are you getting married today?”

“What? Where’d you hear that?” I try to keep my tone light, playing innocent, but my heart’s pounding wildly, a trapped animal desperate to break free.

“It’s all over Facebook. And Instagram. And don’t even get me started on TikTok.”

“TikTok? What?”

My eyes snap to Taylor, who’s already swiping through her phone.

She flips the screen toward me, and there it is—pictures of Brian and me splashed all over social media. The hashtags #HighSchoolSweethearts and #Billionaire&Bride are spreading like California wildfire.

This is definitely not how I wanted to handlethis. But before I can even process her question through the champagne still buzzing in my veins, Dad’s voice barrels through the line. “Are. You. Getting. Married? Yes or no, Juliana?”

“Um . . . Yes.”

“Seriously, Juliana? You’re going to marry him. The guy you’ve hated for years.”

I want to explain, but there’s a sales associate lurking in the room, and probably the one who leaked this to the world in the first place. I shoot daggers at her while Taylor hustles her out. “Dad, it’s not what you think?—”

“Young lady, you listen to me. I don’t care how old you are or what’s going through your head. You’re still my little girl. Period. If my little girl is getting married, I will be walking her down that aisle. End of story. And you will not deprive me of the pleasure of threatening that Bishop boy within an inch of his life if he even thinks about breaking your heart. Am I clear?”

My response is automatic. “Yes, sir.”

He exhales, the sound long and heavy, like a dam about to burst with all the parental patience he has. “When is this blessed event supposed to take place?”

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