Page 27

I do. A lot.

I force my face into a revolted expression. “No.”

We hop out of the car and head toward the entrance. I try not to grimace at the sea of outfits. Everyone’s in flowy linen, and half the attendees stole my all-white idea. The only real standout is a woman dramatically swishing around in a bright purple cape.

The line moves surprisingly fast. At the door, a serene-looking woman with a slightly spacey smile greets us.

“This is a phone-free event,” she says sweetly, holding out her hand.

I dig my phone out of my bag and hand it over. She gives me a little ticket in return.

Then she turns to Drew, palm politely extended.

He doesn’t even blink. “Not happening.”

Her smile stays perfectly in place, but I see the tiniest flicker of uncertainty. “It’s a strict policy⁠—”

Drew just looks at her.

She hesitates for half a second, clearly doing some internal risk assessment, then caves. “Alright…just don’t use it inside.”

Drew gives her a single nod and strolls past.

I follow, rolling my eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t get stuck. “I guess the rules don’t apply to you.”

“Nope,” he says cheerfully.

I ignore him and scan the room. It’s a converted loft bathed in soft golden light, with linen-draped tables and so much essential oil in the air I can practically taste lavender. About forty people drift around in flowing neutrals, clutching crystals, all looking suspiciously zen—like they’ve never had a single stressful day in their lives.

My plan is simple: be sweet, be beautiful, and make Julian fall head over heels. Smile at him. Ask intelligent questions about his books. Show him I’d make the perfect, polished, low-drama wife.

Easy.

“This doesn’t seem like you at all,” Drew murmurs, scanning the room.

“You don’t know me,” I remind him as Julian steps onto the small stage. He’s shorter than he looks in his photos, with noticeably grayer hair. He’s…fine. Pleasant-looking, even. But there’s zero spark. Nothing. Still, opportunity doesn’t wait around for chemistry.

He starts heading toward someone in the crowd—the woman in the purple cape—and I see my moment.

I straighten my shoulders, paste on my most charming smile, and glide through the crowd. I slide in front of Purple Cape Lady, cutting her off cleanly (and possibly stepping on her foot in the process).

“Julian,” I say warmly. “I loved your book.”

He turns to me, polite but not exactly dazzled. “Thank you. It’s always nice to meet someone who actually read it.” His eyes are already drifting back toward the cape lady.

I shift to block his view. “I just think the world needs more of…this kind of thing. It’s brilliant.”

“Right,” he says, finally focusing on me. “What did you think of the chapter on radical vulnerability?”

“Fascinating,” I say brightly. “So eye-opening.”

“Which part resonated with you most?”

My mind goes completely, terrifyingly blank.

I laugh a little too loudly. “Oh, all of it! Especially the…vulnerability part. So important.”

Julian tilts his head, smiling but now with a hint of polite confusion. “Which exercise did you find most transformative? The mirror work or the letter to your younger self?”