Her boss maybe. The mass of high-profile weddings and the pressure that came along with them. Dealing with the Felix sisters alone was a full-time job, I imagined, and she had dozens of other clients to tend to on top of it. And with her boss breathing down her neck to boot? Anyone would crack under that kind of pressure, maybe even Lila Parker.

Or maybe something else had happened. Her boyfriend, perhaps. I’d heard enough from Ivy to know he was a hoity-toity douchebag with a fake smile and too many stories to tell. If he’d hurt her, my first thought was that I hoped she’d strutted out the door. My second thought was what it would feel like to punch him in the nose for being an idiot. My third was that I hoped she was okay.

Lila launched into what she needed me to measure, and I listened dutifully, taking in the space while she spoke. The ceiling soared thirty feet to the domed Victorian atrium that gave Skylight its name, the only solid thing the walls around us. Beyond the glass stretched Midtown, steel and glass cut against the crisp autumn sky. The room was golden and cream, soft and bright, a place that breathed hope and happy endings.

I pulled out my notepad and pencil, which seemed to both please and relax her. She sprang into details, opening up her imagination. The arbor shape, the color scheme, musings on flowers she might want, depending on the palette they chose. Giving me notes on the garland, asking what kind of greenery and berry would be available. The tunnel, which would be built in pieces and placed in the ballroom where the reception would be held.

She was mid twinkle-light monologue when the doors opened, and a couple walked through, tall and rich and smiling.

Lila glanced at me, lips parting to speak, but I said, “Don’t worry. I’ve got it.”

A smile I actually believed, higher on one side with snark. “Good.” Her attention clicked down the aisle. “Charles, Madison. I trust you found us without trouble.”

And then, she was off.

I listened silently, measuring the dais and sketching in my notebook as she recounted the details of the building, the venue, amenities, and photography options. She spoke with utter certainty, with absoluteness, her word law and fact, indisputable—even her opinions. She was impossible to deny, and it didn’t seem the couple wanted to.

I wondered what it’d be like to truly disagree with her. The sparring we played at was strictly for sport. But a true confrontation? I had a feeling she’d come to life with a defensive spark. I both shied from the thought and craved it, like the danger of setting off unmarked fireworks that might or might not be dynamite.

Measuring the aisle brought me closer to them as Madison interrupted Lila.