Chapter 24
PIPER
Piper celebrated the successful wedding, her cautiously optimistic outlook on life, and her upcoming promotion by taking a more hands-on, mouth-on approach with her boyfriend. He seemed extremely supportive of her celebratory methods.
"Piper," he groaned, his fingers already tangling in her hair. The heat fluttering between her thighs kicked up a notch at his words. He had the kind of voice that could talk her into almost anything.
She started her work slow, lips brushing over his shaft, teasing—because restraint was sexy and, also, she'd discovered after their weekend in bed that there was an importance to pacing.
He gasped when she took him deeper, her tongue swirling.
She took him all the way to the back of her throat, so he'd make that groaning sound she really got off on.
"You're amazing at this," he said, with a reverence like he'd just discovered ice cream for the first time. "I'm going to make sure the only thing you can say is my name. Let's see if you can even remember yours," he continued.
Somewhere between that deeply inappropriate suggestion and the needy rumble in his chest, a fresh wave of heat flushed through her body.
She let out a hum, which turned out to be more effective than expected when it made his dick twitch. She pulled back only enough to shoot him a smug look because, hey, a girl deserved credit for her craft.
Then she went in again with slow, deliberate strokes.
Apparently, that was his breaking point.
With something halfway between a groan and a caveman grunt, he flipped her onto her back, pressing her into the bed like he was afraid she'd run away mid-kiss (she wouldn't, but it was flattering). Then his hungry mouth was on hers, all-consuming, and way less polite than usual.
"You didn't let me finish what I started," she panted, somewhere between indignation and trying not to melt.
He grinned like the smug genius he was. "You love it. Admit it."
"Absolutely not," she said, promptly arching into him as his hand slid between her legs with remarkable accuracy.
"It's going to happen," he murmured, way too sure of himself.
"You're going to kill me. Death by orgasm. The obituary will scar my family forever," she said, all drama.
"Lucky for you," he murmured, "I'm great at resuscitation."
She gasped—in the sexy way, not the scared way—as he worked her with maddening focus. She arched again, nails digging into his shoulders like she was holding on for dear life.
Which, let's be honest, she kind of was. And when her climax hit, it did so like she did everything else: graceful, loud, and totally committed.
Only then did he reach for the condom, tearing it open with his teeth.
His words from earlier hung between them, thick in the air, as he rolled it on. And then he was inside her, driving deep, making good on every word he'd whispered before.
The weekend had been a blur of tangled sheets, ordering in, and the kind of lazy exhaustion that came from being thoroughly worshipped and in love.
"Okay, but seriously," Piper murmured against his collarbone, her lips still swollen from kissing, "just because the wedding is over doesn't mean I'm suddenly free. I still have other clients, you know."
"The funeral guys." Zach chuckled, his hands sliding down to grip her hips as she shifted above him.
"Yes, they are one of my clients." She kissed his pec because she could.
He arched a brow. "What if I hired you? Then you'd have to stay."
Piper stilled, her fingers pausing mid-trace along his chest. She lifted her head, her expression a mix of amusement and something sharper. "That's oddly offensive."
He grinned, unrepentant. "Or romantic. You decide."
She rolled her eyes but didn't pull away, and that was answer enough.
* * *
Piper started the morning well-caffeinated, thoroughly orgasmed, and willing to consider believing in fairy tales.
The wedding was over. It had gone off without a hitch—unless you counted Tess trying to micromanage the band or the fact that a horse contributed an unexpected intestinal evacuation to the aisle décor.
But no last-minute cancellations.
No ominous signs.
No epic disasters involving electrical fires, allergic reactions, or emotional implosions.
Anna and Drake were all googly eyes and loving touch the entire time.
Things were… fine.
She walked into Montgomery Events feeling like she was ready for more. That she'd earned a new title and all that came with it.
Her hair was scraped into a low bun that broadcast, "competent and hydrated," and not only because she had two electrolyte packets pulsing through her bloodstream. She made it to her desk, the organized mess slowly giving way to simply… organized.
It was almost unsettling if she let it be.
She sat, opened her laptop, and began the ritual of digital triage. Returning emails and checking messages.
She clicked, scanned, replied. Usually there was a bone-deep sense of catch-up panic after any big event, but this time? Her inbox contained some gold.
Vendor confirmation. Billing queries. The occasional caps locked: THANK YOU.
And one subject line that made her snort out loud.
You. Are. A. Goddess. In. A. Headset.
It was from the lighting guy.
Apparently, her firm-but-fair schedule reminders and her ability to fend off unsolicited "design corrections" had earned his worship.
Piper allowed herself a small, secret smile and stared at the subject line for a second too long.
Goddess in a headset.
Not terrible. She could even get used to it. Maybe start by embroidering it on a throw pillow?
She took a slow sip of her citrus water, leaned back, and considered what it might be like taking on another wedding or two if they were like this?
Nothing crazy, just a couple of the fun ones.
And then came the ping.
No, wait, several pings.
One notification. Then three more. Then her phone lit up like a Las Vegas marquee. Her group chat with the junior planners buzzed. Her screen erupted in snippets of madness:
CAKE LADY MAGGIE: omg did they really fight like that on the honeymoon??
Piper blinked. Clicked the first link sent with the texts. It took her straight to a gossip site blasted in a bolded red:
Trouble in Paradise? Exclusive Shots Show Stallions' Sweethearts Fighting Poolside
Her stomach dropped.
There, centered below the clickbait font, were photos of Anna and Drake on what was supposed to be their blissful, relaxing, non-chaotic honeymoon.
Except they weren't sipping mocktails or cuddling on lounge chairs. They were mid-argument by the pool.
Body language: tense.
Hands: gesturing.
Faces: not exactly adoring.
Even the tile by the pool looked familiar. Shiny, black-and-white, too perfect. Like the floor she'd stared at in the courtroom when her parents filed for divorce number two.
Her pulse skipped. She bit the inside of her cheek.
Not this again. Not again.
Piper's breath caught in her throat because it'd happened. She was the one constant. This was her.
Just like her parents' divorces, and the wedding where the groom was so cliché he had to sleep with the maid of honor, and the other time when the not-so-happy couple ended up annulling everything before the reception was even done.
And now? Now she was staring at photographic proof that everything—every illusion of perfect closure, of forward momentum, of curses broken—had cracked open again.
No. Wait.
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to breathe deep.
This wasn't her. Not this time. Anna and Drake had fought before the wedding. Hell, they'd bickered over napkin folds during the rehearsal dinner, and it had ended in laughter and stolen kisses.
Arguments happened. Honeymoons were stressful with jet lag, bad room service, and the weight of forever crashing down after the wedding high.
She had watched them vow their hearts out under a pergola strung with lights that she'd hand-tested for flicker.
Zach's voice echoed in her head, low and sure from that night telling her he loved her.
For one stupid, desperate second, she let herself believe in the fantasy of a happily-ever-after. Let the warmth of his hands on her hips, the way he'd whispered her name like a secret, push back the shadows.
Maybe this was just life? Messy, unglamorous, survivable.
But her chest tightened as a new wave of messages poured in.
Shelby: I know what you're thinking. I know you. Stop it. This is not on you.
Piper didn't type back. She didn't text. Didn't call. Didn't breathe.
She sat very, very still, like movement might make it all worse.
No, no, no.
Her pulse pounded in her ears as that old familiar narrative barbed wire wove its way through her brain.
I'm the common denominator. Always have been.
A quiet sound escaped her throat—half laugh, half ache.
Of course she'd ruined it. Of course she had.
Anna had only wanted something simple and safe and real. Drake spoke his vows with fierce, teary eyes. That moment under the pergola made it all seem like it would last.
Piper dared to believe in it.
That had been her mistake.
With her record—all the parental divorces, cancelled weddings, postmarital break-ups—it didn't matter how flawless her execution was. She knew how this would end.
Why did she allow it to surprise her?
She tried to call Anna. Typed in the numbers, but went straight to voicemail.
She stood slowly. Her hands gripped with twisted resolve. A rope fraying too fast to save.
Zach's name flashed on her phone screen, calling.
She didn't answer.
Instead, she moved down the hallway like her body was separate from her logic, heading straight for Aspen where she was meeting with another junior planner in the conference room. Their murmured voices floated under the door.
It was mid-meeting, but Piper didn't care.
She knocked once, pushed it open.
"Sorry to interrupt. I'll only take a moment," she said calmly, like she wasn't unraveling from the inside out.
Aspen looked up, blinking.