Page 68 of Matched with the Grumpy Secret Prince

“Do you realize what this means?” I ask, my voice rising, edged with panic. “Riley’s entire rehearsal aesthetic is ruined. And worse—she will notice.”

Mia offers a small, reassuring smile. "Sophie, everyone makes mistakes. This isn’t the end of the world—I’m sure Riley won’t mind."

“I—I don’t know how it happened! I had the order pulled up; I triple-checked the invoice, and I was sure I sent the right request?—”

I exhale sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples as frustration builds. My mind is a tangled mess, worn down from too many sleepless nights. I constantly jump between thoughts of Graham, the wedding, and everything else. This is a disaster—not just any disaster—a potential wedding-ruining disaster.

How could I let my emotions get in the way of something this important? I should have been focused, careful—but instead, I let myself get distracted, and now it feels like I’ve ruined everything.

I take a deep breath, pushing down my guilt and anxiety. This is fixable. Barely.

I glance at my watch—three hours until the dinner starts.

Not enough time. But I don’t have a choice.

I grab my keys and turn toward the door. “I’ll go to the flower shop and get the right ones. You stay here and do damage control.”

Mia nods, her voice calm and reassuring. "I’ll start clearing these flowers out so we’re ready to swap them as soon as you’re back. I’ll make sure no one—especially Riley—sees these.”

“Good.” I sigh. “Because if she does? I’m dead.”

I push out the door, my heart pounding as I hurry to my car.

I need to fix this.

Now.

The drive to Mia’s flower shop is short, but my frustration makes it feel longer.

This is the last thing I need right now. Two days before the wedding, I should be fine-tuning the details, not racing across town because of a mistake that should never have happened.

I pull into the parking lot, barely throwing my car into the park before jumping out. The sun is low in the sky, casting golden streaks over the town, but I’m too focused on the task at hand to care. I stride toward the shop, calculating how fast I can get in and out with the correct flowers.

But then I see him.

And everything stops.

Graham.

Standing at the entrance of the flower shop.

Right there.

In front of me.

For a split second, my brain refuses to process it.

It’s been a month. A month of silence. A month of convincing myself that whatever we had was just a moment of vulnerability. That he wasn’t coming back. That he didn’t even care enough to explain why he left.

And yet—here he is.

I come to an abrupt halt, my breath catching in my throat, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Graham lifts his head, his dark eyes meeting mine.

And just like that, every wall I built over the last month threatens to crumble.

My feet feel glued to the pavement.

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