Page 67 of Groomsman to Groom

“Because it was so meaningless, I didn’t want to take up precious conversation time with you discussing it. I was helping out someone who desperately needed it, something I’ve made a vow to do since I’ve been lucky enough to have some success.”

Relief floods through me, though I’m careful not to show it too plainly. “Why would Luna say that?”

“Because she saw the hug and mistook it for more? But bigger than that, you should be asking yourself why she was following me around.” Brielle’s tone makes it clear she thinks the answer should be obvious. “Who does that? Not someone I’d want to be with. But she knew there was something real betweenus, so she had to go out of her way to make you doubt my integrity.”

Put that way, it makes perfect sense. The timing, the specific details designed to hit my insecurities about being used for career advancement, the way it played into existing tensions about our Spain connection—Luna engineered the perfect storm of doubt.

“I’m so sorry, Brielle,” I tell her, the weight of a week’s worth of confusion finally lifting. “I tried to talk to you at the cocktail party about it, but Luna interrupted.”

“I get that. She’s not been honest about other things.” She raises a brow, and I get the message loud and clear. Luna was the one who lied about sleeping with me. Before I can say anything, she continues, “I know she interrupted for a reason, and your hands were tied,” she says, letting me off easily. Or so I think. She continues, “But that’s not the part that bothers me.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“The double standard.” Her eyes flash with anger. “Let’s say, hypothetically, that I had kissed Seth. Why would that be such a betrayal? You’ve been kissing multiple women for weeks—that’s literally the premise of the show. But I’m supposed to exist in some kind of romantic vacuum when the cameras aren’t rolling?”

Her point hits me like a bucket of ice water. She’s absolutely right. The entire construct of the show creates a fundamental imbalance—I’m encouraged to explore connections with multiple women simultaneously, while they’re expected to focus exclusively on me, despite having no guarantee of reciprocation.

“You’re right,” I say, humbled. “It’s completely hypocritical. The whole setup is.”

“It is,” she says, her expression softening. “Though for what it’s worth, I didn’t think about or kiss Seth. Or anyone else.”

Something in my chest unfurls at her words, a tension I didn’t realize I was carrying. “I’m truly sorry. I let my insecurities get the best of me. I let all this mess with my head, and I got scared. So damn scared,” I blurt, the words slipping out. “This past week, I’ve missed talking to you. Being with you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” she says, the admission clearly costing her something. “Even while I was reeling from the fact that you wouldn’t even look at me.”

“I was a bonehead.” And I should’ve never listened to Luna the Liar.

“Yes,” she agrees with a small smile, “you were. But I understand why. Trust doesn’t come easily when you’ve lost what you lost.”

Her insight, her empathy even in the face of my failure, reminds me why she’s captivated me from the beginning. This is what August saw during their chess match—her ability to see beyond surface behaviors to the deeper currents beneath.

“So, where does that leave us?” I say, aware of the cameras drinking in our reconciliation. “With Paisley waiting to meet me?”

“Exactly where we’ve been all along,” Brielle says pragmatically. “In the middle of a reality show competition that pretends to compress something as complex as finding love into a few weeks of orchestrated dates. The only difference is, now we’re both being honest about what we’re feeling.”

“And what are you feeling?” I need to hear it explicitly.

She considers the question, her writer’s precision with words evident in her careful response. “I’m feeling like, despite all the absurdity of this situation, despite the cameras and the competition and the contractual obligations, I’ve found someone who sees me. Really sees me. And I can’t walk away from that. Not yet, anyway.”

Her answer mirrors my own feelings so exactly that it takes my breath away. Before I can respond—before I can tell her that her words could have been pulled directly from my own thoughts—a production assistant approaches, tapping her watch meaningfully.

“Time to head to Paisley’s,” Brielle translates with a grimace. “Are you ready to face the Spanish Inquisition? Because trust me, compared to my sister’s interrogation techniques, the bulls of Pamplona were practically a petting zoo.”

I laugh, grateful for her ability to defuse tension with humor. “Bring it on. I’ve faced August’s chess strategies. I can handle your sister.”

Her smile falters slightly. “Don’t be so sure. Paisley’s been my protector since our dad left when we were kids. She’s intense when it comes to vetting potential threats to my happiness.”

The production SUV delivers us to a tidy Craftsman-style home with a well-tended garden and toys scattered across the front yard. As we walk up the path, I notice Brielle’s steps slowing slightly, her own nervousness becoming apparent.

“She’s going to like you,” she says, almost reassuring herself more than me. “Who wouldn’t?”

Before we can knock, the door swings open to reveal a woman who is undeniably Brielle’s sister. Same dark hair, though curlier; same expressive eyes, though currently narrowed; same striking bone structure, though set in an expression of unmistakable skepticism.

“There you are.” Paisley goes in and gives Brielle a big hug, and after they’ve both said how much they’ve missed each other, Paisley pulls away, her gaze settling on me with laser-like intensity. “I’m Paisley. You must be Hayes.”

“I am.”

The interior of Paisley’s home feels lived-in and warm—family photos covering the walls, toys scattered across the livingroom floor, the mingled scents of home cooking and baby powder creating an atmosphere of comfort. A toddler girl peers at us from behind a couch, her curious eyes and dark curls marking her clearly as Paisley’s daughter.

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