Marry Me By Midnight

Chapter 9: What Sophie Saw

The bachelorette-adjacent “girls’ brunch” — Sophie’s compromise after the actual bachelorette got rained out weeks ago — was meant to be low-key. Mimosas, a private room at the hotel restaurant, Sophie’s college friends trading embarrassing stories.

Ivy nearly made it through unscathed.

Then Sophie, three mimosas in and uncharacteristically direct, leaned across the table during a lull in the conversation and said, quietly enough that only Ivy could hear: “You’re glowing. Like, actually glowing. And you keep touching your stomach when you think no one’s looking.”

Ivy’s hand froze mid-reach for her water glass.

“I’m not stupid, Ivy. I’ve watched you avoid champagne for three days and make an excuse every single time someone offers you wine.” Sophie’s voice wasn’t accusing — it was soft, almost hopeful, like she already knew the answer and just needed Ivy to say it. “Is it Grant’s?”

There was no version of this where lying worked. Sophie had known her for twenty-eight years; she’d caught every half-truth Ivy had ever tried.

“Yes,” Ivy said quietly. “It’s Grant’s. I’m about seven weeks.”

Sophie’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes immediately wet — the particular, specific tears of someone getting both shocking news and wonderful news in the same half-second and not knowing which reaction to lead with.

“You’re having a baby,” Sophie whispered. “At my wedding week. With my brother-in-law. Who you met in Vegas.” A beat. “This is the most insane thing that has ever happened to our family and I have never been happier about anything.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Ivy said quickly, gripping her sister’s hand under the table. “Not Michael, not your mom, not anyone until after the wedding. Grant and I agreed — we don’t want this becoming the story of your week.”

Sophie squeezed back, already dabbing carefully at her eyes so as not to ruin two hours of professional makeup. “Ivy. My wedding is in two days. Nothing is going to out-story you finding out you’re pregnant by the best man during my rehearsal dinner.”

“Please, Soph.”

“Okay, okay.” Sophie took a steadying breath, visibly reassembling her bridal composure. “I won’t say anything. But I get to be insufferably smug about it later. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Sophie glanced across the room to where, coincidentally or not, Grant had just walked past the restaurant’s open doorway with his brother, catching Ivy’s eye for exactly one second before continuing on. Sophie watched the whole silent exchange with naked delight.

“You really like him,” she said, not a question.

Ivy didn’t answer right away. She thought about the fountain, the florist’s supply room, his hand finding hers in stolen five-minute increments across a week that was supposed to be about someone else’s happy ending.

“Yeah,” she admitted. “I really do.”

Sophie grinned, refilled her own mimosa, and for the first time all week, let the subject drop — though the look she kept sneaking at Ivy for the rest of brunch made it clear this was far from over.

Two days until the wedding. One person now in on the secret. And somewhere out there, a florist’s assistant who’d already seen more than she let on.

The countdown had officially started to feel dangerous.