Chapter 2
Sara told herself not to be ridiculous.It was a hoodie.
A piece of fabric. People borrowed things at destination weddings.
Guests got cold. Brayden was friendly. Brooklyn was teasing.
Abbie was suspicious of everything with a pulse and a skincare routine.
Still, the hoodie kept pulling Sara’s gaze across the terrace.
Brooklyn hadn’t taken it off. She wore it open over her resort outfit, sleeves pushed up, the embroidered wedding logo visible every time she lifted her champagne.
She moved easily among Brayden’s influencer friends, laughing loud, touching arms, angling her face toward every camera that came near her.
Every few minutes, she drifted back toward Brayden.
Sara stood beside Brayden at the edge of the terrace while one of his creator friends recorded them answering questions for a honeymoon reel.
“What’s the first thing you’re doing as husband and wife?” the girl asked.
Brayden tucked Sara beneath his arm. “After brunch? We’re disappearing.”
A soft chorus rose from the group.
Sara blushed, but Brayden was watching the camera, not her.
“We’re doing a sunset newlywed shoot tonight,” he added. “Then villa life. No phones.”
One of the influencers laughed. “You? No phones?”
“For love, I make sacrifices,” Brayden said, and kissed Sara’s temple.
Everyone loved that. Sara wanted to love it too.
When the recording ended and the group scattered toward the buffet, Sara touched Brayden’s sleeve. “Can I ask you something without you getting annoyed?”
His smile dropped a fraction. “Why would I get annoyed?”
“Brooklyn. The hoodie.”
He exhaled through a laugh. “Baby.”
That word usually softened her. This time, it made her spine tighten.
“What?”
“You’re not seriously upset about that.”
“I didn’t say upset. I’m asking.”
“She was cold. We were all on the beach. It’s not a thing.”
“Why would she say you told her it looked better on her?”
“Because she’s Brooklyn.” He shrugged. “That’s how she talks. She flirts with everyone. It’s part of her brand.”
Sara glanced over at Brooklyn, who was now posing with two women near the orchid wall. “Do you like that?”
Brayden’s brows rose. “Do I like what?”
“That she flirts with everyone.”
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into the warm tone he used when he wanted her to feel unreasonable for not melting. “I like that my wife is too smart and too beautiful to let some influencer nonsense ruin our first day married.”
Sara looked down at the ring on her finger. “I’m not trying to ruin anything.”
“Then don’t.” He kissed her forehead, quick and public. “We need this weekend to finish strong. The sponsor loved the wedding content. If the honeymoon pieces hit, this could be huge for us.”
Us.There was that word again, everything was for “us”. Before Sara could answer, someone called his name. Brayden squeezed her hip and moved away, already smiling for another camera.
Abbie appeared beside Sara with a plate of fruit she clearly didn’t intend to eat.
“I saw that,” she said.
“You saw a conversation.”
“I saw a man pat your head with his voice.”
Sara’s throat tightened. “Please don’t.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I can’t do this right now.”
Abbie’s expression softened without losing its edge. “Okay. Then don’t do anything. Just start saving things.”
“Saving what?”
“Everything.” Abbie nodded toward Brooklyn. “Stories. Posts. Tags. Anything that makes your stomach feel weird.”
Sara almost laughed. “That sounds insane.”
“No, marrying a man who invites influencers to your wedding as a flex sounds insane. Screenshots are just smart at this point.”
Sara wanted to argue, but her phone was already in her hand. Brooklyn’s profile was open before Sara admitted she’d searched for it.
The latest story showed the resort pool from a low angle, all turquoise water and bronze legs. The caption read: Some weekends are too good to end.
Brayden had liked it.Sara tapped through the next story. Brooklyn laughing with two influencers. Brooklyn holding a mimosa. Brooklyn in the groom’s hoodie, pulling the collar to her face like she was smelling it. Sara’s stomach turned.
“Send them to me,” Abbie said quietly.
Sara did.
She spent the next hour being gracious. She hugged aunts. She thanked cousins. She promised family friends the wedding photos would be beautiful. She stood beside Brayden when he needed her in a shot and smiled when his hand rested on her waist. By the time brunch ended, her cheeks hurt.
The resort pathways wound down from the terrace toward the pool in white stone curves lined with pink bougainvillea. Sara walked ahead of Abbie, trying to clear her head. Her phone buzzed again with another tag from one of Brayden’s influencer friends. She opened it while walking.
The photo was from the welcome party two nights ago. Brayden stood in a group near the beach bar, head tilted back in laughter. Brooklyn was beside him, her hand on his chest. Not resting there by accident. Pressed there. Sara enlarged the image.
Her foot caught the edge of a stone step, and her phone slipped from her hand.
“Oh,” she gasped, reaching too late.
A man caught it before it hit the ground.
Not Brayden. Not one of Brayden’s glossy friends.He was tall, with warm tan skin, dark hair cut close, and the kind of quiet confidence that didn’t ask anyone to notice it.
His white linen shirt was open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his forearms. A slim watch gleamed at his wrist, expensive in a way that didn’t announce itself.
“Lucky timing,” he said.
Sara stared at her phone in his hand, then at him. “Thank you. I’m usually less clumsy.”
“Destination weddings are hard on everyone’s balance.”
The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a smile. Sara almost returned it before remembering the image still open on her screen.
His gaze flicked down once, not nosy, but observant.
She took the phone quickly. “Sorry.”
“No need.”
Abbie came up beside her. “We appreciate the rescue.”
“Dominic Reed,” he said.
Abbie shook his hand first because Abbie did everything first. “Abigail Brewer. Maid of honor, emotional support system, and future defendant depending on how the day goes.”
Dominic’s mouth curved again. “That sounds like a full schedule.”
Sara managed a polite smile. “Sara Ellis.”
The name felt strange in her mouth.
Dominic’s gaze moved to her ring, then back to her face. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.”
A shout rose from the pool. Brayden’s laugh followed it, bright and performative. Sara turned automatically. Brooklyn stood near him at a cabana, still in the hoodie.
Dominic looked in the same direction for half a second, then back at Sara. He didn’t ask. He didn’t offer fake sympathy. He didn’t pretend not to notice the way her fingers tightened around her phone.
He only said, “Screenshots are never a bad idea.”
Sara’s face warmed. “What?”
He gave a small shrug. “General life advice.”
Then he stepped aside to let them pass.
Abbie waited until they were out of earshot before whispering, “I like him.”
“You like everyone who validates your surveillance instincts.”
“I like handsome men who return phones and speak fluent red flag.”
Sara wanted to smile. Instead, her phone buzzed again. Brooklyn had posted another story.
This one was inside a villa. A champagne flute sat on a low table. Sunlight flashed across glass doors. Brooklyn’s bare legs stretched across a white sofa, Brayden’s hoodie bunched at her waist. At first, Sara saw only Brooklyn. Then she saw the reflection in the glass.
A shirtless man stood near the terrace door, his back to the camera, one hand lifted as if telling Brooklyn to stop filming. Sara knew the line of those shoulders. She’d touched them twelve hours ago beneath fireworks. The ring suddenly felt tight around her finger.