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 blends 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 plays 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 on a platform set behind the dance floor. "I'm supposed to be up there with 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 here," 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 clicks his tongue, 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 while my table is still empty. A couple of children are running around as their mother calls after them.

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, pointing at the name cards beside me, I let out a breath and squeeze Nate's hand.

"Not the kids' table," he whispers in my ear before politely giving his seat to a blonde woman. Then, standing behind my chair, he bites his lip and adjusts his jacket.

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

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

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

I turn my head and press my lips against his for a quick kiss. Nate grins and kisses me harder. Both of us giggle as he turns to leave. I smack his cute little butt—I can't stop myself! Nate winks at me over his shoulder, making me chuckle like a love-struck teen.

Every woman in the garden watches him cross the empty dance floor.

Sorry, ladies. He is all mine.

Nate rounds the bridal table, greeting the guests next to him before pulling up a chair and settling near the center. Our eyes meet again, and I blow him a kiss. He smiles back, but there's a tightness to it, like he's forcing his lips to stay steady. My gaze drifts to his legs under the table. They are bouncing restlessly.

When Nate notices where I'm looking, he drops the careless act and folds his arms over the table. His thoughtful glance flicks past me and focuses somewhere in the distance.

What are you thinking, Nate?

Before I can follow his line of sight, a wave of applause erupts from the crowd. I twist in my chair to find the bride and groom step through the terrace's doors. Everybody's cheering for their big moment.

Mr. and Mrs. Rhode.

I clap along as they walk past the tables. The bride's veil is gone, replaced with a diamond headband that catches the light. Her smile is warm and victorious. She's looking straight ahead, clutching Roman's hand so tightly her knuckles have turned white.

The 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—rehearsed, polished, heavy and distant. None of it feels real for some reason.

Roman, on the other hand, is definitely feeling it. He's squinting at the bright lights shining on his face like he's cursing under his breath. A thin sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead while his caramel eyes search the crowd. When they turn in my direction, I quickly avert my gaze and grab my drink.

Here's to making it through the night!

I down my champagne and wave for another as the speeches begin, and then order another when 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 is "Bonjour," and they didn't find it too interesting.

I sip my third drink. Soon, alcohol seeps into my veins and floods my system.

The evening air is thick, almost suffocating. My gaze drifts over my shoulder toward the limestone mansion and the forest surrounding it. A dark, eerie feeling settles over me like a thundercloud. The scene feels oddly familiar.

Is it another deja vu, or just the champagne?

Shaking it off, I fan myself with my hand and try to focus on the speeches. The maid of honor has been 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..."

I giggle against the rim of my glass, rolling 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 fiery gaze right 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...

Roman's hand disappears into his pocket and retrieves his phone, holding it under the table. Then he darts me a sharp glance and turns to his screen.

I instinctively reach for my bag and grab my phone. There's no way Roman would text me—not when his bride is sitting right next to him. But I have to make sure.

I scroll through my contacts to block his number.

But wait—Roman is already blocked.

And I didn't block him.

I whip Nate a confused frown. Was it him?

Nate presses his lips into a tight line, narrowing his eyes at me. Then he leans forward and glares at Roman, who is two chairs away and hunched over the table.

Meanwhile, Roman's fingers are swiftly running across his screen. All I see is a faint glow on his tense features.

I chug my champagne and set the empty glass down with a soft clink, lowering my phone onto my lap.

It vibrates once...

Twice.

Thrice.

Four times.

My heart races. No way...

I lift my phone with shaky hands to find four messages from an unknown number.

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

My breath hitches. It's him. It's Roman!

And he sent me four texts. Four! The exact number I was thinking.

This is nothing but a coincidence.

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

Roman lifts his phone and types, "Please."

Fuck. Okay, there's 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 bouncing 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 love you. I came to this stupid wedding because of you. Gave you my heart, body, and soul just this morning. What else do you want from me?

He clenches his jaw tighter and squints as he glances at his brother again, breathing 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 and look around.

This garden is the same place from my dream—the place where Roman led me into the shadows. That limestone building, East Wing, is where he pinned me against the wall and pressed his lips to mine.

I lower the wine onto the table, finally connecting the deja-vu to the eerie feeling that's lingered since the moment I stepped onto the garden.

A shiver prickles down my spine. What if my nightmare becomes a reality? What if Roman kisses me tonight, and we tumble down a path that leads us to the edge of a cliff?

I can't let that happen.

Goosebumps flare across my bare shoulders. Taking a long, slow breath, I push away 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 shifts in his seat. He's going to come for me.

I shake my head again. It's time for me to leave.

Nate is chewing his lips as I stand up, demanding me to look at him. I know, I told him I'd stay, but I can't. I can't risk it.

Averting my gaze, I turn away from the bridal table and begin strolling 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,′ I think. ′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.

'Right.′ I grit my teeth. 'How about you give me a break and focus on your wedding, asshole!'

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.

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."