Chapter 26 Tyler
Tyler
I can see it in the way Mia keeps touching her bag, the tiny crease between her brows that never quite goes away.
She hasn’t said much since we left the hallway, but I know what she’s wrestling with.
It’s all over her face. I reach out and gently touch her elbow as we walk, keeping my voice low so only she can hear.
“You don’t have to do anything right now, Mia,” I tell her. “Seriously. There’s no reason to rush into handing it over. Let’s just slow things down, get a little more information. If Jason’s really who we think he is, the last thing Sarah needs is to be tied to him for life.”
She shakes her head, her voice tight. “I can’t just keep it from her. It’s her wedding, Tyler. It’s her life.”
I want to argue, to tell her she’s already done more for Sarah than anyone ever would, but before I can get the words out, Alexander’s phone rings.
He steps away to answer, his eyes going wide, and when he comes back, there’s a new tension in his face, but also a flicker of hope.
“That was the PI. He said he’ll have concrete evidence for us—real, hard proof—in two hours.
Something about Jason. He wouldn’t say more over the phone. ”
I look back at Mia. She’s biting her lip, torn all over again.
I reach for her hand, squeeze it. “Then we wait,” I say. “Just a couple hours. That’s all. You’re not making a decision for Sarah—you’re giving her a chance to know the truth before it’s too late.”
Marcus nods, stepping in. “We can stall. Weddings always run late, right? Flowers, hair, the music, the caterer—something always goes wrong.”
Mia almost smiles, but I see the anxiety still tight around her eyes. “And what if Jason realizes it’s missing? What if he comes after me?”
I shake my head. “We’ll keep you close. We’ll figure something out. Just trust us.”
Marcus suggests, “We could tell the coordinator Sarah’s bouquet is all wrong—just buy us an hour.”
Alexander shakes his head. “That’ll give us ten minutes, tops. We need something real.”
Mia sighs, rubbing her temples. “You all realize this is insane, right?”
I grin at her, nudging her shoulder. “You’re the one carrying the smoking gun in your purse, Mia. Welcome to the world of questionable choices.”
She shoots me a look but I catch the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Marcus winks. “What about a missing dress? Sabotaged zipper?”
“I am not destroying Sarah’s wedding dress,” Mia says, but her tone is lighter now.
Before we get any further, Mia’s phone buzzes again. She glances at the screen, anxiety flickering across her face. “It’s Sarah. She probably needs help with makeup or something. I have to go—try not to burn the place down without me.”
She turns, starting off at her usual determined pace. In her rush, her hand brushes her bag and I see the folded marriage license flutter out, sliding right under the hotel’s ancient ice machine.
She doesn’t even notice, already lost in the crowd, her phone pressed to her ear. But I stop short, eyes wide. Marcus and Alexander both spot it at the same time.
I look at them, then at the machine. “Well. Shit.”
Marcus just sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It had to get interesting, didn’t it?”
Alexander laughs under his breath, all our nerves buzzing. I can’t help but smile, even as I picture the scramble we’re about to get into.
“Alright, gentlemen,” I say, “new plan.”
I glance at the old ice machine. It’s bolted to the floor, buzzing, and of course the marriage license has disappeared way back underneath, just out of reach.
Marcus crouches down, peering into the dusty gap. “I can see it,” he mutters. “It’s, like, two feet back.”
Alexander’s already trying to shift the machine, but it doesn’t budge. “This thing weighs a ton,” he grunts, leaning his whole body against it.
I squat beside Marcus, stretching my arm in as far as it’ll go. My fingers barely scrape the edge of the paper, and a chill of ice-cold air rushes up my sleeve. “I swear, if I get frostbite from a marriage license, I’m never letting Mia forget it.”
Marcus tries to wedge his room key under the machine. “This is ridiculous. We’re three grown men, and we’re losing to a hotel appliance.”
Alexander straightens, rubbing his shoulder. “We need something long. Or sticky. Or both.”
The three of us look around in unison, scanning for anything that could help. I spot a room service cart abandoned nearby and grab a fork, then a drinking straw, and hand them to Marcus. “Go on, MacGyver, show us your genius.”
He tapes them together with a piece of hotel notepad, bites his tongue in concentration, and tries fishing for the license. The fork clinks uselessly, the straw bends, the paper flutters deeper out of reach.
Marcus sighs. “This is so undignified.”
Alexander just laughs, the tension easing for a moment. “At least Mia’s not here to see this. She’d never let us live it down.”
We’re still kneeling there—half under the ice machine, half choking on laughter—when a hotel staff member rounds the corner and gives us a look like we’re trying to break into the soda fountain.
I flash him my most innocent smile. “Just a little, uh, wedding emergency.”
He doesn’t buy it, but thankfully moves on.
“Well,” I say, “so much for the easy plan.”
Eventually, we have to admit defeat. The marriage license is still wedged under the ice machine, mocking us from the shadows. I brush the dust off my knees, and Alexander straightens his jacket, trying to look less like he’s been crawling on the floor.
“We’ll come back for it,” Marcus says, a little breathless. “There’s got to be a way. But if we disappear any longer, someone’s going to notice.”
We head back down the hallway toward the main ballroom, straightening ties and smoothing out wrinkles.
As we step inside, the mood shifts instantly.
There’s music filtering through the air, and sunlight pouring in through the high windows, turning everything gold.
The room is already filling—women in bright dresses, men in pressed suits, the hum of conversation growing louder by the minute.
Servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne. Someone laughs too loudly near the flower arch. I spot the band setting up on the small stage, tuning their instruments as the wedding planner flutters nervously around them, checklist in hand.
Rows of white chairs face a riot of pastel flowers, and the first guests are drifting in, pausing to admire the arrangements or greet relatives they haven’t seen in years.
It’s the kind of scene you always imagine for a perfect wedding—everything staged, everything bright, everyone just a little too polished.
For a moment, I forget the chaos of the morning, the missing document, the mess with Jason. It almost looks normal. I catch Marcus’s eye and see the same thought cross his face. We don’t belong in this picture.
As we move deeper into the crowd, it’s impossible not to notice the way people react to us—or don’t.
Most of our relatives steer clear, eyes sliding over us like we’re part of the wallpaper.
A few give polite nods, nothing more. It’s as if they can sense the trouble brewing under the surface, or maybe they just don’t know what to do with us anymore.
I spot Aunt Lila near the buffet, fussing with her clutch and pretending not to see me. I give her a bright, hopeful smile and a little wave. “Aunt Lila! Hey, how are—”
She lifts her chin, gives me a cool once-over, and turns away without a word, gliding off toward a knot of distant cousins. The rejection stings more than I want to admit.
Marcus bumps my arm. “Don’t take it personally,” he mutters. “They’ve never known what to do with us.”
I shrug, trying to let it roll off, but the isolation lingers.
It’s like the three of us are moving through someone else’s celebration, always just outside the center of it.
Alexander gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, a silent reassurance, and I square my shoulders and keep moving, determined not to let anyone see how much it actually gets to me.
We barely make it past the first cluster of guests before I spot Jarrod across the room, standing stiff and glaring at us like we’ve personally ruined his day.
He looks like he’s about to storm the dance floor, eyes locked on me.
For a second, I want to groan—I’d almost managed to forget about him and his personal vendetta.
He strides over, jaw clenched. “I swear, if you three are up to something—”
That’s it. I can’t keep it in anymore. “Are you kidding me? You’re really taking the side of the guy who ruined your daughter’s life?” I say, voice low.
That stops him for a moment, throws him off his script. He blinks, mouth half-open. “I’m here to make sure he goes through with the wedding. I know Mia is lashing out because he’s getting married.”
Alexander cuts in, looking at Jarrod like he’s grown a second head. “Wait a minute. You think Mia is still in love with Jason?”
Jarrod scowls, as if we’re the idiots here. “Why else would she be acting out?” He turns his glare straight back at me, waiting for me to admit something—anything—that’ll fit the story in his head.
I stare at him, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. If he really believes that, there’s no point arguing. Marcus shoots me a look, and for a second, all I can do is laugh under my breath, because somehow, even in the middle of all this, Jarrod’s managed to get it completely backward.
Alexander doesn’t let it go. “So you’d rather Sarah get the short end of the stick?”
Jarrod squares his shoulders, all seriousness. “She made her choice. She wants this. I’m not here to rescue anyone from themselves. Besides, a wedding is good for business.”
“I don’t think you of all people need any more business,” I say.
Jarrod doesn’t answer, but I can tell from the look on his face that something is wrong. Maybe the lodge isn’t doing as well as we thought.
Before any of us can say anything else, a commotion breaks out by the doors. Jason barrels into the room, frantic, eyes wild as he scans the crowd. He looks like he’s barely holding it together.
I can’t resist. I step forward, smirking just enough to get under his skin. “What’s wrong, Jason? Lose something important?”
He zeroes in on me, all teeth and venom. “You had something to do with this, didn’t you? Don’t think I don’t know.”
He’s about to launch into another tirade when Jarrod steps between us, pushing us apart with a heavy hand. “Enough,” he snaps, turning on Jason. “Where have you been? What’s going on?”
Jason bristles, but doesn’t admit to being anywhere near Mia’s room. He just shakes his head, still scanning the floor, desperate. “The marriage license is gone. We’ll just have to get another one.”
Jarrod’s face hardens with resolve. “I’ll call the town mayor myself if I have to. We’ll get a replacement, don’t worry.” He starts barking orders, telling a staff member to search every hallway and every service closet.
I glance at Alexander and Marcus. Neither of them says a word, but I know we’re all thinking the same thing. This whole situation is spinning further and further off the rails, and none of us can believe just how determined everyone seems to be to push this wedding through, no matter what it costs.
Alexander puts on his most reasonable voice. “You know, Jarrod, it might be a few hours before the mayor gets here. Probably best to postpone the ceremony until you have the new license in hand. No sense rushing.”
Marcus nods, all fake sympathy. “Yeah, wouldn’t want to get halfway through the vows and then realize it’s not legal. That’d be awkward.”
I do my best to look supportive for Jason’s sake. “We’ll help however we can. Hey, if you want us to check under buffet tables or behind the bar, just say the word. We’re excellent at looking for lost paperwork.”
Jason’s eye twitches. He is not amused. “I don’t need your help,” he mutters, voice just a bit too loud, “and I know you three had something to do with this.”
Jarrod barely looks at us. “A few hours won’t hurt anyone,” he says, already pulling out his phone and stepping away to call the mayor.
The minute he’s gone, Jason turns, still simmering. “I know you guys were behind this. Don’t think for a second you’re fooling anyone.”
Marcus tries for his most helpful tone. “We could search the hotel for you, Jason. Where were you earlier, just so we know where to start?”
A couple of guests standing nearby glance over, picking up on the tension. Jason’s jaw tightens. He glances at the onlookers and swallows his answer, not wanting to admit he was creeping near Mia’s room.
Alexander claps him on the shoulder, just a bit too hard. “We’ll start near the elevators, then. You never know where something might turn up.”
Jason scowls, but he’s trapped—can’t protest without making himself look worse. As we move away, I catch Marcus’s eye and see the relief flicker there. We’ve bought some time, at least for now.