29. The Work Date
EVA
We’ve made it to the rehearsal dinner—alive—and the scene is storybook. The ocean waves lap softly against the dock as the sun dips toward the horizon, casting an orange glow over the restaurant patio. I dart between tables like a pinball, ensuring every napkin swan is fluffed, every centerpiece is centered, and every candle is lit.
A rogue gust of wind sends a menu card skittering across the deck. I lunge for it, saving it from a plunge into the ocean—a perfect metaphor for my life these past few days. Luckily, today’s photo shoot went smoothly—thank the wedding gods—and the snapshots are sure to be FaceSnap gold.
“Looking good, Eva!” Hayes calls out, his camera slung around his neck like always. He’s here to capture magic, which I hope I’ve created with sweat, tears, and a bit of my soul.
“Thanks, Hayes. Please don’t shoot my bad side,” I say, though I’m not even sure I have a good side right now.
I glance over as Paige makes her entrance—the stunning bride-to-be. She’s glowing like those light bulbs promising eternal luminescence. The full set of cameras is rolling, catching her laughter, her waves, her everything. She’s in her element, and I can’t help but feel a swell of pride. My sister is about to get her happily ever after.
“Everything looks gorgeous, Eva.” Paige’s smile rivals the setting sun. “You’re amazing, you know that?”
“Stop, I can’t smear my mascara.” Inside, warmth spreads through my chest. This is why I do it—to be the rock she can always lean on.
“Oh, careful with that centerpiece!” I call out to a server who’s a millisecond away from toppling a floral monstrosity. Disaster averted, I let out a breath, rushing over to straighten the blooms. Things have to be perfect—tonight, Foster’s father, Senator Schmidt Easel, will be here. Bridesmaid to Bride had to sign special documentation to not air any footage of him in order for him to agree to come. Admittedly, I’m nervous to have someone so high profile in attendance. Not to mention, I want to impress the man I’m dating.
That’s right—I texted him and asked if he’d be my official date for tonight, and he happily agreed.
As the first guests trickle in, a symphony of hellos and air kisses fills the air. I hang back, watching the scene unfold, a silent conductor of this orchestra. Then I snag a champagne flute from a passing tray, allowing myself a small celebration: here’s to surviving what’s left of this week without losing my mind.
In steps Foster, looking sharp in his navy suit, and next to him is his father, Schmidt, who I haven’t seen in years.
“Hey, Foster, Senator Easel,” I say, rushing over to them with a smile.
After we exchange pleasantries, I usher Senator Easel to the seat next to my father and Kat, then bring Foster to the seat next to mine, saying, “You’re stuck with me tonight.”
He turns, that smile of his beaming at me. “Stuck? I’d say I’m the luckiest guy here.”
“Aren’t you Mr. Charming?”
He pulls out my chair. After I thank him, he says, “Look at that sunset.”
“It’s incredible.” I take it in, fighting to quiet the million and one thoughts pinging through my brain.
Foster sits. “As beautiful as the maid of honor. And the bride-to-be.”
“I don’t know about that.” I stare at Paige and her cream dress flowing in the breeze. How does she do it? I sip my champagne, letting it calm me. Tonight’s about Paige, family, and commitment—and… oh my God.
I swear I just felt West step onto the patio. I turn my head, and sure enough, West is approaching to take his seat next to Zach at our table. After a polite smile and hello, I can’t shake the image of him naked and hovering above me, the perfect mix of alpha and sweetness. But I have to forget about that.
“So your dad told me you’re close to a big settlement.” Foster’s voice snaps me back to reality.
“Here’s hoping.” I cross my fingers. I don’t love talking about work, but tonight I’ve got a role to play—the dutiful daughter, the successful lawyer, the woman who has her shit together. The woman who’d make a great business partner and wife.
“Absolutely.” Foster nods, eyes bright.
The clinking of a glass interrupts us, and I swivel toward the front, where my sister stands, champagne flute held high. She clears her throat, and the patio hushes. Every pair of eyes locks onto her.
“Thank you, everyone, for joining us on this amazing adventure. We’re so glad you could make it, especially those who have traveled great distances to be here. Okay, so...” her voice wavers, “I’m not usually the mushy one—but here goes nothing. Despite our occasional sibling rivalry,” her gaze lands on me, “I scored the jackpot in the twin department.” My throat tightens, and I refuse to cry two lines into her speech. “Eva orchestrated this whole shindig, making it more beautiful than I ever dreamed. She’s my rock, the person who I can count on, no matter what.”
A tear escapes, traitorous and warm down my cheek.
Paige nods, her eyes shiny. “And Dad—thank you for always being an example of how to go after my dreams and do what it takes to achieve them, supporting me the whole way. And although we wish Mom could be here, I know she’s here in spirit. I love you, Dad and Sis.”
“I love you too,” I mouth back, and Dad nods, his eyes misty.
The crowd collectively sighs. I blink rapidly, trying to keep the dam from breaking.
“Thank you, everyone.” Paige lowers her glass, and I flash her a look, mouthing, “Zach” to her.
“Oh, God, sorry!” She covers her mouth. “And a toast to my fiancé, Zach.” She turns to him, her face red. “You’re my real-life Flynn Rider. Our story could be a Rapunzel retelling—well, the X-rated version minus the tower—if you know what I mean.” She barks out a laugh.
Awkward chuckles proceed, and someone yells, “TMI!”
Then real laughter bubbles up, breaking the emotional tension.
“Anyway, cheers to love, family, and my badass sister!” Paige lifts her glass higher.
“Cheers!” The word echoes around us, and everyone is all smiles.
As the applause dies, Foster leans in, his strong cologne like leather and cedar. “Touching speech, huh?”
“Definitely.” I dab my eyes with the edge of a napkin.
“So,” he says, a little too eagerly, “we never finished discussing your big settlement.”
“Well, it was riveting,” I joke. “I basically talked so much I wore them down. The old filibustering tactic.”
“Right! So last year, I had a client who—”
“Excuse me, Eva.” I turn to see Aunt Myrna standing there. “Do you know if they are using the same pan to fry my food as the ones that have shellfish? Because I can’t even have the smallest amount.”
I use the moment to stand. “Yes, Aunt Myrna. They know that your meal has to be cooked separately. I just spoke with the head chef about it a half hour ago.”
“Oh, thank you so much.”
“No problem. It’s good to see you.” I wrap my arms around her, and she gives me a pat.
“You too, dear.” Then she pulls away and shuffles back to her seat.
I can feel the warmth of the setting sun on my skin, but I turn all my focus on the man beside me. Foster’s got this way of making law talk sound exciting. And tonight, I’m determined to figure out if he could fit into the intricate puzzle of my family’s life. Of my life.
“Paige looks happy,” he says, and there’s something in his voice. Possibly a note that suggests he gets it? The weight of love, the gravity of commitment.
“Yes, she does.”
We fall into an easy silence, the kind where you don’t need words because the background chatter fills it up just fine. Giving Foster my undivided attention is working like a charm, and I just have to keep at it. I turn to face him fully. “Tell me what you’d do if you took over Steinberg Law.”
And just like that, I’m locked in and focused.
“Well, first off, we may need to change the name to Steinberg Easel Law.” He chuckles.
“Fair enough.”
“Big picture?” He looks at me, and there’s this spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before. He’s got ideas—actual, thought-out plans—and that makes him enticing as a partner at the firm.
“Expansion,” he says, and then rattles off strategies like we’re in a brainstorming session: satellite offices, diversifying practice areas, and pro bono work to buff our public image.
“Wow,” I say, and I mean it. My dad’s right; Foster is the golden ticket. And I’m nowhere near as ready to take over the firm as he is.
Plus, he’s a nice, charming guy, at least most of the time, and he’s got what it takes where it counts—in the boardroom and in the courtroom. And maybe if I give him a chance, the bedroom too.
“So, why did you have a stint with a food business?” He asks casually, yet somehow, I hear the click of a doubt being ticked off.
“It was a little detour.” I chuckle, brushing off the sting of failure. “I needed to try it out or I always would’ve wondered what could’ve been. But now I know, and there’s no looking back. I’m ready to put my focus and energy into the family firm.”
“I respect that.” There’s a glint of admiration in his gaze that sends a warmth through me.
He continues to talk, and I lean in, the soft glow of fairy lights, the ones West hung, from the beachside patio casting Foster’s features in a golden hue that makes him even more good-looking than I initially thought. Or maybe it’s just that now I can see him more clearly for who he is. He’s mid-spiel about a particularly tricky case involving intellectual property and a rogue ex-employee.
“Can you believe that guy tried to walk away with our client’s designs?” Foster shakes his head, visibly animated.
“Unbelievable,” I say, mirroring his enthusiasm. I catch a server passing by and swipe two flutes of champagne from his tray, handing one over to Foster.
“Here’s to keeping the vultures at bay,” I toast, and he chuckles, clinking his glass against mine.
“Only the best for your father’s firm,” he says earnestly, and I believe him.
Somehow, I’m acutely aware of West’s presence behind me. I can almost feel his gravitational pull, but I plant myself firmly in my chair. Nope, not looking. Not even a peek.
I brace myself for something dangerously close to flirting as Foster leans closer. “How about we team up on that new merger proposal? Might be fun.”
“Sure. Our very own dynamic duo.”
“I’m Batman and you’re Robin?” he says, and I have to bite my lip to keep from telling him I can’t stand Robin.
“Something like that,” I manage, my gaze finally betraying me for a split second as it flicks toward West—who knows this about me. But I catch myself, snapping back to Foster like I’ve touched a live wire.
“Great,” Foster says, unaware of my silent turmoil. “It’s settled then.”
“Settled,” I echo, and as if on cue, the ocean breeze picks up, sending a shiver down my back. It’s probably just the chill in the air, not the tingle of a missed opportunity, or the ghost of what could’ve been.