Aaron's POVZoey had been talking for precisely forty-one minutes.I knew, as I'd checked the time the moment Ethan left for work in his fresh suit, hurried kisses, and rushing, all because he'd overslept from the chaos last night. Then came the knock: loud, repetitive, aggressive enough to make my injury throb.I opened the door, and there she was: Zoey, the wedding planner.She was a five–foot–three explosion of color, curls, perfume, and clipboards. Multiple clipboards.“Oh my gosh, Aaron Kings! You look so much better than when I saw you wounded in those pictures online in the hospital—well, not the official ones, the ones all blurry that your neighbors took—anyway! Let’s get started!”And before I even inhaled right, she was inside, bouncing around my living room like a caffeinated butterfly.“So! Budget?” she chirped, flipping a binder open. “Theme? Guest size? Let’s start with colors. I’m thinking ivory, champagne, and gold—classic, rich, but not tacky. Do you want a rose wall,
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