Page 64 of Groomsman to Groom

Skye’s gaze turns unexpectedly sharp. “You don’t. That’s the risk you took when you got into that entrance limo. But also, that’s the risk we all take when we give someone our heart.”

She’s right, of course. There are no guarantees, ever. Uncertainty is the price of admission to finding love.

“Get through tonight. Just focus on that.” She stands, smoothing down her crimson ensemble. “And at the cocktail party, I’d spend less time fretting and more time reminding him why he jumped off that balcony for you in the first place.”

With that sound advice, she leaves me alone in the courtyard, the fountain’s gentle trickle suddenly sounding more like a countdown clock.

The rooftop is something out of a travel magazine spread—terracotta tiles, string lights crisscrossing overhead, and beyond the glass barriers, Pamplona spread out like a glittering jewel box against the darkening sky. In another lifetime, I’d be frantically composing shots for this scene in my head. In this one, I’m just trying not to throw up on my borrowed Jimmy Choos.

“You look amazing,” Serena whispers as we line up for our entrance. She’s not wrong, objectively speaking. The stylists have worked their usual magic, pouring me into a burgundy dress that somehow manages to hide my bandaged arm while showcasing other assets I didn’t know I had. But I feel like an imposter, dolled up for a ceremony where I might be sent home by the man who saw me naked just two nights ago.

“So do you.” Serena looks lovely in emerald green, the perfectly applied makeup on her flawless skin, and not a hair out of place.

Hayes looks painfully handsome in a charcoal suit that’s just casual enough for the setting—no tie, top button undone, the fabric tailored to showcase broad shoulders I now know the feel of beneath my fingertips. His smile as he greets us is warm, professional, and completely devoid of the heat I’d seen in his eyes that night in the SUV.

“Everyone,” he begins, the standard opening of the show that suddenly feels like a slap. “Thank you for joining me on this beautiful rooftop. Before we begin tonight’s ceremony, I want to take a moment to speak with each of you.”

The cocktail party portion of the evening has officially begun, and the last chance for connection before decisions are made. Hayes takes Luna first, leading her to a secluded corner where their conversation involves animated hand gestures and shared laughter. My stomach twists as I watch them, remembering Luna’s description of their “connection” during their date yesterday.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Serena says quietly beside me, her practical nature somehow comforting. “He has to talk to everyone. It’s literally in his contract.”

“I know.” I accept a glass of sparkling wine from a passing server. “It’s just—”

“Weird to watch the guy you slept with chat up other women?” She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’d imagine so.”

I nearly choke on my drink. “God, how did I let that happen?”

“You’re human?”

Before I can respond, Annabelle joins us, her red hair arranged in loose curls that catch the string lights overhead. “Are we sharing secrets? Because I have a confession: I still sleep witha stuffed elephant named Mr. Trunks.” She presses a hand to her heart. “God, it feels good to get that off my chest.”

The unexpected admission startles a laugh out of me, the first genuine one since last night’s confrontation. Annabelle grins, and I’m so glad to have her back.

“We were just discussing how these just keep getting more tense,” Serena covers smoothly. “With only four keys on that table.”

“Super tense.” Annabelle’s Southern accent thickens with emotion. “I haven’t been able to eat all day, which for me is saying something serious.”

Our nervous chatter continues as Hayes finishes with Luna and moves on to Gabby. Their conversation appears more serious, with fewer smiles and more intense eye contact. I turn away, willing myself not to stare.

When Hayes finally approaches our little group, his expression is carefully neutral. “Annabelle, would you mind joining me for a moment?”

As they walk away, I feel the weight of a missed opportunity settling on my shoulders. Will he even speak to me before the ceremony? Or is this deliberate avoidance his way of telling me what I can expect when those keys are distributed?

“He’ll talk to you.” Serena reads my thoughts. “He has to. It would look too obvious if he didn’t.”

“Right.” He has to—comforting.

Finally, after what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes, Hayes approaches me. “Brielle,” he says, my name sounding formal on his lips. “Would you join me?”

He leads me to a quiet corner of the rooftop, away from the others but still visible to them—and to the cameras tracking our every move. The city lights twinkle below us, a romantic backdrop for what feels increasingly like a goodbye conversation.

“How’s your arm?” he asks.

“Starting the process of becoming superhuman,” I say, aiming for lightness and missing by a mile. “The aching has disappeared, mostly. Just sore.”

Hayes nods, his eyes fixed somewhere over my left shoulder. “Good. That’s good.”

The awkward silence stretches between us like an expanding universe. I want to grab him by the lapels, to shake him and demand he look at me—really look at me—the way he used to. Instead, I take a deep breath.

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