Chapter 25
ELIZABETH
One day. That was all that stood between me and watching my boyfriend marry someone else—a sentence so horrifying it deserved ominous music and a Dateline special.
I couldn’t think about that. I had to focus. Everything had to be perfect.
Because even after the vows, the photos, the over-the-top reception, he would still be mine. Just… married to someone else.
I sat in the middle of my hotel suite, surrounded by glowing laptop screens, open planners, and a sea of color-coded spreadsheets.
My carefully curated workspace had morphed into chaos.
There were half-drunk coffee cups, discarded sticky notes, and a wrinkled seating chart that had been revised so many times it was starting to look like a war plan.
I had a clear strategy and a clear goal.
Because Logan was worth fighting for.
Not just the Logan that fans screamed for, the one with the effortless charm and the voice that could make stadiums go silent.
But the Logan who never let me walk on the street side of the sidewalk.
Who noticed when I was cold before I did and always found a way to fix it—handing me his jacket, turning up the heat, pulling me closer.
Who saw when my shoulders tensed and somehow always found an excuse to make me laugh, even if it was at his own expense.
If I could simply get through a wedding and six months of waiting, Logan and I wouldn’t have to hide anymore.
I just had to find a way to keep Sophie and Logan apart during those six months, which should be easy.
She would be busy filming, he would be on tour, and I would be handling his PR. Which meant I would be wherever he was.
So there was no time for self-pity. I had a job to do.
Spreadsheets. Timelines. Guest lists. Seating charts.
I exhaled, rubbing my temples, but the numbers and names still swam in front of me. It wasn’t just the sheer amount of information. It was the constant push and pull, the need to control every detail, the knowledge that if I let even one thing slip, everything could come crashing down.
If that happened, I wasn’t just risking a PR disaster. I was risking everything I’d built, everything I’d sacrificed for: Jake’s future, my career, my sanity.
And Sophie wasn’t making it any easier.
Every day, Sophie’s behavior became more erratic. More demanding. She was micromanaging every detail, throwing tantrums over things no one cared about but her.
The peonies might be too pink. The calligrapher’s handwriting was too elegant (how that was a problem, I still didn’t understand). The napkins were off-white instead of ivory, and apparently, that was a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions.
It wasn’t just that she was being a diva. I’d dealt with plenty of divas. This was different.
It felt desperate. Like she was afraid of something.
But I couldn’t focus on that. Not when my job, the thing that secured my brother’s future, depended on making this wedding a flawless spectacle.
And then, there was the other issue.
We had hit a roadblock when applying for the marriage license.
Sophie’s birth certificate had been impossible to track down—something about missing records and a clerical error.
For a terrifying moment, I thought we’d have to postpone everything.
But Sophie had figured it out at the last minute, saying she had another form of ID that would work—a backup, just in case.
And sure enough, it had been enough to get the paperwork through.
A deep, familiar chuckle cut through my spiraling thoughts.
I turned, and Logan was there. Leaning against the doorframe, watching me with that knowing smirk, dark hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times.
Man, I loved him.
The realization was so sharp, so visceral, it nearly knocked the air out of my lungs.
The worst part was that I had to keep pretending I didn’t love him.
I forced a smile and gestured at the spreadsheets. “Just making sure Sophie’s dream wedding doesn’t collapse.”
Logan pushed off the doorframe and walked over, placing his hands on the back of my chair and leaning in close. He hummed, brushing a kiss to my temple, his lips lingering just long enough to make my stomach flip. “Come on. You need a break.”
I did. Man, I did.
But I shook my head, already anticipating the next crisis waiting in my inbox. “I can’t. I still have three vendors to follow up with, press placements to finalize, and Sophie’s PR team wants to go over the seating arrangement. Again.”
He smiled, but I could see the flicker of something else beneath it. Something tired.
He was exhausted by this, by the lie, by the fact that we only got stolen moments between press releases and wedding plans.
I was exhausted, too.
But I had to keep going.
Logan let out a dramatic groan, flopping onto the couch like I’d just informed him he had to handwrite all the wedding invitations personally. “Elizabeth. No one cares where they sit. It’s a dinner, not the United Nations.”
“Tell that to Sophie,” I muttered, rubbing my temples. “She’s convinced that if the wrong person is within ten feet of the dessert table, the entire event will be ruined.”
“She’s one day away from marrying me. The event is already ruined.”
I shot him a look. He grinned.
Before I could argue, Logan walked to me, grabbed my wrist, and gently tugged me toward him. “Come on,” he coaxed, his voice warm, persuasive. “Just ten minutes. No spreadsheets, no emails, no people breathing down your neck.”
He was unfairly good at persuasion. Or maybe I was just desperate for a moment where my entire life didn’t feel like an impending disaster.
So I let myself relax, let him pull me onto the couch beside him. He kissed me, slow and deep, and for once, I didn’t think about the wedding or the chaos or the press releases waiting for approval.
It was just us.
And then—
DING.
My phone vibrated on the table, shattering the moment. Logan grabbed it before I could, squinting at the screen.
“Oh, come on,” he muttered. “Tell me this isn’t real.”
I snatched it from him, reading the text from Sophie’s assistant:
EMERGENCY! THE SWANS ARE LOOSE.
I closed my eyes and took a slow, steady breath. “I have got to start drinking on the job.”
Logan’s lips twitched. “How many swans are we talking?”
“Twelve.”
His brows shot up. “Twelve unaccounted-for swans?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “They’re not unaccounted for. They’re just…not where they should be.”
“And where should they be?”
“At the venue. In the decorative pond. Being decorative.”
Logan crossed his arms. “And where are they now?”
I scrolled frantically through my messages. “That’s…unclear.”
Because some idiot, probably a well-meaning assistant, had apparently taken one look at the enclosure and thought, Do swans really need to be penned up?
They do. They very much do.
I pulled up my contacts and hit dial.
“Who are you calling?” Logan asked.
“My bird guy.”
He blinked. “You have a bird guy?”
“Of course I have a bird guy.” I paced as the line rang. “You think this is the first time a high-maintenance client has let exotic animals loose in a historic venue? Far from it. I need to be in control of every situation.”
Greg, my longtime contact at the New Orleans Audubon Zoo, picked up with a groggy, “Elizabeth, it is ten o’clock at night.”
“I need an emergency swan wrangler.”
A heavy sigh. “I knew this wedding was going to be a nightmare.”
“I’ll make sure a giant check gets donated to the zoo,” I said sweetly.
Silence. Then, a resigned, “I’ll be there in twenty.”
I hung up and turned to Logan. “Crisis averted.”
Logan shook his head in disbelief. “You just fixed an escaped swan problem in under a minute.”
I shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
His eyes softened as he pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You’re amazing.”
Even with my mind preoccupied with logistics and damage control, he made me feel lighter.
His hand slid to my jaw, tilting my face up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “it’s the night before my wedding. And the only thing keeping me sane is knowing that I don’t have to spend it with the bride.”
My heart thumped, my breath catching.
“I wish it were you,” he continued softly.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
How was I supposed to focus on anything else when Logan Richards—the man the world saw as untouchable and larger than life—was standing in front of me, looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered?
My fingers curled into his shirt, holding on for balance. “It is me,” I whispered, my voice barely there. “You know it is.”
He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against mine, like he was grounding himself in me. “Then be with me. Forget everything else. Just be with me tonight.”
I wanted to. Man, I wanted to.
But I still had a few last things to check, a few loose ends to tie up before I could let myself fall completely.
I pulled back just slightly, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I will. I just have to finish a few more things. I’ll be right there.”
His jaw tensed, just slightly, disappointment flickering across his face. But he nodded, his thumb brushing over my cheek. “I’ll wait for you,” he murmured.
Then, without another word, he stepped back, grabbed his guitar, and settled onto the couch. His fingers found the strings, plucking out something soft, something familiar.
A song I knew was for me.
And as his music filled the quiet space, I turned back to my laptop, determined to get through the last of my work because nothing mattered more than being with him. Now, so his touch could soothe my nerves. And every day after the end of this charade, so I could love him like he deserved.
It was nearly three in the morning when I finally finished the last email, rubbing my tired eyes as I closed my laptop with a sigh of relief.
“I did it,” I mumbled, turning toward Logan, only to find him sprawled on the couch, fast asleep.
The guitar rested against his side, one arm draped over his stomach, his face relaxed in slumber.
My heart squeezed. I crossed the room quietly, kneeling beside the couch and brushing his hair back from his face. He didn’t stir. He just let out a soft exhale, lips parting slightly.
I wanted to wake him. Wanted to crawl into that space beside him and let him pull me close, let him remind me why this was worth it.
Instead, I just sat there, staring at him. For the first time, it hit me that I wasn’t just keeping this secret.
I was losing something too.
I was losing the moments when he looked at me like I was the only person in the room, the quiet, unguarded versions of him that no one else got to see. The way he said my name, like it was precious on his lips.
I was losing the chance to be his first choice, out in the open, without hesitation or pretense.
I wasn’t just helping him navigate the lie—I was trapping myself in it. I was the one making sure the headlines remained perfect, so the world saw exactly what it was supposed to. And every time I helped stitch together the illusion, I unraveled a little more inside.