The rooftop of the historical Wentworth Hotel had been transformed into a stunning oasis of greenery and flowers for its first-ever wedding. My dad was like that. He would move mountains for me, his only daughter, whether I wanted mountains moved or not. For the record, the rooftop idea had not been mine but was the love child of my publicist and my manager. I hadn’t argued, so my dad had taken it from there. His motivation was pure and steeped in love, so I couldn’t hold it against him.

The wedding coordinator had showed me phone pics of the finished rooftop setup twenty minutes ago. Three hundred guest chairs sat in perfect rows on either side of the narrow white carpet. The wedding arch was laden with salmon-pink hydrangeas, white dahlias, and the palest pink peonies, plus an ocean of shades of green. Countless potted topiary trees had been dressed to the nines with white hydrangeas and lined both sides of the terrace to give the illusion of privacy.

Five minutes ago, my best friend and matron of honor, Drea Verne, had whisked me out of the bridal preparation room without even asking, away from the other bridesmaids, who happened to be two of my cousins and my fiancé Trey’s two sisters. Somehow Drea had known I wasn’t okay. The walls had been closing in on me, the chatter of the women ringing in my ears undecipherable, and I’d felt like I couldn’t get a full breath.

Like a couple of thieves in the not-quite-night, we’d rushed up three flights of back stairs to Drea and her husband’s empty hotel room. We’d made it without being seen by anyone, in part because her room was right across from the stairwell.

When she shut the door behind us, enclosing us in a welcome silence, I sagged my back against it, willing myself not to slide down to the floor in my designer wedding dress.

“Talk to me, Everly.” Drea busied herself at the mini bar, glancing at me every few seconds, waiting for me to speak. “You’re pale and you looked like you were going to pass out back there.”

“I…” I cleared my throat because my voice didn’t sound like me. “I thought I was going to pass out back there.”

“Come here.” She took my hand and led me to the chair by the window that looked out over the front side of the hotel.

I was too antsy to sit, so I gazed outside, down Hale Street, which had cars parallel parked bumper to bumper and people everywhere. I stepped closer to the fourth-floor window, and my attention was pulled to what was happening right in front of the hotel, directly below me.