Page 97 of Match Me if You Can

But we can at least make sure some of Jenny’s favorites—sunflowers and hydrangeas—are included in the mix.

“Can you do what we did for the cake? Just put some in every pot, trying your best to hide the ugly and wilted blooms as much as possible while focusing on volume.”

Because they’re so pathetically empty I considered getting rid of them all together.

Except…Jenny.

Who is sweet.

And is shackling herself to an asshole who doesn’t care about what she wants.

I learned long ago I can’t fix everybody, but I sure as hell wish I could talk some sense into the woman.

She needs a man who’ll make her the center of his universe, not a distant planet.

But…no time to ponder!

“Let’s go, Lex,” Beck mutters, starting toward the first pot. “Bring you and your ugly ass loafers over here.”

He’s not wrong.

Lex’s shoes…are a choice.

But—again!—triaging.

“Remind me why are we doing this shit for Oakes?” Lex grumbles as he follows Beck.

“We’re not doing it for Oakes,” Beck says. “We’re doing it for Jenny.”

I tilt my head to the side, my matchmaker antennae suddenly buzzing with sensation.

Because the way he said that…

There’s something gentle about it, something painful.

Unfortunately, as stated, I have no time to ponder.

Or think about what I might be pondering and what that might mean considering it’s Jenny’s wedding day—and not to Beck.

“Who cares what she wants?” Lex crosses his arms and watches his brother work, and I can’t help but think that even with all the time in the world, I don’t have a lot of hope for that one. Especially when he adds, “She’s just another useless woman.”

I grind my teeth together, ignore the likely red-pilled dumb-dumb head, and focus.

And yes, I’m calling him a dumb-dumb head, mostly so I don’t hurt my Manolos by giving into the urge to tug one off…and launch it at his dumb, dumb head.

“Asshole,” Ace mutters.

“No time,” I mutter back.

“Right.” He steps close, settles his hand on my hip, and murmurs, “What’s next, princess?”

I turn away from the sight of potential hope and certain dismay—featuring Beck and Lex, respectively—then go down my mental checklist.

Joan’s makeup is fixed.

The seating chart is still standing.

The cake has been reconfigured into two smaller cakes, neither now at risk of toppling over, the cracks in their fondant hidden by strategically placed flowers.