“Precisely,” Farrah says with an endearing smile.

After some deep thought about the first challenge, I realized that unfortunately Alec Baxter was right: they won that competition because they were playing from the heart. They picked what they wanted and created something that spoke to them, not something they thought was going to win.

Blame it on the lights, the cameras, the plethora of craft supplies, but I was momentarily blinded, and from here on out, I plan on making sure I focus on Cohen and Declan and what would be great for them, not great for the win.

“Don’t worry about anyone else. Just focus on what you’re trying to accomplish. And if Alec Baxter starts talking to you, what do you do?”

“Start barking like a rabid dog.”

“Exactly. That shit freaks people out.” She pulls me into a hug. “You got this.”

“Thank you.”

She hands me my bag and cups my cheeks. “Make Mama Farrah proud.”

“I will.”

Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I give her a parting wave and stride out of our apartment to grab a cab to Midtown and the studio where the show is filming.

After last week and everything that went down—the loss, the miscommunication, the outbursts on my end, and the unfortunate conversations with a certain Chris Evans look-alike—I realized one thing: I’d lost all sense of why I was there and what I was doing.

This is about Cohen and Declan and giving them a great wedding, one I know we can do within budget, one that will wow America and highlight the beautiful love they share.

So, that’s what I’m setting out to do.

Focusing on Cohen and Declan and barking at any distractions.

I smile to myself as I hail a cab. Even though this is about Cohen and Declan, I secretly can’t wait to see the look on Alec’s face when he tries to talk to me and I let out a big woof.

Let’s just hope they don’t catch it on camera.

Now . . . cue the wedding-competition montage in five, four, three . . . two . . . one . . .

Week Two—Venues

“Have you looked at what’s left on the board?” Cohen asks, looking nervous. “I haven’t heard of any of these places.”

“I have,” I say. “I’ve done tons of decorations for people in the city, and I’ve made deliveries and hung things as well.” I talk quietly as we prepare for our turn to pick. To our dismay, we drew the short end of the crochet hook, and we have to choose our venue last. From a list of five.

Only five. Of course Team Baxter got first pick, and they went with a warehouse down in Meatpacking. Team Hernandez went with an old flour factory turned event space in Brooklyn, which I know offers cheap food and beverage—it’s where I was looking for Cohen and Declan before they opted for a courthouse marriage. That leaves us with the Harbor House, the Rooftop Restaurant—which is so not them—and the Shed.

“One minute, Team Rossi!” Mary calls out while the other teams wait for us to choose. I can feel Alec’s gaze on me, his smirk from picking the best venue. Thankfully, though, I’m not letting it bother me.

“Harbor House is out,” I say.

“They might have good seafood,” Declan says.

All we have is one picture of each venue, a few dimensions, and their best food option, along with the budget. So unless you know the venues, you’re going to have to just base your decision on what’s handed to you. Lucky for me, I know the venues.

“They have a good crab cake, and that’s it. They’ve also been flagged for food poisoning a few times, and their decor is 1980s-sailboat themed. Captain’s chair in a horrible orange. Trust me, it’s a bad choice.”

“The Rooftop won’t go with our theme,” Cohen says, looking worried, “and the Shed sounds like a place we’d take wedding guests to chop up.”

“Rooftop is a no go. It won’t go with our theme, like you said, and that will hurt us. But I’ve heard the Shed is actually nice. I believe there’s reclaimed wood throughout the rooms, which are small and sectioned off. The space isn’t open, but it can be cute if we do it right.”

“Then let’s go with that,” Declan says.

“The Shed!” I call out.

Mary picks up an envelope with The Shed written in perfect calligraphy on the back and hands it to me. “Each envelope contains two food-and-beverage plans. Choose wisely. You’re going to have twenty minutes to decide, which includes making your selections for alcohol, appetizers, setup, and where you’re going to have the actual ceremony. All decisions are final. The challenge: make the best use of your space. Go.”

We tear open the envelope, and I zero in on the floor plans. “You guys take the food. I’ve got the space.”

And just like that, we get to work. The rules state that we’re not allowed to have over one hundred guests, so with that in mind, I scan through the maximum occupancy for each room and start dividing up the party. Not only do I develop a seamless space to walk through, but I also come up with a brilliant idea for the ceremony’s layout, where guests sit in a circle around the couple in the loft, forming a ring of love and trust. As I look through the pictures and the floor plan, I manage to select only three rooms total, saving us money and creating a warm environment for everyone—as well as a pretty awesome dance space.

“Hey, I can save a few hundred with limiting our rental space,” I say, doing the math.

“Really?” Cohen asks with excitement. “We can up the food-and-beverage package then.”

“Macaroni bites, here we come,” Declan says just as the timer goes off.

I finally lift my head and take a deep breath. As the judges walk around, inspecting our work, I scan the other workstations. Helen and the girls look frazzled, while Thad and Naomi nervously chew their lips. But the guy who thinks he’s going to win it all barely looks like he’s broken a sweat.

After the judges deliberate, they relay their choices to Mary, and she nods.

Cameras on.

She smiles.

And . . .

“In third place, Team Hernandez. You’ll be receiving no extra money. In second place . . .” I hold my breath. “Team Baxter. Which means Team Rossi takes first. The judges were very impressed with your ability to maximize the space and save money while doing it.”

I can’t help it—I yelp and jump into Cohen’s arms. He chuckles and whispers, “There’s my girl.”

Week Three—Invitations

“Luna, where did you learn such great penmanship?” Luciana asks as the crew wraps up around us. PAs are bustling about, cleaning up and setting up for next week, while Mary DIY and Diane walk off the set, studying something on a clipboard. Another missed opportunity to speak with Mary, another week gone by without getting to share my crafty memes with her.

“I’ve been doing hand lettering for a while now. I’ve actually created a few fonts that I sell on Creative Market.” I swivel on my stool and plaster on a smile. I like Luciana and Amanda. Helen . . . well, she’s a different story.

“Wow, well, it shows. Congrats on the win.” She gives me a short wave and then takes off with Amanda, hand in hand.

“Yeah, really wonderful invitation,” Naomi says as she walks by me, a soft smile on her face. Thad trails behind her, head down. And I know why: this is the second week in a row they haven’t won, and they actually came in last this time.

We had to create our invitations on a computer and were provided all the tools, from a drawing pad, to Photoshop, to Word for the people who don’t know the systems.

Well, I got to work right away, creating a flawless rustic design on the drawing pad that transferred onto the computer. I kept it simple, using hand lettering to showcase Declan’s and Cohen’s names, and then used a sans serif font for the rest. I was honestly a little shocked at how great they came out. Luciana and Amanda used a template and put their names on it. It looked nice, but it wasn’t original. And then poor Thad and Naomi . . . they tried to do something in Word and wound up with just a black-and-white invitation written out in Times New Roman.

At least they used all caps for their names.

I tried to block them out, but there was a lot of irritation coming from their end of the set, and when I peeked up just once, I caught Alec sitting back, arms crossed, not helping at all. In his defense, Thad kept saying, “Let me do this, let me do this.”

Maybe he should have let someone else do it.

“Breakfast for dinner tonight?” Declan asks as he kisses me on the cheek.

“I’ll be there. We can strategize next week’s challenge . . . wedding attire.”

“Can’t wait.” He winks, and Cohen gives me a hug before walking away as well.