“Who died?”
I told him everything.
The country club.
The backyard dinner.
The “real wedding” text.
When I finished, he set down the sandwiches.
“We’re not moving our wedding.”
“I know.”
“They really said hers is more important?”
“Yes.”
Ryan studied me for a moment.
Then he reminded me of something my family rarely acknowledged.
I was an event planner.
For years, I’d transformed barns, warehouses, rooftops, and ordinary rooms into places people remembered forever.
“If they think yours is some little backup wedding,” he said, “then build the wedding you actually want.”
That opened a door.
I grabbed my laptop.
The previous year, I’d worked with an upstate New York castle looking for more exposure.
A production company owed me a favor after I saved one of their bridal shoots.
Three live-stream creators were waiting for the right collaboration.
And designer Harper Lane had once promised to make my wedding dress.
I called the castle first.
“What are you doing in twelve days?”
