I wake to my phone vibrating on the nightstand. I paw for it—torn between answering the call and shutting it off.

“My dear Abigail! Congratulations!” Margo’s seductive Parisian accent curls around my eardrum.

“Hmm? For what?” I blink at the alarm clock. Nine a.m., which means it’s midafternoon in Paris.

“Your engagement to Henry has made Page Six!”

The way she says Henry’s name—the H silent—always makes me smile. “Already?”

“Oui. I am sending it to you now. Un moment.”

With a soft, sleepy moan, I roll onto my back and stretch. The other side of the bed is empty. I’m not surprised that Henry is already up and gone. He was tossing and turning all night. I doubt he got any sleep. Still, it disappoints me. I didn’t get enough time alone with him before rejoining reality.

My phone jolts with an incoming text and I read the headline:

Exclusive: Henry Wolf Survives Alaskan Mine Collapse and Proposes to His Assistant

“Ugh. Ex-assistant!” Several screenshots appear and they’re full of pictures of the two of us—some as recent as last night, through the glass of Wolf Tower’s lobby doors—and others taken weeks ago at William Wolf’s funeral. There’s even one of us from that dreaded night of Wolf Cove’s grand opening in early summer when I was so sure Henry was cheating on me.

“Does it say how they found out?” They’ve made a point of drawing a red circle around my hand with an added arrow pointing at my left ring finger, but it’s impossible to see the ring.

“How they always find out. ‘An anonymous source close to the family.’”

That could be anyone from a fellow churchgoer to Lucy from the feed store with the way my mother’s lips have surely been flapping since yesterday morning. “What else does it say?”

“That you are to marry in that barn of yours.”

Damn it, Mama. “We are not getting married in Greenbank.”

“Well, I must say that is a relief. It is a cute barn on a cute farm, but you two are meant for something far grander. Maybe my place? It could be the unveiling of Wolf Hotel’s newest boutique hotel, if your fiancé would commit to me already.”

I laugh. Margo is nothing if not relentless about her dream to turn her family’s old French castle into a Wolf chain hotel. “We’re getting married in Alaska next spring, before the hotel opens for the season.” The most important place in the world to Henry and now to me.

She makes an exasperated sound. “I suppose that place will also do. Now, if you are to marry in spring, that does not leave Emmanuelle Agard much time. We will meet with her when she is in New York in a few weeks.”

“Emmanuelle Agard? Who is that?”

Margo’s laughter fills my ear. “Oh, my sweet Abigail. You are precious. She is only one of the most sought-after dress designers in the world. She must be booked at least three years in advance and only takes on a handful of clients each year. It is a good thing that one of your dearest friends is also one of her dearest friends.”

“You don’t have to pull strings for me.”

“Too late. They are already pulled! She has agreed to make you the most beautiful dress of the year. Un pièce de résistance. Far too nice to get married in the woods with wild animals, if you ask me, but nobody is.”

I shake my head. “Thank you, Margo.” She’s always playing the role of master puppeteer, with nothing to gain out of it for herself.

“What are friends for! Now, I must run. My manager has called me three times to inform me that I am terribly late for a meeting.” Unhurried heels click on tile in the background. “Oh! Before I forget, has Sandra reached out to you yet?”

The buyer from Nordstrom. A knot forms in my stomach with the worry of disappointing Margo after all the effort she’s put in on that front, but I slept on Henry’s words and he’s right. I need to take control. “She left a voicemail.” I hesitate, but then decide it’s best to get this all out in the open. “Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me behind this, Margo, really … but I need to hit the brakes. Not forever, but for now. I still have school, and now the wedding, and everything is moving so fast. I’m going to start with a limited run of soap ahead of the holidays.” I end my declaration with a wince. “You’re not angry, are you?”

“Me? Angry with you?” She tsks. “Oh Abigail, you never need to worry about that, and you do not need to apologize. Sometimes I get overzealous, but I am only trying to help in any way I can. Sandra can wait until you are ready, and I will make sure everyone knows about your launch.”

I smile at the ceiling. “You are such a good friend.”

“I could be a much better one if that possessive fiancé of yours would allow it.” Her musical laughter rings out. “I will see you in a few weeks.”

* * *

I hear rustling in the kitchen and round the corner to find Henry’s housekeeper unloading groceries onto the counter. “Raj!”

The middle-aged man looks up from his task and smiles. “Miss Abbi, it is so good to see you again—oh!” He chuckles as I launch into him with a hug. “I was not expecting that.” After a beat, he encloses his arms around me.

I take my time pulling away to meet his big brown eyes. “How are you doing?” The man barely knew me and yet saved me from Scott, but in doing so now has to live with the knowledge that he killed a man.

He hesitates, examining the spot where Scott dropped to the floor and did not get back up. “Better each day, thank you for asking. And you? You seem to be healing well.” His gaze flitters to my forehead.

“I am. Honestly, I haven’t had much time to think about it with everything else.”

“I saw the news about the mine. I’m so glad to see you both here and well. Now you can have a few days of quiet.”

“I was hoping for a few years?”

He snorts, a brief break from his professional persona. “Wouldn’t that be nice.” A moment of silence hangs between us before he seems to snap out of it. “I went for a shop, but I don’t know your preferences yet. If there’s anything specific you need, just ask, and I’ll be more than happy to run out for it.” He stoops and pulls out a new cast-iron frying pan from the drawer. “A replacement.”

I wince. “Looks heavier.”

“Oh, it is.” He smacks his free palm against the bottom of it. “Does Mr. Wolf have any more brothers we need to worry about?”

I chuckle, though it’s a morbid and terrible joke. “Not that I’m aware of.” Maybe a niece, but I can’t see her being a danger to either of us. Besides, the way she ran out of here yesterday, I don’t know that we’ll ever see her again.

He starts loading the fridge. “Have you eaten? Can I make you something for breakfast? Here, let me get your coffee started.” He’s flipping buttons before I have a chance to answer.

“You don’t need to wait on me,” I call out over the buzz of the fancy Italian espresso machine.

“Mr. Wolf has asked that I come every day to meet your needs, now that you’re living here.”

“He didn’t need to do that.”

Raj’s brow furrows. “Will my presence here be an issue for you? Because I can speak to Mr. Wolf—”

“No, of course not.” I hold up my hands in surrender, afraid I’ve offended him. “I just mean I’m self-sufficient. I didn’t grow up with all this—” I wave around me. “You’re going to be bored if you’re relying on me to keep you busy.”

“One can never be bored with good company.” He winks before setting a full mug of coffee in front of me, followed by cream and sugar.

“Thank you.” I fix my drink, noting how Raj watches intently, no doubt mentally measuring how much of each I put in so he can make it for me next time. It’s going to take me a long time to get used to this new life.

My phone chirps and my stomach tenses as I see the name pop up. What now, Mama?

Mama: Look what Celeste found among her dress patterns! She’ll sew them for your bridesmaids. Connie and Stephanie have already sent their measurements and I’ve found the perfect fabric.

I click on the attached picture. Sure enough, it looks like something Celeste Enderbey would sew—chaste and cotton, circa 1985. “Stop it!” I wail, scrolling to the spool of green-and-white gingham fabric. Mama’s favorite.

“Is something the matter, Miss Abbi?” Raj asks.

“Yes, actually.” I groan with exasperation. “You know what you can help me with, Raj? Tell me how to deal with a Momzilla who is trying to hijack every single element of my wedding.”

He cocks his head, his hand collecting mine to study the ring on my finger. “Mr. Wolf neglected to mention that bit of news.”

“Oh.” I flush. “It just happened yesterday.”

A bright smile fills his face as he squeezes my hand. “Congratulations are in order, then.”

His sincerity tempers my frustration with Mama for the moment. “Thank you. It’s all come as quite a shock.”

He gives my hand another squeeze and then releases it. “To you, maybe. I am not at all shocked that Mr. Wolf has asked you to marry him.”

“Really? Why not?”

“He is a different man since he met you.”

“How so?”

“Just … different. In a very good way.”

I smile. Raj is so easy to talk to. “Can I help you with all these groceries?”

“And leave me with nothing to do? No, thank you.” He flashes a grin.

I sip my coffee and watch him quietly as he goes back to his task, washing berries and filling the fruit crisper.

My phone chirps again. A text from Autumn with the same screenshot that Margo sent me earlier. I imagine I’ll see it from various sources several more times before the day is through. “The engagement is all over Page Six already.”

“Par for the course, being attached to such a powerful man. I’m afraid it’s something you will have to tolerate, to some extent, anyway. And some of those reporters will do anything for a juicy story.” Raj empties the carton of eggs into the holder. “One offered me twenty thousand dollars for details on Scott Wolf’s death. He wanted to know why he came here.”

To rape me. And worse, possibly. “Obviously, you didn’t take the payday.” Those details have not been leaked by anyone yet.

“Mr. Wolf pays me well for not only my services but my discretion. These people think they can wave dollar bills and get whatever they want. That is not the case. At least, not with me. And some things do not need to see headlines. It is enough that it ended the way it did.” Raj wipes the counter of a few errant crumbs. “So, tell me about this Momzilla problem of yours.”

I savor my coffee as I download on Raj. It turns out, Henry’s housekeeper is an excellent listener. By the time he’s heading to collect Henry’s clothes for dry cleaning, we’ve devised a plan of attack to deal with Mama that I think—I hope—will work.

I’m reaching for my phone to message Henry when it rings with an incoming call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” I answer warily.

“Abbi! Hey! Congratulations on the engagement!”

“Uh … Thanks.” I frown, the man’s voice unfamiliar. “Who is this?”

“It’s Luca, from the Tribune.”

A newspaper reporter. Great. “How did you get this number?”

“Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

While avoiding mine, apparently. My wariness grows. “Actually, I need to—”

“With Henry’s grandparents, father, and brother dead, and mother long since estranged, the entire Wolf empire sits on his shoulders. He must be feeling especially lonely these days. Could that explain the hasty proposal?”

“It wasn’t hasty,” I blurt without thinking.

“You’ve only known each other since May, though.”

“Well, I mean, yes, it was fast. But he gave it thought,” I stammer. Hasty is a terrible word. It sounds rushed and poorly considered.

It sounds like a mistake.

“So you’re not worried he’ll regret it and break off the engagement?”

“I … no?” Should I be?

“You’re his assistant, correct?”

“Was. I haven’t worked for him for months.” I wish the papers would get that part right, at least.

I hear a page flip. “According to sources, your romantic relationship began while you were working as Henry Wolf’s assistant at the Wolf Alaska location, despite a strict corporate policy against it. Is that correct?”

Henry and I figured this question might arise. Now that his father is gone and Henry owns the hotel, it no longer matters, but I know it’ll bother him if his reputation is dragged.

This Luca guy said he has sources. “Who told you that?” Belinda and Ronan know, but neither of them would stoop so low as to sell me out to a reporter.

“My sources wish to remain anonymous. Are you confirming it?”

“No!” Jed knows Henry and I started long before I came home from Alaska. He would definitely spill under questioning. I’m going to strangle him if he fed information to this guy.

“So, you’re denying it, then.”

“No, I’m …” I’m flustered, is what I am. Who is this guy, what is his angle, and why am I still entertaining his questions? “I have somewhere I need to be—”

“Tell me about your coworkers … Connor Brien and Ronan Lyle.”

My stomach drops at the sudden change in topic and to where it’s landed. “What about them?”

“How would you describe the nature of your relationship with them?”

An alarm bell goes off. “They’re friends.” Why is he asking? What does he know?

Luca hums like he doesn’t believe me, and I can hear his pen scribbling something. “Sources say your friendship with Ronan Lyle was of a far more intimate nature. If Henry Wolf were to find out about your other partners, would this impact your engagement to him?”

Oh, believe me, he knows. I swallow. “Ronan and I have always been just friends.” Friends who have fucked, but that is none of anyone’s business.

“What about Michael Stern, Henry’s private massage therapist? How would you describe your relationship with him?”

The biggest mistake of my life. I press my hand against my stomach to calm my nerves. This is too specific to be an idle rumor. It’s obvious this Luca guy has been digging for dirt on me, but who is throwing him bones to fetch? And why does it feel like he’s on a mission, firing off question after invasive question to try to trip me up?

If details about my Alaskan escapades get blasted in the newspapers …

If my parents and all of Greenbank read about it …

At least I haven’t hidden anything from Henry. But who at Wolf Cove has been airing my dirty laundry?

My hand shakes as I hit the End Call button, something I should have done after the first question.

It trills almost immediately, before my finger has left the phone screen. A wave of anger emboldens me as I answer. “Do not call me again!”

“Abbi?”

“Oh, Miles. Hey.” I should have read the number before yelling like a maniac.

“I wanted to say congratulations,” Henry’s assistant continues. “What’s going on?”

“A reporter is poking around.”

“About what?”

I shake my head, though he can’t see it. “Nothing. So, what’s going on with you? How are things there? Does Henry have you running around like a headless chicken?” Miles and I bonded early on. As a boss, Henry isn’t the easiest person to work for, something we both know from experience. He doesn’t ask, he demands, and he expects perfection. And when he’s stressed out, he can be intolerable.

“No, actually. It’s weird. He hasn’t asked me for anything. And when I forgot to send the daily report off to the executive team? I expected him to tell me to get my head out of my ass like he normally does, but he didn’t say a word.”

“That is weird.”

“He’s been in his office for most of the morning, except for an executive meeting where I took notes for him, and he was completely distracted. It was noticeable. Like, everyone noticed it.”

“He’s been through a lot over the last few weeks.”

“I know. I mean, his dad and then his brother. And then he almost died! But still, it’s not like him. I thought I’d see if there’s anything going on that I should know about,” he asks tentatively, as if he might be overstepping.

I’d like to know the answer to that too. Maybe Henry got a call from Luca full of insinuations. How will he react to his new fiancée being painted a summertime whore, which is what I sensed from Luca’s tone and manner of questioning. Will Henry be embarrassed?

Too embarrassed to go through with the marriage?

I pace around the kitchen island, studying my ring, as a darker thought invades my mind. Is Henry regretting his hasty proposal already?

Damn, that asshole reporter. Now that he’s planted the idea in my head, it’s going to fester all day, driving me insane. By the time I see Henry tonight, I’m going to be an insecure mess.

I need to talk to Henry now. Better yet, I need to see him, to read his eyes and confirm that I have nothing to worry about. I check the time. “Does he have anything scheduled over lunch?”

“Hmm … nope. Nothing yet.”

“Okay, keep it open for me, would you?”