Chapter four
1531 Words
The next morning, I woke to the sound of my phone vibrating on the nightstand.
Groaning, I reached for it blindly, my body still tangled in the covers. My mind was groggy, still half-trapped in a dream I barely remembered—except for the part where Lucas was in it.
I didn’t want to analyze that too closely.
Blinking against the early morning light, I checked the caller ID. Emma.
With a sigh, I swiped to answer. “This better be good.”
“You’re awake!” Emma chirped, far too energetic for someone who had spent half the night stressing over the cake flavors.
“Barely,” I muttered, rubbing my eyes. “What’s up?”
“I need you to meet me at the venue early. Last-minute adjustments before the rehearsal dinner tonight.”
I frowned. “I thought everything was set?”
“Yeah, well, the florist had a meltdown, the caterer is asking for final confirmations, and the venue coordinator is being a nightmare.” Emma groaned. “I need my maid of honor, Claire.”
I sighed, already throwing the blankets off me. “Fine. Give me thirty minutes.”
“You’re the best!”
I hung up, dragging myself out of bed and into the shower. The cold water jolted me awake, but it did nothing to wash away the lingering tension in my chest.
Lucas’s words from last night still echoed in my mind.
"Being around you again, Claire… It’s not as easy as I thought it would be."
I hated that I understood exactly what he meant.
---
By the time I arrived at the venue, Emma was pacing near the entrance, looking frazzled.
“Oh, thank God,” she breathed, pulling me into a quick hug. “I swear, if one more thing goes wrong, I’m eloping.”
I snorted. “Andrew would die.”
She sighed dramatically. “I know. He actually likes all of this wedding chaos.”
Shaking my head, I followed her inside. The reception hall was already buzzing with activity—florists adjusting bouquets, caterers setting up sample plates, and staff moving chairs. It should have been comforting to see everything coming together, but my stomach twisted when I noticed a familiar figure near the bar.
Lucas.
Because of course he was here.
He was talking to someone—Isabelle. She leaned in close, laughing at something he said. The sight sent an unwelcome pang through me, but I pushed it down.
I had no right to feel anything.
Still, I tore my gaze away and forced myself to focus on Emma.
“Okay,” she said, glancing at her list. “We need to finalize table placements, taste the last menu items, and—oh! We also have to check on the guest list. A couple of people haven’t confirmed.”
I nodded, relieved that at least some of the tasks were simple. “Where do you want to start?”
“The food,” she declared. “I refuse to have bad food at my wedding.”
We made our way to the caterer’s station, sampling different appetizers and entrees. Emma kept up a steady stream of conversation, but my focus drifted.
I could still feel him in the room.
And I hated that after all these years, my body still reacted to his presence before my brain could catch up.
Halfway through a bite of some fancy bruschetta, I heard his voice.
“So, is it too late to vote for burgers and fries?”
I nearly choked.
Emma, however, grinned. “Lucas! You made it.”
I forced myself to swallow, then turned—only to find him closer than I expected. His expression was easy, relaxed, but there was something in his eyes when they met mine.
Something unreadable.
Emma nudged me. “I know you two already saw each other yesterday, but can you please try to act friendly? You’re the two most important people in my life, and I’d rather not spend my wedding weekend playing referee.”
I sighed. “I’m being perfectly civil.”
Lucas smirked. “That’s one way to put it.”
I shot him a look, but Emma, satisfied that we weren’t about to start throwing things at each other, turned back to the caterer.
I should have stepped away, but Lucas didn’t move, and for some reason, neither did I.
“You’re avoiding me,” he said after a moment.
I huffed a laugh. “And yet, here you are.”
“I can take a hint, Claire,” he murmured. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying to talk to you.”
I exhaled sharply, looking away. “Why? What’s the point?”
Lucas was quiet for a moment before he said, “Because we never really talked about what happened.”
My heart clenched. “We don’t need to.”
“Maybe you don’t,” he said, voice low. “But I do.”
Something in his tone made my stomach twist.
But before I could respond, Emma turned back to us, oblivious to the charged moment between me and my ex-husband.
“Okay! Food’s approved. Now, onto the seating chart.”
I let out a silent breath of relief, eager for the distraction. But as we moved toward the layout board, I felt Lucas’s eyes on me.
And deep down, I knew this conversation wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
I had always prided myself on my ability to keep my emotions in check. Years of practice had made it easy to push things aside, to bury feelings I didn’t want to deal with.
But being around Lucas again was testing my limits.
Especially now, as we sat in the reception hall, forced to work side by side on the seating chart.
Emma had conveniently abandoned us for a phone call, leaving me stuck with him.
“So,” Lucas said, glancing at the layout in front of us. “Are we separating people based on whether or not they want to throw something at each other?”
I rolled my eyes. “Tempting, but no.”
He smirked, but I ignored it, forcing myself to focus. “Emma and Andrew want their families close to the head table. Bridesmaids and groomsmen over here…” I gestured to a section of the chart. “And then we just need to make sure we don’t sit feuding relatives too close together.”
Lucas leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s a lot of effort to avoid drama.”
I shot him a look. “Says the man who just admitted people might want to throw things at each other.”
He chuckled. “Fair point.”
We fell into silence as I made notes, but I could feel him watching me.
It wasn’t the same look he used to give me when we were together—the teasing, knowing glances that had once made my heart race. No, this was different. He was studying me, like he was trying to figure me out.
I hated how much it unnerved me.
Finally, he spoke. “You really don’t want to talk to me, do you?”
I exhaled through my nose. “We’re talking right now.”
“You know what I mean.”
I kept my eyes on the seating chart. “Lucas, there’s nothing left to say.”
He was quiet for a moment, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “That’s not true, and you know it.”
My hands tightened around the pen. “Lucas—”
“I don’t regret a lot of things, Claire.” His voice was calm, steady. “But I regret the way things ended between us.”
A sharp, painful ache bloomed in my chest.
I forced a laugh, but it sounded hollow. “Funny. I don’t regret it at all.”
I knew it was a lie the second I said it.
And from the way Lucas’s expression hardened, he knew it too.
He leaned back, nodding slowly. “Right.”
I hated the way my stomach twisted, but before I could say anything else, Emma came rushing back into the room.
“Crisis averted!” she announced, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. “Now, how’s the seating chart looking?”
I cleared my throat, grateful for the interruption. “Almost done.”
Emma beamed. “Great! Oh, and Claire, don’t forget—we need to pick up the dress alterations later.”
I nodded, eager for the escape.
But as I gathered my things, Lucas’s voice stopped me.
“I’ll drive you.”
I froze, glancing up at him.
Emma clapped her hands. “Oh, perfect! I was going to ask, but now I don’t have to.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Emma was already moving on to another topic, and Lucas just watched me with that same unreadable expression.
I had a bad feeling about this.
And as much as I didn’t want to be alone with him, I knew there was no getting out of it.
- Writer
