She smiles victoriously and does a little shimmy shake of happiness. “Okay, so now that my work there is done . . .” She reaches behind herself, literally patting herself on the back. “Let’s talk wedding preparation. Hit me.”

My mind is running in a thousand different directions. How in the fuck did this happen? How do I stop it? I cannot allow my heart to get tangled up in this mess, especially when we agreed hours ago to be cool and casual. We’re basically fuck-buddy roommates with some messy paperwork attached, but it’s not supposed to be emotional.

It’s not supposed to be real.

Abigail snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Okay, you’re panicking, so I’ll go. Archie and I went shopping last night while you were doing dinner with the fam. I picked out my dress and he got a matching suit, so your bridesmaids are ready to go. Wanna see?”

I blink at least three times but nod. She grabs her phone, flipping through pictures until she finds the one she wants. She’s posing on a pedestal at Ride or Die Bride in a frothy peach chiffon dress with the tiniest spaghetti straps, a cinched-in waist, and a flowy bottom that swirls around her calves. She looks gorgeous, slightly vintage but modern at the same time. “It matches the invitations and the flowers I’ve ordered, so it’ll all look seamless. I think I’m going to do nude heels, something bare, with just a couple of skinny straps.”

I’m still nodding mindlessly, only part of what she’s saying sinking in. “Archie actually found a suit in the same peach color, too. I was afraid it’d look like a 1970s prom picture with him standing next to me, but it was actually divine against his dark skin. He did say that he’s wearing a black shirt, no tie, and his combat boots with it, if you’re okay with that? The black will go with the groom and groomsmen tuxedos, but it’s still Archie, you know? He’s not going to get all monkey-suited up unless you make him, and I’ll admit, he looked pretty cool. The edge kinda toned down the peachiness a bit.”

“That’s fine. Sounds great,” I reply, having no idea what I just agreed to. But if Abi and Archie think it’ll look good, right now, I’ll take their expertise as gospel. Because my brain is a bowlful of Jell-O mush.

Ross. Me. Ross. Me.

The loop plays on, images superimposed over one another from our misspent childhood antics to just this morning. But not in a continuous line. Oh, no. The pictures in my mind are mixed up, old and new taking on unexpected meanings with every flip through my mental scrapbook.

Abi plows on as if I’m not a zombie in the middle of an existential crisis. “Okay, so we’re doing great. Invites and flowers are spectacular, courtesy of moi. Venue is all set. Kaede told me he called today to update their info and direct everything to him. And he is meeting with Luciano’s owner this afternoon.” She looks at her watch and amends, “Right now, to get the food squared away. Bridesmaid outfits are done, and Ross and Kaede have tuxedoes. I sent Kaede a color swatch so he can do ties and handkerchiefs to match me and Archie. We do need to decide who else Ross is going to have stand with him so that it’s balanced, two on your side and two on Ross’s.”

“Does Luciano’s make cake?” I ask woodenly. I don’t know why that stuck out in the laundry list she just rattled off, especially when I couldn’t tell you half of what she said. But I forgot the cake, even when I was talking to Ross last night.

Who forgets the cake at a wedding? See, this is doomed from the start.

“They do, Italian cream, if I remember correctly.”

Well, I guess that’s one problem solved at least.

“My dress. I still don’t have a dress. Do you know what he did?” I ask, not needing to specify who ‘he’ is.

Abi shakes her head, hope on her face now that I’m reasonably coherent.

“He sent gowns to my office,” I say quietly, the shock of seeing racks of white gowns returning anew as I tell Abi. “Archie was at Bitch-ella’s.” I sigh, getting my haywire brain to focus. “I mean, Archie was at Mrs. Montgomery’s, working on her ballroom. It’s coming along quickly since it’s designed to be a mostly empty space, good for event-specific setup. He’s supervising the painters today.” I shake my head again, focused but completely off track from where I’d intended to go with what I’m telling Abi.

“Archie was gone, and the office door opened. I went out to greet the visitor, and there was a bridal shop associate there. With a rack of gowns for me to try on right then and there. She said my fiancé made it clear how busy I was, so she was ready to help me try on the ones that interested me quickly so I could return to my schedule.” My eyes bug out as I look at Abi. “Who does that?”

Her smile is pure triumph. “Ross does, apparently, though I’ve never known him to make even a fraction of this effort for anyone before.”

Her words give me pause, and hope tries to bloom. Maybe he’s feeling some of what I’m feeling too? Could it be?

But no. Not Ross, and not for me. This is a big deal, a production to fool everyone. We can’t go at it half-assed or everyone will know it’s fake. That’s why he’s doing this. It has to be.

“So, did you find the dress?” she asks, hands clasped below her chin.

I shake my head. “No, not in that batch. But the associate said another batch—maybe even another store—would stop by tomorrow. I tried to argue about my schedule, but she said it’d already been arranged with my assistant and that he’d blocked out the time. Can you believe Archie?”