The estate's garden feels like a surrealistic painting with flickering fairy lights, round tables, and flower arrangements that tower into a cloudy, purple sky. We are surrounded by a mighty forest, immersed in all shades of green. The scent of roses and pines blend with the mouthwatering aroma of fresh bread and creamy hors d'oeuvres the waiters are offering.

"This place is magical!" I say, grabbing a glass of champagne from a server's tray.

"Yeah, I've always liked it here," Nate replies.

A cello group is playing classical music as we walk around the tables. My seat is at the edge of the dance floor.

"You'll be sitting here," Nate says, picking my name card from a gold service plate. Then he points at the bridal table behind the dance floor. "I'm supposed to be up there by the groom. Say the word, and I'll—"

"It's fine," I say, patting his arm. "I'm okay."

Nate pulls out my chair and sits beside me. A sweet smile tugs the corner of his lips as our gazes linger around the garden.

"Nana used to throw my birthday parties in this garden," he says. "All the family would gather here at the end of summer. My aunts, cousins..."

My brows shoot up in surprise. "Is your birthday this month?"

He tsks and then pecks my nose. "Yeah, the last day of August."

"I can't believe it's been a year since we met."

Nate clinks our glasses with a chuckle and pecks my nose again.

The crowd is slowly taking their seats. Am I going to be the awkward ex stuck at the kids' table? Not that I mind, but I just wish Nate could stay a while longer. When a young couple arrives at our table, I let out a breath and squeeze Nate's hand.

"Not the kids table," Nate whispers in my ear, then politely gives his seat to a blonde woman. Standing behind my chair, he bites his lip and fixes his jacket.

Is he fidgeting? He keeps pulling his sleeves with a worried look in his eyes.

I look up into Nate's handsome face, giving his hand another assuring squeeze. "I'll be fine."

His jaw tightens, but he manages to smile as he bends down to kiss my cheek. "I'll come find you after the speeches," he says.

I spank his cute, little butt as Nate walks away, chuckling when he winks at me over his shoulder. All the ladies' eyes are following him as he crosses the empty dance floor.

Sorry ladies, he is all mine.

Nate takes his place toward the center of the bridal table. I smile back at him, but my gaze drifts to his legs under the table—they are bouncing up and down stressfully. When Nate notices where I'm looking, he bites his lip and crosses his arms against the table. His gaze is sharp now, focused on me.

What are you thinking, Nate?

When a round of applause erupts from somewhere behind me, I turn to catch a glimpse of the bride and groom at the terrace's doors. It's their big moment. Mr. and Mrs. Rhode.

I clap along as they walk around the tables. The bride's veil is gone now. I like her proud smile; it seems genuine. The diamonds on her little headband are sparkling so much. Stage lights follow them across the dance floor and guide them to take a seat at the bridal table.

It feels like I'm watching a TV show. None of it feels real for some reason. I can't say the same for Roman as he takes a seat, though. He's squinting hard at the bright light shining on his face, trying to maintain his professional smile. Sweatbeads cover his forehead, and his caramel eyes are searching the crowd. When they turn in my direction, I quickly avert my gaze and grab my drink.

Here is to making it through the night.

I down my champagne and ask for another as the speeches start—and then another as the monologues drag on and on... The couple next to me isn't very friendly, and they're speaking in French. The only French I can offer them is "Bonjour," and they didn't find it too interesting. I take a sip from my drink. Soon, alcohol takes over my veins and floods my system.

My chest starts feeling heavy... So heavy that it hurts.

The maid of honor has been speaking for a while now. I tried to focus, but she is putting everyone to sleep with the nicknames she used to call Tiffany.

Seriously? That's her best friend, and she has nothing else to share? And who calls their best friend Tiff-Tiff? That's a dumb name, even for a pet!

"And in Japan, I called her Tiffi-san. Then she was Tiff-fluff when she bought her first cat..." Tiff-Tiff's friend continues, making me roll my eyes.

Poor, Rom-Rom... Poor, stupid, Rom-Rom. Sold his soul for his magazine and ended up with Tiff-Tiff.

Roman looks around, then snaps his caramel gaze at me. 'Bullseye.'

Shit... Did he just say, bullseye? Wait, is that what he's thinking? Can he hear my thoughts too?

What number am I thinking, Roman?

Four. Four. Four...

Is there a way to know if he's guessing it right? Would he signal me? I chug my champagne and set the empty glass on the table.

'Perhaps I should text him,' my inner deamon whispers.

I take my phone out and start typing. But hold on... Why is his number blocked? I didn't block him. I unblock it quickly as Roman's hand disappears into his pocket and retrieves his phone. He stares at his screen, then back at me, swiftly hiding his phone under the table. All I can see is a faint glow on his tense face.

Just as I finish typing, 'What number am I thinking, asshole?' three dots appear at the top of my screen. Fuck, Roman is typing too.

Double fuck. This means he can see that I'm typing.

I delete the text and toss the phone into my bag. The alcohol is clouding my judgement. I really need to stop drinking.

My bag's vibrating on my lap. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times.

My heart races. No way... Can he read my thoughts? I take my phone out with shaky hands and stare at my screen.

"Abby.
We need to talk.
Meet me at the corner of the east wing
when the speeches are over."

Four texts. I was thinking of the number four. He can't read my thoughts. This is nothing but a coincidence.

I look up and narrow my eyes at him. Text me again if you can hear me.

Roman takes out his phone and types, "Please."

Fuck. Okay, there is no way we have some telepathic connection or whatever. I'm drunk and delusional.

I shove my phone back into my bag. Nate's legs are shaking faster now, and he looks flustered. His eyes meet mine and burn into my face. Is he mad at me? Me?

How dare he?! I cross my arms and frown back at him.

Why don't you trust me, Nate? All I ever did was loving you. I came to this stupid wedding because of you. Gave you my heart, body and soul just this morning. What more do you want from me? This is all that I am!

He clenches his jaw tighter and squints, breathing out through his nose.

Honestly, I can't deal with Nate when I'm on the brink of losing my mind. I grab my neighbor's wine off the table, but stop before it reaches my lips.

What am I doing?

If I keep drinking, I'll end up meeting Roman at the corner of that yellow stone building. He'll convince me to follow him into the shadows. Once we're out of sight, he's going to press his lips against mine and pin me against the wall. And I'll let him. Because no matter what I think I feel, I still love him. A part of me will always love him, no matter what. It is a given, not a choice.

Unless, I make it a choice.

Taking a deep, long breath, I set down the wine glass and meet Roman's gaze. His caramel eyes lock into mine, and stare deep, deep within. I shake my head.

No.

Roman scratches his chin and wiggles in his seat. He is going to come for me.

I shake my head again. It's time for me to leave before I do something stupid.

Nate is chewing his lips as I stand up, demanding me to look at him. Avoiding his gaze, I turn away from the bridal table, and begin walking toward the main mansion.

My legs feel weak. I don't even know where I'm going...

'The restroom?' Roman's voice echoes in my head.

Maybe. That way, I can splash some water on my numb face... Or I could go to the bedroom, grab Nate's car keys, and flee this nightmare.

'Don't be stupid, you're drunk.' Roman's voice remarks.

Yeah, right. How about you give me a break, genuis! I'll head to the toilet then.

Just as I near the building, Nate's voice blasts out of the speakers and fills the garden.

"Boundaries."

I pause and glance over my shoulder. The bride's best friend stops her speech and slowly sinks back into her seat as Nate stands, holding a microphone.

"I'm making a toast to setting boundaries," Nate continues, raising his glass. "Roman has always been more than a brother to me. He stepped up as a father figure when Dad passed away. Became my mentor at college and guided me into the magazine... A roommate. A boss. We've always been close yet distant, all because he set boundaries. Clear, strong, high—very high boundaries... Lately, I've wondered why he's never let me in. Has he ever let anyone in?"

My cheeks burn. Nate is looking directly into my eyes. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and I can't help but lower my head.

Nate grasps the back of Roman's neck as he continues, "But you know what? Boundaries are good, brother. They are there for a reason. You've set them around yourself and your work. I have boundaries too, but mine are around my family. And now, I'm setting them around my girl. My girl!"

A few voices in the crowd cheer as Nate points his glass at me. He lifts his hands to quiet the guests before speaking again. "Someone special might have broken your walls recently. Be grateful to them and let your wife in. You don't have to be alone. Tiffany will be there for the rest of your life. And that's a good thing, Roman. Love her. Text her. Build your walls around her." Nate pats his brother's shoulder, causing Roman to stumble forward. Then he lifts his glass in the air. "To boundaries, brother. To fucking boundaries."