Chapter 10 Parker
PARKER
The wedding day breakfast tastes like sawdust and diplomatic warfare.
Mom sits across from Dad and Aria, her smile sharp enough to cut crystal while she compliments Aria’s “youthful perspective” on the centerpieces.
Dad chews his eggs Benedict like he’s grinding his teeth, and Aria keeps touching her stomach in that telltale way that makes my own clench with dread.
The whole wedding party is here—bridesmaids picking at fruit salad while they discuss last-minute hair changes, groomsmen already looking slightly overwhelmed by the day ahead.
Charles keeps checking his watch, that nervous energy he gets before big events, making him fidget with his coffee cup.
Sienna glows beside him, radiant in a simple sundress that somehow makes her look like she’s already wearing her wedding gown.
Last night feels like a dream and a nightmare all at once.
The confession in that private booth, the three of them telling me they’ve wanted me for years, the impossible suggestion that I wouldn’t have to choose between them.
I’ve been replaying their words all morning, trying to convince myself it was the alcohol talking, the heightened emotions of a wedding celebration.
But the way they’ve been looking at me this morning—careful, hopeful, like I’m a skittish animal they’re afraid to spook—tells me they meant every word.
I’m calculating how many more mimosas it’ll take to survive this when Rochelle appears at my elbow, mascara streaked, clutching her phone like a lifeline.
“Parker, thank God.” Her voice cracks. “I need you to fix this because I cannot—I literally cannot—tell Sienna that her wedding is ruined.”
The bottom drops out of my stomach. “What happened?”
“The band. Their van broke down outside Wilmington. They missed the last ferry.” She’s spiraling, words tumbling over each other. “There’s no backup plan, no other boats until tomorrow morning, and Sienna specifically chose them because they know all her grandmother’s favorite songs and—”
My chest tightens. Today is supposed to be perfect. After everything our family has put Sienna through—the politics, the scrutiny, the careful dance of loving a Carter—she deserves one flawless day.
“Breathe.” I grab her hands, forcing her to look at me. “Where’s Sienna now?”
“Getting ready upstairs with the other bridesmaids. She doesn’t know yet. But when she finds out—”
I can picture it. Sienna’s face crumpling, the kind of tears that ruin makeup and break hearts. Charles pacing like a caged animal, trying to fix something he can’t control. The whole wedding derailing over something as stupid as a broken alternator.
“I’ll handle it,” I say, already standing. “Don’t tell Sienna anything yet. Give me thirty minutes.”
“But what are you going to—”
“I don’t know.” The honesty slips out before I can stop it. “But I’ll figure something out.”
This is what I do—fix things. Build solutions from broken pieces.
It’s why I’m good at my job, why brands trust me to reshape their narratives when everything goes sideways.
But this isn’t a PR crisis or a market research problem.
This is my brother’s happiness, and I need to find a way to manufacture a miracle.
Rochelle nods, looking marginally less like she’s about to hyperventilate.
I weave through tables of Carter family friends and Sienna’s relatives, dodging conversations about my “mysterious” life in California and whether I’m “seeing anyone special.” Uncle Robert tries to flag me down—something about quarterly projections and “when you’re ready to come home to the family business”—but I duck past him with an apologetic smile.
The hotel lobby feels like a fishbowl, all marble and glass and eyes tracking my movement. After last night, everything is different. The air between us is charged, dangerous, full of possibilities I don’t know how to navigate.
The concierge—Marcus, according to his name tag—looks up with that practiced hospitality smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Ms. Carter, how can I help you this morning?”
“I need to get four people from the mainland to the island. Today. Right now.” The words come out clipped, professional. “The wedding band’s van broke down, and they missed the ferry. What are my options?”
His smile falters. “Well, the next scheduled ferry isn’t until tomorrow morning—”
“I know when the next ferry is.” I lean forward, desperation bleeding through my calm. “I need other options. Charter boats, helicopters, whatever it takes.”
Marcus’s fingers fly over his keyboard, his frown deepening with each option. “There’s a helicopter service out of Wilmington, but they’re booked solid with another wedding party. The charter boat companies...” He winces. “Hurricane season has most of them out of commission for maintenance.”
My chest tightens. “So you’re telling me there’s no way to get four people from the mainland to this island before tonight?”
“I’m afraid the options are quite limited—”
“What about the Coast Guard?” I’m grasping now, my voice rising. “Emergency services? There has to be something.”
The panic claws at my throat. A year ago, I would have gone straight to them without thinking.
Jace would have made a phone call, Cal would have hacked something, and Silas would have found a way that involved minimal questions and maximum results.
But after what happened last night—after the things we said, the lines we acknowledged—I can’t just assume they’ll help me anymore. Everything is different now.
“Ms. Carter, I understand your frustration, but—”
“No, you don’t understand.” The words crack out louder than I intend, drawing glances from the guests in the lobby.
“My brother is getting married tonight. This isn’t just some party.
This is—” My throat closes around the rest. This is the one good thing in our family.
This is Sienna’s dream. This is what happiness looks like, and I can’t let it fall apart.
“Problem?”
The voice cuts through my spiral like a blade through silk.
I turn to find Jace behind me, still in his casual morning attire but somehow looking like he just stepped out of a boardroom.
His dark eyes take in my face—the barely controlled panic, the way I’m gripping the marble counter—and something shifts in his expression.
For a heartbeat, I’m twelve again, standing in the kitchen after another fight with my father about why I can’t just “be more like other girls.” Jace had found me there, shoulders shaking with frustrated tears I refused to let fall.
He hadn’t lectured me about respecting my elders or given me advice about choosing my battles.
He’d just made me a grilled cheese sandwich and sat with me until I was ready to talk.
“The wedding band,” I say, the words tumbling out. “Van broke down. Missed the ferry. Sienna doesn’t know yet, but when she finds out she’s going to—” I gesture helplessly. “And there’s no way to get them here, and I told Rochelle I’d fix it, but I have no idea how to fix it and—”
“Hey.” His hand covers mine on the counter, warm and steady. The contact sends electricity up my arm, the same jolt I’ve been fighting since last night when everything changed between us. “Breathe.”
I do, pulling air into lungs that feel too tight.
There’s something in his touch that grounds me, that reminds me I don’t have to handle every crisis alone.
This is why last night scared me—because being around him, around any of them, makes me feel simultaneously stronger and more vulnerable than I’ve ever been.
Jace turns to Marcus with that particular authority that makes people straighten their spines.
“What are the potential solutions?”
Marcus runs through the same list—no helicopters, no charter boats, ferry tomorrow morning.
With each option, Jace’s expression grows more thoughtful, calculating.
I can practically see him running scenarios, weighing risks and possibilities with the same methodical precision he brings to everything.
“Call down to the docks,” he says finally. “Tell them to prepare Scarlett for departure.”
Marcus blinks. “Sir, I’m not sure anyone’s available to take her out this morning. The harbor master said—”
“I’ll pilot her myself.” Jace’s tone brooks no argument. He turns to me, something unreadable in his dark eyes. “Let’s go.”
“Go where?” But I’m already following him toward the doors, my heels clicking against marble. Because this is what I’ve always done with Jace—trusted his plans even when I didn’t understand them, followed his lead because somehow he always found a way through impossible situations.
“To get your band.”
The relief hits me so hard I stumble slightly. “Jace, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” He stops, turning to face me fully. “You needed help. That’s enough.”
The simple statement does something dangerous to my chest, makes it tight and warm and afraid.
Because last night he told me he’s wanted me for twelve years, and now he’s dropping everything to solve a problem that isn’t even his, and I don’t know how to exist in a world where Jace Moreau helps me without expecting anything in return.
“Who’s Scarlett?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, barely a smile but enough to make my stomach flutter. “My boat.”
The harbor sparkles in the morning sun, all whitecaps and salt-sweet air that tastes like childhood summers.
Jace moves with purpose down the dock, and I hurry to keep up, my dress catching the breeze.
The boats bob gently in their slips—sleek yachts and fishing vessels that speak of old money and older traditions.