Page 35 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

The morning unfolds according to the carefully orchestrated wedding schedule. Breakfast with the groomsmen, where I make the expected jokes and listen to stories about James that I'll probably never remember. Then to the groom's suite, where we dress in matching gray suits with pale blue accents that coordinate with the bridesmaids' dresses. Through it all, I play my part—the supportive almost-family-member, the seasoned boyfriend of the bride's sister—while inside I'm counting the hours until I can leave this all behind.

Just three more days. The ceremony today, the farewell brunch tomorrow, then a polite goodbye at the airport. Then back to my ranch, my life, the quiet existence I've built without Brooke. Only now it'll be harder, knowing that even after everything, even after seeing each other again, feeling what we feel, she still chooses to walk away.

"Dean?" Robert's voice pulls me from my thoughts. "Mind getting the boutonnières from Linda? She's in the hospitality suite on the second floor."

"Sure thing," I agree, glad for the excuse to step away from the increasingly rowdy groomsmen.

The resort is abuzz with wedding activity—staff arranging flowers, photographers setting up equipment, guests in formal wear navigating the lobby. I find the hospitality suite easily enough, knocking lightly before entering.

"Robert sent me for the boutonnières," I explain to Linda, who's supervising the arrangement of gift baskets for out-of-town guests.

"Oh, wonderful!" She smiles warmly, the same smile Brooke has when she's genuinely happy. "They're in the cooler by the window. But since you're here, would you mind helping me with something else first?"

"Of course."

Linda dismisses the hotel staff with a grateful nod, waiting until we're alone before turning to me, her expression shifting from cheerful efficiency to something more serious.

"Sit with me for a moment, Dean."

Wariness prickles at the back of my neck as I take a seat opposite her on one of the suite's comfortable couches. Linda Callahan has always been kind to me, but there's a sharpness to her gaze now that reminds me of her courtroom days before she retired from law.

"Is everything okay?" I ask. "Something wrong with the wedding?"

"The wedding is perfect." She folds her hands in her lap, studying me. "It's you and Brooke I'm concerned about."

My muscles tense automatically. "What about us?"

"Something's off." No preamble, no gentle lead-in. Just like Brooke when she gets to the point. "You two have been playing the happy couple all week, but I didn't raise two daughters without learning to spot when they're hiding something."

I consider my options. Deny everything, maintain the charade Brooke is so desperate to preserve. Or tell the truth to this woman who has always treated me like a son, who deserves better than the lies we've been feeding her family.

"What exactly do you think is happening?" I hedge, buying time.

Linda sighs, her expression softening. "I think you and Brooke haven't been together for quite some time. I think she asked you to pretend for this wedding. And I think somewhere along the way, it stopped being pretend for at least one of you."

My hands go numb in my lap, but I feel a warmth in my chest, an uncomfortable heat that I recognize as a mix of guilt and relief. Guilt for the deception, relief that someone sees through it.

"How long have you known?" I ask quietly.

"I suspected something was wrong when Brooke kept making excuses about why you couldn't make family events. Then this week…the way you look at her when you think no one's watching. Like you're seeing her for the first time in years." Linda's eyes are kind but knowing. "Because you are, aren't you?"

There's no point denying it now. "Two years," I admit. "We broke up two years ago."

Linda nods, unsurprised. "What happened?"

"She got the job offer in New York. I asked her to stay, or at least try long distance. She said..." The memory still stings, even now. "She said she needed to focus on her career, that she didn't see a future where we both got what we wanted."

"That sounds like my daughter." There's a hint of exasperation in Linda's voice. "Always convinced she has to choose between her ambitions and her heart."

"She made her choice." I can't keep the bitterness from my voice. "And it wasn't me."

"And yet here you are," Linda observes. "Pretending to be together for her sister's wedding. That's quite a favor for an ex-girlfriend."

I shrug, uncomfortable with her scrutiny. "Taylor deserves a perfect wedding. Not family drama."

"Noble," she says, but there's skepticism in her tone. "But I think there's more to it than that. I think you're still in love with my daughter."

The blunt assessment lands like a blow. "Does it matter? She's made it clear she doesn't feel the same."

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