(Andrew POV)
I’m at Sophie’s kitchen table, papers everywhere, guest lists, menus, some timeline she’s been yapping at me to check. Smells like burnt coffee, bitter and stale, ‘cause she left the pot on too long again. Late afternoon light’s sneaking through the window, bouncing off that ring she keeps flashing, her pen slashing red circles on a catering bill. She’s all wound up, hair yanked back, sleeves bunched, barking orders like I’m her grunt. Me? I’m barely here, sneaking texts to Luke under the table about the bar for tomorrow’s big engagement bash. My tie’s choking me, half-undone, and I’m this close to ripping it off.
“Chicken or beef, Andrew, pick now,” she snaps, not even looking up, her pen digging into the paper. Cuts right through the fridge hum, and I flick my eyes to th
