19. Sophie
SOPHIE
B ardstown is buzzing.
Everywhere I go, there’s a tangible energy in the air that comes with the anticipation of a wedding so close you can almost hear the church bells ringing. The town square is livelier than usual, the bakeries are working overtime to accommodate last-minute dessert orders, and even the smallest boutiques have their windows decorated with white lace and soft floral displays.
Two days.
In just two days, Ethan and Riley will stand in front of their family and friends and say forever.
And me? I’ll be the one making sure the day goes perfectly.
No pressure.
I push open the door to Mia’s flower shop, the little bell above jingling as I step inside. The scent of fresh peonies and roses greets me instantly, but I don’t have time to stop and appreciate it.
Mia looks up from behind the counter, her sleeves rolled up as she arranges a bouquet. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“Try a month,” I mutter, dropping my planner onto the counter.
She whistles low. “Yikes. That bad?”
“Worse.” I pull out my checklist, flipping through the pages. “The seating chart got messed up again, the catering team had an issue with their supplier this morning, and somehow, the string lights for the reception tent didn’t get delivered, which means I’m going to have to find a last-minute replacement.”
Mia winces. “Oof.”
I rub my temples, willing away the stress headache that’s been lingering for days. “It’s fine. I’ll figure it out. I always do.”
Mia studies me for a moment before leaning against the counter. “And how are you? You know, outside of wedding planner mode.”
I force a small smile. “I’m fine.” I do my best to avoid eye contact with my sister as I speak.
Mia doesn’t buy it.
“You know, you can stop pretending.” She gestures vaguely at me. “I know you. And I know this—” she waves a hand over my frazzled, sleep-deprived self, “—isn’t just about wedding stress.”
I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off.
“It’s been a month, Sophie.” Her voice is gentler now. “Have you really made peace with it?”
I grip the edge of the counter, my nails pressing into the wood. “I don’t have a choice.”
Mia watches me carefully. “Maybe not. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”
I exhale slowly, my shoulders slumping because she’s right.
I’ve spent weeks convincing myself that Graham was just a moment of weakness—that he wasn’t meant to stay, that maybe I had misread everything. But it doesn’t change the ache that settles in my chest whenever I think about him.
And oh, do I think about him.
It happens in the smallest, stupidest ways. When I see someone working with wood, I remember how effortlessly he did it. When I hear the low hum of a man’s voice and, for a split second, my heart tricks me into thinking it’s him. When I walk into the flower shop, I remember how he kissed me right here, in this very space, as if he couldn’t help himself.
But Graham has been gone for a month.
A whole month without a call. Without a message. Without a single explanation.
I can’t keep holding on to something that was probably never meant to last.
I square my shoulders, forcing my voice to be steady. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I feel a tightness in my chest as the words come out.
Mia sighs but doesn’t push. Instead, she pats my arm. “Well, at least let me help with the flowers for the reception. You don’t have to do everything alone, you know.”
I offer a grateful smile, choosing to focus on what’s ahead.
Because in two days, there’s going to be a wedding.
And that’s all that matters now.
“ M ia, please tell me you’re joking.”
Mia places a hand on my arm, her expression warm and understanding. "I’m sure it’ll be fine, Sophie."
I blink slowly, trying to process what I’m seeing. The rehearsal venue is supposed to be set with soft pink peonies and white garden roses—elegant, timeless, and romantic. Instead, I’m staring at a sea of fiery reds and oranges, colors so bold they look like they belong in a fall harvest festival, not at the wedding of the year.
My stomach drops, a cold wave of panic washing over me. "Mia," I say, my voice trembling despite my best effort to stay calm. "I sent the wrong order to your supplier."
“Do you realize what this means?” I ask, my voice rising, edged with panic. “Riley’s entire rehearsal aesthetic is ruined. And worse—she will notice.”
Mia offers a small, reassuring smile. "Sophie, everyone makes mistakes. This isn’t the end of the world—I’m sure Riley won’t mind."
“I—I don’t know how it happened! I had the order pulled up; I triple-checked the invoice, and I was sure I sent the right request?—”
I exhale sharply, pressing my fingers to my temples as frustration builds. My mind is a tangled mess, worn down from too many sleepless nights. I constantly jump between thoughts of Graham, the wedding, and everything else. This is a disaster—not just any disaster—a potential wedding-ruining disaster.
How could I let my emotions get in the way of something this important? I should have been focused, careful—but instead, I let myself get distracted, and now it feels like I’ve ruined everything.
I take a deep breath, pushing down my guilt and anxiety. This is fixable. Barely.
I glance at my watch—three hours until the dinner starts.
Not enough time. But I don’t have a choice.
I grab my keys and turn toward the door. “I’ll go to the flower shop and get the right ones. You stay here and do damage control.”
Mia nods, her voice calm and reassuring. "I’ll start clearing these flowers out so we’re ready to swap them as soon as you’re back. I’ll make sure no one—especially Riley—sees these.”
“Good.” I sigh. “Because if she does? I’m dead.”
I push out the door, my heart pounding as I hurry to my car.
I need to fix this.
Now.
The drive to Mia’s flower shop is short, but my frustration makes it feel longer.
This is the last thing I need right now. Two days before the wedding, I should be fine-tuning the details, not racing across town because of a mistake that should never have happened.
I pull into the parking lot, barely throwing my car into the park before jumping out. The sun is low in the sky, casting golden streaks over the town, but I’m too focused on the task at hand to care. I stride toward the shop, calculating how fast I can get in and out with the correct flowers.
But then I see him.
And everything stops.
Graham.
Standing at the entrance of the flower shop.
Right there.
In front of me.
For a split second, my brain refuses to process it.
It’s been a month. A month of silence. A month of convincing myself that whatever we had was just a moment of vulnerability. That he wasn’t coming back. That he didn’t even care enough to explain why he left.
And yet—here he is.
I come to an abrupt halt, my breath catching in my throat, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Graham lifts his head, his dark eyes meeting mine.
And just like that, every wall I built over the last month threatens to crumble.
My feet feel glued to the pavement.
For a month, I convinced myself that Graham was gone for good. That he had made his choice. That whatever we had—whatever almost happened—wasn’t real enough for him to stay.
But now he’s standing right in front of me, like he never left, like he didn’t just disappear without a single word.
I snap out of my shock, my anger rising so fast it nearly chokes me.
“What are you doing here?” My voice is sharp, edged with the hurt I refuse to show.
Graham exhales, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Sophie?—”
“You have no business being here.” I step forward, my heart hammering, my fingers tightening around my keys. “You were gone for a month, Graham. A month. No calls. No messages. Nothing.” I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “And now you just—what? Show up? Expecting what, exactly?”
He doesn’t flinch, but his jaw tightens. “I know I messed up.”
“Messed up?” I scoff. “Messed up is forgetting a dinner reservation. Messed up is losing track of time. You—” I let out a shaky breath, forcing my voice to stay steady, “you left. Without a word. Without an explanation. And now, I’m supposed to what? Pretend that doesn’t matter?”
“Sophie, I had to go.” His voice is low, pleading. “There were things I had to take care of.”
I shake my head. “And you didn’t think I deserved to know? To hear from you? Anything?”
He takes a step closer, but I immediately take a step back, my fingers tightening around my keys like they might keep me from unraveling.
“I should have called,” he admits. “I should have explained?—”
“Yeah,” I cut in, my chest aching, “you should have.”
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
Graham lets out a breath, his shoulders tense. “Just—please. Let me explain.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You think I want to hear your excuses?” I shake my head. “You don’t get to disappear and come back when it’s convenient for you. It doesn’t work that way, Graham.”
His eyes darken, his frustration surfacing, but he doesn’t snap. Instead, he nods slowly, like he’s absorbing every word I just threw at him.
“Okay.” His voice is quiet. “I get it.”
And somehow, that hurts even more.
I don’t wait for him to say anything else. I push past him, my entire body trembling, and walk into the flower shop, determined not to look back.
I ’m supposed to help Riley as she stands in front of the mirror, the seamstress adjusting the final touches of her wedding gown.
But all I can think about is him.
His voice. His presence. The way my heart betrayed me the second I saw him again outside the flower shop.
I grip the edge of my chair, forcing myself to stay in the moment.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Riley says, catching my gaze in the mirror. She tilts her head slightly, her brows knitting together. “And since when are you quiet during a dress fitting?”
I swallow hard, trying to conjure up a half-hearted smile. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Riley gives me a look. “Sophie.”
I sigh, my shoulders sagging. There’s no point pretending.
“He came back,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
Riley blinks. “Wait. Graham?”
I nod, clenching my hands in my lap. “He was outside Mia’s shop.”
Riley turns fully, ignoring the seamstress’s tiny gasp of protest as she moves away from the pedestal. “Okay. And?”
I hesitate. “And I told him I didn’t want to hear his excuses.”
She exhales, nodding slowly. “All right. And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. He was gone for a month, Riley. A whole month, without a single word, and now he—shows up. Like that’s supposed to mean something.”
Riley studies me for a long moment before taking a step closer. “Sophie, I get it. I do. But…” She tilts her head slightly. “You don’t think you should at least hear him out?”
I instinctively shake my head—and then pause. The idea lingers longer than I want it to.
“I’m not saying you have to forgive him,” she continues. “I’m not even saying you have to let him back in. But if he’s here to explain, don’t you think you owe it to yourself to know the truth?”
The truth.
The word claws at me.
Because the truth is, I do want to know.
I want to understand why he left, why he disappeared, why it felt like we were heading toward something real, only for him to vanish like it never meant anything at all.
Riley gives me a knowing look. “Listen first. Then decide.”
I press my lips together, my mind already made up before I can process it.
I need to go. I need to hear what Graham has to say.
I step out of the bridal shop, the bell chiming behind me. My feet move before my thoughts catch up, pushing me forward, my heart pounding harder than it should.
I’m walking fast. Too fast.
I barely notice the blur of storefronts and the way the pavement curves beneath my heels. My pulse is too loud, my head is too full.
And then—bam.
I collide with someone—solid, unmovable, and far too familiar.
Strong hands catch my arms before I can stumble, and for a split second, the world stills.
I look up.
Graham.
His hands fall away like he’s been shocked, like my touch burned right through him—but he doesn’t move back. His gaze, wide and wary, locks onto mine, searching, questioning, like he’s trying to decide if this moment is real.
For a moment, neither of us speak.
I inhale deeply, steadying myself. “Talk.”
His jaw tightens, like he’s bracing himself, but then—he does.
He tells me everything.
About the phone call that changed everything—his parents’ accident, their recovery, how his brother had to be crowned king immediately to prevent political unrest.
Wait… King?! I’ve barely wrapped my head around the words when he drops the part that makes my head spin.
“My real name is Graham Alexander Montgomery.” He exhales, his voice heavy like this weight has been sitting on his chest for too long. “I had to leave abruptly because my parents—the king and queen of Alveria—almost lost their lives. I am the prince of Alveria. I left home seven years ago.”
I blink.
No.
No, that—that doesn’t make sense.
I let out a breathy, incredulous laugh. “You’re joking.”
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t move. Just waits.
And that’s when it hits me.
He’s serious.
My stomach flips, and my mind races, trying to understand what he’s saying.
“You’re telling me…” I shake my head, unable to believe it. “You’re a prince?”
“Yes.”
I stare at him, my pulse roaring in my ears. This is wild.
“You should have told me… at least about your parents. About why you had to leave,” I whisper, shocked at the sheer weight of it all.
“I know.” His voice is low, regretful. “I should have. But I left that life behind, Sophie. I never wanted my title to define me. I never wanted to bring that into… into this.” His gaze darkens. “Into us.”
Us.
The word makes my throat tighten.
I step back, feeling a bit unsteady, my heart pounding. “I—I need time.”
“Sophie—”
“I can’t—” I exhale, shaking my head, overwhelmed. “I can’t just—process all of this right now. You disappear for a month, and then you come back and tell me you’re a prince?” I let out a dry laugh. “I need space, Graham.”
He studies me for a long moment before nodding slowly.
“I understand.”
And then—he leaves.
Just like that.
This time, I don’t stop him. For a month, I agonized over Graham’s sudden leaving, and today, he’s back, but the confusion he’s left within me is even far more than when he left.
When I get home, my head is still spinning.
I push open the door, barely stepping inside before Mia practically tackles me.
“Oh my gosh, there you are!” She shoves her phone in my face, eyes wide with pure shock. “Have you seen the news?”
I blink, still trying to process everything that just happened. “What?”
Mia doesn’t answer. She tilts the phone toward me, her hand trembling slightly.
And there it is.
A photo of a royal family.
A coronation.
And right there, standing beside the new king, is Graham.
My stomach drops, and I feel lightheaded.
Mia swallows, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Sophie… he’s a prince!”
I lock eyes with Mia, Graham’s confession still echoing in every beat of my heart, and with a tremor of incredulity, I whisper, “I know.”