Page 64 of Three Pucking Wedding Dates

“Oakley, darling,” Tina purrs with a mocking smile, “you’re looking…well, overdressed for a simple family brunch, don’t you think?”

I feel my cheeks heat up, but Iris beats me to a response. “Actually, Tina, I think Oakley looks absolutely stunning. Perhaps you and Georgia should’ve put in a bit more effort,” she retorts playfully, her hazel eyes glinting with mischief.

The corners of my mouth lift into a grateful smile, and Iris winks at me conspiratorially. With renewed confidence, I lower myself into the seat next to Georgia, who shifts uncomfortably in her chair.

Iris slides into the seat on my other side. “Have you decided what you’re ordering, Georgia?” Iris asks casually, pretendingnot to notice the daggers being shot from my stepsister’s blue eyes.

“Of course,” Georgia snaps, barely containing her irritation. “I’ll be having the avocado toast.”

“Sounds healthy,” Iris quips, not missing a beat. “I think I’ll try the French toast. What about you, Oakley?”

“Definitely the eggs Benedict,” I chime in.

“So, Oakley,” Georgia drawls, her voice dripping with saccharine sweetness. “Three wedding dates, right? A bit unorthodox, don’t you think?”

“Um…” I start.

“My brothers,” Iris jumps in before I have a chance. “They’re all great guys, members of the Utica Legends as a matter of fact.”

Georgia’s eyes narrow, and I can tell she’s grinding her teeth in frustration. Sensing an opportunity, Tina interjects, her tone as icy as ever. “And who might you be, dear? I don’t recall inviting you to this family brunch.”

“I don’t need an invitation. I’ve actually been in the family longer than you have.” Iris smirks. “But where are my manners. I’m Iris Archer, Oakley’s friend and—” She pauses for dramatic effect, her hazel eyes twinkling with mischief. “—a model based in Paris.”

“Paris, you say?” Tina scoffs, clearly unimpressed. Georgia leans in, whispering something under her breath, but I choose to ignore it.

“Yep.” Iris pulls out her phone and looks herself up before showing it to them. “A pretty hard thing to get into, but it meansI know fashion, which is how I picked out this dress for Oakley. Isn’t it pretty?”

I take a deep breath, steadying my nerves. My attention shifts to Dan just in time to catch his longing gaze from the head of the table. He fidgets with his silverware, clearly uncomfortable under my appraising stare. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence—not today.

“It’s pretty,” Tina says through gritted teeth.

“Thank you,” I reply, feeling a surge of confidence. “I’m glad I decided to wear it.”

My dad chimes in, his green eyes mirroring my own. “I have to agree with Iris. That color looks beautiful on you.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Warmth blossoms within me as I realize that for the first time in ages, I’m genuinely enjoying a moment spent with my father.

“Are we ready to order?” the server asks, appearing at our table just in time to interrupt Tina’s scowl.

“Absolutely,” Iris says brightly.

The clatterof silverware against plates subsides as the meal draws to a close. My dad reaches for his wallet, but I quickly interject.

“Let me take care of this, Dad,” I insist, placing my hand over his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I want to treat us all today.”

“Are you sure, Oakley?” he asks, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

“Absolutely,” I reply, standing up with a confident smile.

As I make my way to the hostess stand, my heels click against the polished floor, echoing my newfound sense of independence. I can’t help but feel a surge of pride at having taken charge of the situation—something that would have seemed impossible just a few weeks ago.

“Oakley,” Dan calls out from behind me, his voice smooth and familiar. I turn to face him, steeling myself for whatever charm offensive he has planned.

“Dan,” I say curtly, offering him nothing more than a nod.

“You look absolutely stunning today,” he compliments, his brown eyes filled with what appears to be genuine admiration. But his flattery does nothing for me like it maybe once would have.

“Thanks,” I respond, unimpressed. “Is there something you wanted?”

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