Chapter 7 #2
I lay a hand on hers. “Okay. Deep breath. Let me see if I can help. I’ve known Sarah’s family forever. Maybe I can talk to—”
Movement catches my eye.
Off to the side, half-hidden behind a row of decorative pines, stand Marcus and Tyler.
They aren’t talking loudly enough for anyone else to hear, but I see it—the smirk they share.
A quiet little curve of the mouth, an exchanged look, as if they’re discussing something only the two of them understand.
A secret.
I exhale, half-exasperated, half-impressed. Since I refused to help them slow Jason down, apparently they’ve discovered creative alternatives: sowing polite chaos until the wedding can’t proceed smoothly. It’s wrong…but also weirdly protective.
I should be furious. This is my best friend’s day they’re torpedoing.
But I know, bone-deep, that if Sarah ends up hurt a year from now because none of us fought for her, they’ll never forgive themselves.
And neither will I.
I’m caught between wanting to march over there and smack all three of them…and wanting to pull them into the shadows and kiss the stupid, protective, impossible hearts right out of their chests.
Should I laugh? Should I march over and defend Sarah’s seating chart? I’m torn, because beneath the brothers’ sly teamwork is real concern. Still, poor Cokie may never forgive them if every brunch guest insists on solitary confinement.
I square my shoulders, brushing away last night’s memories—and a blush that insists on blooming—and tread across the snow toward the Birch brothers.
I approach Marcus and Tyler, heels crunching on the thin icy crust. “You two look suspiciously pleased with yourselves,” I say. “Cokie just told me half the family is in an uproar over the seating chart.”
Tyler puts a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “Mia, do you truly think we would stir up trouble for a wedding lunch?”
“Yes,” I reply without hesitation.
Marcus’s lips twitch, almost a smile. “We only offered a suggestion or two. Certain relatives have strong opinions.”
Tyler leans closer, lowering his voice. “And if a few guests end up sitting beside the people they dislike most, it might keep them busy and Jason out of the spotlight.”
I roll my eyes, but a reluctant grin slips through. “You are impossible.”
“Resourceful,” Tyler corrects. “And very, very protective.”
Before I can answer, a chime rings and the planner calls everyone to find a seat. Waitstaff stream from the kitchen, setting down baskets of pastries and copper pots that smell of herbed chicken and late-winter root soup. Steam curls into the cold air.
I hesitate, then pull out the nearest chair. Tyler sits on my left, Marcus on my right. Their combined presence radiates heat in the crisp afternoon and I’m suddenly conscious of how tiny I feel between them.
Tyler drapes an arm across the chair back, fingers brushing my shoulder in a way that feels casual and a little proprietary. “You will vouch for us if Sarah asks about the chart,” he murmurs, smiling into his water glass.
“I will do no such thing,” I whisper back, cheeks warming.
Marcus places a roll on my plate, his fingertips grazing my wrist. “Eat something. You had a late start.”
My blush deepens. I open my mouth to retort, but the scrape of another chair interrupts. Alexander appears beside our small table, dark coat unbuttoned, eyes unreadable. Of all the empty spots, he chooses the last seat here.
Sarah appears at the top of the little makeshift aisle like she’s stepping into a magazine spread, not a rehearsal lunch.
The snow has stopped and the sun is out in full force, turning the lawn into a glittering field of white, the mountains sharp against a bright blue sky.
A few attendants hurry to smooth down the runner laid over packed snow, and someone adjusts the arrangement of winter greens and white roses at the end of it.
Jason takes Sarah’s arm.
My stomach drops.
It’s just supposed to be practice, but it only reminds me of the real thing that’s going to go down in two days time.
Sarah looks up at Jason with that doe-eyed softness I remember from early crushes, the kind you grow out of once life teaches you better. Except she hasn’t. Not with him.
I sit very still, my fingers tight around the stem of my wineglass, and all I can think is, Her uncles are right. We cannot let this happen. I cannot let my best friend marry him. Not when I know what he is. Not when I can already see how this ends.
Jason guides Sarah down the aisle slowly, like he’s giving the crowd time to admire the picture. He looks perfect from a distance. Tailored coat. Easy smile. The kind of man people assume is safe because he knows how to charm a room.
The kind of smile that made me believe him once.
Now it just makes my skin crawl.
I feel Alexander shift beside me, the chair scraping faintly, like he’s suddenly more alert.
Tyler’s knee bumps mine under the table, either an accident or a quiet check-in.
Marcus sits still, his face unreadable, but the muscles in his jaw tighten in a way I recognize.
None of them say anything. The whole table seems to hold its breath.
Jason’s gaze sweeps over the guests. He’s soaking in the attention. He loves this. Of course he does.
Then his eyes land on me, and he smirks.
It’s small, controlled, meant only for me, like a private joke between predators. Like he’s reminding me he is still here, still standing, still winning.
Heat rushes to my face, but it’s not embarrassment.
It’s anger. Revulsion. An old, humiliating pulse of memory that I hate.
I don’t mean to react, but I do.
My mouth twists. My eyes narrow. The disgust shows. Clear as day.
Jason’s smirk fades instantly.
For a flicker of a second, something cold flashes through him, a quick rearranging of his face, like a mask snapping back into place. His gaze hardens. His eyes dip, then lift again, focused and mean.
Oh no.
I have made a mistake.
I break eye contact immediately, like it burns. I reach for the wine and take a sip that’s too big, too fast. The cold air and the warmth of the drink clash in my throat. My hand shakes, just a little, so I set the glass down carefully and pretend I’m studying the table settings.
The lunch setup is beautiful in an expensive, curated way.
Long tables draped in cream linen, gold flatware that catches the sun, thick napkins folded into neat shapes, little evergreen sprigs tucked beside place cards.
Outdoor heaters stand like sentries around the patio, their gentle warmth pushing back the bite of winter.
Beyond the railing, the mountains roll out in quiet layers, white slopes and dark tree lines, a view that looks like a painting you’re not supposed to touch.
Tyler grins at me like he knows exactly what he’s doing, like he can tug me back into the moment with nothing but a look. Marcus’s mouth twitches too, approving, protective. Alexander’s gaze flicks to me, then away, as if he’s giving me room to breathe.
I try to focus on them. On the sunlight. On the ordinary things.
But it’s impossible, because Jason is still there, walking Sarah down the aisle, basking in the attention like it feeds him.
And then, as if the universe wants to test how much I can take, Jason releases Sarah at the end of the runner and turns toward the crowd with that practiced, effortless confidence. He reaches for a glass. Someone taps a spoon against it. The chatter starts to fade.
My spine stiffens.
Of course. Another performance.
Beside me, one of the brothers groans under his breath. “Another speech?”
The words are meant to be a joke, but they land like a warning.
Jason lifts his glass, smile back in place, polished and bright. He looks out over everyone, and when his eyes skim the tables again, I feel it, even without looking. He’s searching for me.
I keep my face angled toward my wine, my expression carefully neutral now, my heart hammering anyway, because I know I made a mistake.
And I don’t know yet what he’s going to do with it.
Jason stands with his wineglass lifted like he’s blessing the whole damn mountain. Sunlight catches the rim, throws a bright wink across the tablecloths, and for a split second the whole scene looks innocent.
Then he opens his mouth.
“First, I just want to say thank you,” he begins, voice warm and measured, the kind of tone that makes people lean in. “To all of you. For being here, for showing up, for making this weekend feel like what it is supposed to be.”
He pauses, eyes flicking across the crowd like he’s counting allies.
“Family,” he continues, “is not just the people you share blood with. It’s the people who choose to stand beside you when it would be easier to turn away. It’s the people who help you heal. It’s unity. It’s grace. It’s forgiveness.”
He takes a slow sip, letting the words land. He looks at Sarah, softening his expression into devotion, like he’s about to cry if someone looks at him too hard.
“This has been a challenging time,” he says, and there’s a subtle emphasis on the phrase, like he’s quietly reminding everyone he has suffered.
“Not because of what Sarah and I share. That part has been effortless. The challenging part has been learning that not everyone knows how to let go of the past.”
A few people shift. I can feel the room recalibrating, like he just changed the temperature.
Jason goes on, voice softening like he’s sharing something sacred. “Some people struggle with forgiveness. Some people struggle to move forward when life doesn’t unfold the way they wanted.”
My throat tightens. My fingers curl around the stem of my glass. I can feel the trap closing, word by word.
He tilts his head, smile sympathetic, and then his gaze flicks toward me. Just a glance. Brief. Careful. Like he’s trying not to draw attention while doing exactly that.
“And I’ve learned to forgive,” he says, “even when others could not wish me happiness.”