I thrum my fingers against my thigh as the event coordinator pulls the catering books off the table and replaces them with binders of information about florists.

“I don’t remember it being this overwhelming when I was planning my wedding,” Mom says.

Dad nudges her. “Oh, I remember. You obsessed over every little decision. You made Bridezilla look like a puppy.”

“Hey!” She laughs and turns to the event coordinator. “I was a gentle bride. Full of grace. It was my mother who was intolerable.”

I’m glad that my parents are happy, and since things like elaborate celebrations add to that happiness, I’m behind them having this anniversary party. But I’m not thrilled that they want me in on the plans. Big, fancy parties aren’t my thing. Drunken nuptials in Vegas, anyone?

If I were celebrating thirty years of marriage, I’d want my wife to myself on a quiet little island somewhere. I instantly picture Bailey, a little older, a little softer, laid out on a beach in Fiji, her skin golden from the sun, her fingers twined with mine. That’s a celebration.

“Listen,” Greta, the event coordinator, says. “I have another appointment in twenty minutes.”

Thank you, God. It’s over.

Mom looks at her watch. “Greta, I am so sorry. I didn’t realize we’d been here so long!”

“It’s been my pleasure,” Greta says. “How about I send these binders with you, and we’ll meet again on Monday? We’ll carpool to the venues so you can see them before you make your choice.”

“Sounds great,” Mom says.

“Will you be available as well?” Greta asks me.

I shake my head. I leave for training camp on Sunday. “I’m sorry. I’m unavailable.” Spoiler alert: I’m not actually sorry.

“Oh, that’s too bad.” She gives a tight smile, and I feel as if I’m being judged and coming up short.

“But I was hoping you could help us choose a location, Mason,” Mom says. “You sure you can’t show up to camp a day late?”

I smile. “I’m sure Greta will be very helpful. You won’t need me.”

Mom stands and swings her purse over her shoulder. It’s a Louis Vuitton. I know because I bought it for her for Christmas. She loves it, but you could feed a small country for what it cost. “Well, we will see you Monday, then,” she says, shaking Greta’s hand. “I’m so excited to pin down the details. I want it to be perfect.”

“It will be,” Greta promises, and as we head to our cars, my shoulders relax.

“Lindy called us last night,” Mom says. And just like that, I’m as anxious to get away from my parents as I was to get out of that meeting. “She’s really looking forward to her internship. Think how much time you two will have together.”

It’s not just the Gators’ owner who sees wedding bells when he thinks of me and Lindy. If my parents had a choice in the matter, Lindy and I would have entered into an arranged marriage upon our college graduation. My father’s been doing business with Lindy’s father since I was a kid. They’re both investors with their hands in a lot of domestic and international ventures. When Lindy and I were growing up, our parents always joked we’d end up married, and for a while, when we were dating in high school, the joke seemed more like a reality. After Lindy and I went our separate ways, the joke wasn’t funny anymore.

“She says she ran into you back in the spring,” Mom says.

I freeze at that unwelcome reminder of my big-ass mistake. Why has Lindy been gabbing to our parents about that night? “Lindy’s a nice girl,” I tell Mom, “but as I’ve told you before, there’s no future for us.”

“We should talk about that,” Dad says. “I think I could make it worth your while if you’d give that young girl a chance. Together, you two would have an empire.”

“What are we doing here? Bartering cattle?” I frown at him. “Because it sounds like you’re trying to butter me up for the sale.”

“Stop that, Mason.” Mom’s perfectly arched brows draw together with her frown. “Your father just means that you two are compatible, and it might benefit both of our families if you didn’t dismiss her so carelessly. She likes you, you know. And you used to like her. Before.”

I bite my tongue, because I want to tell them about Bailey. Maybe Owen is right. Maybe if they knew I was married, they’d back the fuck off about me and Lindy. “I have to go.”

“Have a great time at training camp,” Mom says with a smile.

Dad stays silent, but his eyes are hard, and I know he’s unhappy with me. I don’t care. I’m so over them meddling in my life and trying to control me—been there, done that, got the emotional baggage.

On a good day, it’s a little over five hours between my parents’ home in St. Augustine and mine in Seaside, but the highway is riddled with construction, making the traffic worse than usual, and the matter of Lindy’s temporary move to Seaside looms heavily in my mind.

When I bumped into her in April, I was in my favorite Seaside bar, drunk on whiskey and self-pity. There I was, living my dream life, and nearly a year after leaving Blackhawk Valley, I still thought about Bailey every single day. That day, Bailey had posted a video of herself on Instagram stumbling around on the bar at The End Zone and captioned it, What you really look like when you’re drunk and trying to dance sexy on the bar.

It was goofy and hilarious and so Bailey that it made me miss her with an intensity I hadn’t felt in months. I was desperate to stop thinking about the blond, curvy heartbreaker, and then Lindy appeared. We talked about old times—the good ones, at least—and she told me about her graduate program and her plans for after graduation. After nearly four years of being shut down by Bailey, my ego loved her attention. It felt good to have someone next to me, laughing at my jokes, leaning closer at every opportunity. After a few more whiskeys and more laughs, we climbed into a cab together and went back to my house.

I let things go too far. I was hoping to feel something—anything—with someone who hadn’t spent the better part of the last four years pushing me away. It didn’t work, and it complicated the fuck out of my relationship with Lindy—a relationship I closed the door on five years ago.

By the time I pull through the gates of my subdivision, it’s dark, and I just want a shower and a drink. Hell, I might skip the drink and fantasize about keeping Bailey as my wife instead. Some good old Bailey fantasies are just as intoxicating as bourbon and less likely to screw with tomorrow’s training.

Maybe Owen’s right. Maybe going public with our marriage could solve my problems. Bailey’s life in Blackhawk Valley isn’t exactly glamorous, and the collection notices with her name that have started to show up in my mailbox tell me she has problems of her own. Maybe we could make an arrangement that would help us both.

When I turn into the drive, my lights flash on the front of the house and I see a woman sitting on the porch swing, sipping a glass of wine. I wish I could say I was surprised, but Lindy is who she is. She goes after what she wants, and after five years apart, she’s decided she still wants me.

I don’t bother pulling in to the garage. I stop in the driveway, cut the engine, and climb out. “What are you doing here?” I ask. Lindy’s dark hair is down around her shoulders, and her porcelain skin glows in the porchlight.

Her wine-stained lips stretch into a smile. “Is that any way to greet your lover?”

I rub the back of my neck, irritated that she’s made herself at home but trying not to show it. “We’re not lovers.”

She takes another drink of her wine and flashes me a mischievous grin. “That’s not what it looked like a few months ago.”

“I’ve told you, that night was a mistake.” Such a big fucking mistake. I thought if Lindy and I reconnected, maybe I’d feel something—maybe I could move on from Bailey. “Everything between us is history. There is no future.”

Lindy looks away and wraps her arms around her waist. “If I were pregnant, you wouldn’t be turning me away right now.”

I scrape a hand over my face. I was in Vegas when Lindy texted me to tell me she wasn’t pregnant.

I know it was silly to hope. I just thought a baby could bring us back together.

It hadn’t even occurred to me that she might be until she’d sent that, and then I spent the rest of the trip thanking my lucky stars Lindy wasn’t pregnant with my child. That would have been a disaster.

I draw in a breath. She’s always been emotional, and since I fucked up enough to sleep with her, the least I can do is attempt to be patient. “Lindy . . .”

“You know it’s true. If I were carrying your baby, you’d be happy to have me here. We would make this work.”

“You’re not pregnant and we’re not a couple, so there’s nothing to make work.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out and stare at the screen to see Bailey’s face.

“I think it’s time I talk to my father about you,” Lindy says. Her voice rises an octave, and her words pick up speed. “You wouldn’t be anyone if it weren’t for him. If he knows you used me for sex, you can kiss another contract goodbye.”

I stiffen. I can practically feel my career teetering on the edge of the hysteria in her voice. Maybe I took a deal with the devil when Bill McCombs got his people to draft me, but at the time, Lindy was seriously involved with someone else. It seemed safe.

“Why would you do that?” Even after hearing her say it, I don’t want to believe it. Once, we were friends. Once, we banded together against our parents’ attempts to manipulate us and control our lives, and now she’s trying to control me.

“You toy with me. I thought you’d grown up, but look at you now. Pushing me away again.” She shakes her head. “Do you have any idea how used and dirty that makes me feel?”

“I’m really sorry,” I say, and I have to be entering into the triple digits of apologies.

“Can you give me one good reason we can’t be together?”

Hell, I could give her a laundry list of reasons, but she doesn’t want to hear any of those. In fact, there’s only one reason that might make her dial back the crazy.

I draw in a long breath, trying to stop myself from breaking my promise, making myself take one more beat before beginning to unravel the plan that’s been hatching since Arrow and Mia’s wedding. My hesitation is nothing more than a formality. I made my decision weeks ago when I started dodging Bailey’s calls and ignoring the texts that read, You. Me. A romantic divorce? When are we going to do this thing?

“There is someone else.” I wait for Lindy’s gaze to meet mine and say a prayer that I can talk Bailey into going along with this. “Lindy, I’m married.”