“I had a thing for royalty!” I shouted, my headache making a fierce pounding in my temples.

“Mmm.” Max set his coffee down but kept the diary above his head. “One last question.”

“If I answer, will you give it back so I can burn it?”

“I’ll give it back.” He held up his hand. “But burning this would be a crime. It’s like reality TV only worse, I seriously cried real tears and it wasn’t because the story was sad. Oh, and P.S. It took you five years to spell nightmare right, just thought I’d let you know.”

“What’s the question?” I ignored his teasing and focused on calming myself so I didn’t throw up again.

“Did you mean it?”

Aw crap. “Mean what?”

“In here.” He shook the diary. “Did you mean it about Colton?”

“How am I supposed to even remember—”

“No worries, I folded the page.” He cleared his throat. “ ‘Colton is my favorite, he is like my best friend. He reminds me of my dad only I want to kiss him all the time. Colton is like my superhero. Sometimes when I watch movies I imagine I’m the princess and he’s rescuing me. Today we played dragon slayer. He rescued me and then said I was pretty. I hope he means it. Because one day I’m going to marry him. He’s going to be mine forever, and then we’ll play dragon slayer again and it’s going to be real—because everyone knows you’re playing pretend until you get true love’s kiss. And I’m going to get mine. In my castle.’ ”

I looked down at the blankets, not trusting myself to actually look Max in the face. How could words I’d written years ago make such an impact on the way my heart slammed against my chest?

“Not gonna lie, I’m kinda pissed about the whole ‘best friend’ part, and I may have red-penned that bitch, but the rest of it looks about right.” Max slammed it shut. “So, let’s toss you in the shower, throw a hell of a lot of cover-up under those eyes of yours, save your brother’s ass, then get you a groom!”

“You watch too much TV.”

“I cut my teeth on daytime soap operas growing up.” Max shrugged. “I can’t fight my true nature. Now, let’s do this.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

COLTON

“I’m not wearing this under my tux.” I held the offending shirt out and dropped it onto the floor. I was half tempted to step on it too, but Jason rescued it in time.

“I’m marrying Satan,” he seethed. “The least you can do is put on the damn R2-D2 shirt with a smile!”

I grimaced. “It’s too tight.”

“Again, let me repeat, I’m marrying Satan. Wear the shirt.”

Sighing, I threw on the black robot-looking shirt, then buttoned up my dark-gray dress shirt over it. “We don’t even know if this is going to work.”

“It’s Milo.” Jason pulled out a flask. “It will work.”

“How long until brunch?”

Jason checked his watch. “A half hour.”

“Which means we only have . . . ?”

“Two hours until pictures, four hours until the wedding.” He started pacing, then stopped. “You think it’s a bad sign that it’s my wedding day and the only thing that makes me smile is a vision of my hands around Jayne’s neck?”

“Just tell yourself you’re into BDSM—makes it totally acceptable.”

“Good call.” He held out his fist for a pound just as someone knocked on the door.

It could be anyone, though I was hoping it was Max. He was supposed to be bringing us our victim.

As expected, it was Max—and the man I could only assume was his brother.

“Fellas.” Max slapped the guy’s back. They looked nothing alike. His brother had curly blond hair and green eyes. I assumed Max was adopted and the guy in front of me was the product of good genes at work.

“Reid.” He held out his hand. “I hear you guys need my help.”

“He’s an actor.” Max nodded. “Broadway, soap operas, big time. He’s like a big fish—no offense to your homegrown small-townness, Jason, but you’re like a sad goldfish just waiting to go belly-up. We need a betta or something.”

“None taken.” He held up his hands. “To bait Jayne we need a big fish or, er, a betta.”

Reid laughed. “One word, man.”

We all waited.

“How?” He shook his head. “How? Jayne?” He whistled.

“That was two words, actually.” Max cleared his throat.

“How the hell did you and Jayne even get together?”

“Yeah I lost count at eight words.” Max shrugged.

Jason cringed. “Long story. Lots of mistakes, lots of—”

“It goes like this,” Max interrupted. “Boys are told since they’re little that pretty things are good. Pretty things equal happy things. So when we grow up and see a shiny pretty thing, we’re drawn like moths to a flame. We keep flying toward the light until it’s too late. You know, like that Sleeping Beauty chick with the spinning wheel?”

I chuckled. “Are you seriously comparing us to a Disney princess?”

Max waved him off. “ ‘Oh, look, it’s so pretty, I want to touch it. I want to touch it, and kiss it, and make love to it’—boom!” He slammed his hands together. “Trapped. You’re trapped in her web of lies. Oh, no, your body’s going numb, help! You yell! You gnaw off your own leg in order to escape, you bleed out, and just when you think you’ve made it, the spider returns and offers you food. ‘Aren’t you hungry?’ she says. And then come the compliments, ‘You’re so strong, look how great you are.’ ”