Is this a good idea?
Grace settled back on the couch, smoothing her black dress over her thighs. Across from her, with only a small coffee table separating them, was Chelsea O’Kane—wait, no.
Chelsea Holland. She’d married Jeremy Holland last year.
No big surprise there.
Everyone knew Chelsea and Jeremy were in love in high school, whether the couple admitted it or not. Now, it looked like they’d finally seen the light. Chelsea had on a dusting of makeup, but that wasn’t what provided the ethereal glow on Chelsea’s cheeks, and in her bright blue eyes. No, that had to be happiness.
It was a feeling Grace was ready to embrace.
Chelsea looked at her and smiled, and Grace smiled back immediately. After glancing around the room, she said, “You did great here, Chelsea. The inn is gorgeous. I love the bright-pink door. I’m glad you kept it.”
“Thank you,” the other woman said, smiling wider. “Jeremy and I did a lot of renovations. It was definitely a lot of work, but we’re really happy with the way it came out.”
“I can see why,” Grace said, surveying the living room again.
She picked up the decaf coffee Chelsea had made her, wrapping her hands around it and bringing it chest level. As she reclined against the cushions, her gaze turned toward the foyer. Light-yellow walls. Painstakingly polished wood floors. Elegant furniture. Fancy chandeliers.
This inn could have easily been in Talius.
“So. A wedding? Congratulations!” Chelsea said, clearly trying to steer the conversation where it was supposed to go.
“Yes.” Grace glanced down at her ring with a soft sigh. “We were hoping for something small. Private. Quaint. Romantic. Private.”
It hadn’t been a mistake that Grace said private twice.
Nodding, Chelsea opened her notebook. It had a wedding dress on the front. Grace watched as Chelsea jotted down her name, Grace Grigoris, but then hesitated over the second line. Smiling again, she lifted her head and fixed her blue eyes back on Grace. “Absolutely. We can do all those things, and we’ll get started right away. What is your future husband’s name?”
Grace licked her lips, hesitating, and adjusted her grip on the mug. “About that…it’s not…that is…I’m not…”
Chelsea waited with a patience Grace didn’t remember her having. When she didn’t finish her sentence, Chelsea rested her pen on her notebook. “Or is it your future wife?”
“What?” Grace laughed. “Oh! No, I’m not marrying a woman. My best friend did that a month ago, but that’s not why I can’t seem to put a sentence together.”
“Your best friend…Sherri?”
“Yes,” Grace said, her smile widening at the memory of how pretty Sherri had looked on her wedding day. Both brides had worn dresses. For some reason, thinking of her best friend’s wedding put Grace at ease.
Enough pitter-pattering about. It was time to just say it.
“I’m so happy for her,” Chelsea said, her smile genuine. “She was always nice to me.”
The tension that had been building in Grace’s shoulders went away, and she laughed. “She was nice to everyone.”
“Agreed.” Chelsea pursed her lips. “What’s up, Grace? What do I need to know about your fiancé? Whatever it is, I’ve got it covered—unless he’s an asshole. If he is, you can do better.”
“No, he’s not an asshole,” she said, laughing a little, like Chelsea had probably wanted. “I was thinking about how to word this correctly, but I think it’s best if I just say it. My fiancé isn’t American. He’s…well, he’s a prince, actually. Prince Phillip Michael Marcus Randall the Third, of Talius. And once we’re married, I’ll be a princess.”