The moment Sophie Carter stepped into the wrong wedding, she knew she'd screwed up.
The music was too cheerful, the flowers too white, and the groom—he definitely wasn't her ex.
She froze under the archway, clutching the silky blue gift bag like it could shield her from the hundred curious eyes now swiveling in her direction. A whisper rippled through the room. Her heels suddenly felt too loud on the marble floor.
A woman in a seafoam-green dress turned to her with a smile that wavered when she took in Sophie's confusion.
"You're… not with the Martinez family, are you?"
Sophie blinked. "Wait. This isn't the Jackson-Carter wedding?"
"Nope." The woman's smile thinned. "That's in the garden pavilion. Two buildings down."
"Oh my god."
It wasn't a whisper. It was a full-body, public humiliation kind of gasp.
Sophie spun around, practically galloping back out the door. Her curls bounced with every panicked step. She could already feel the heat rising up her neck, crawling across her cheeks like fire ants.
Somewhere between the front desk and the second building, she started laughing. Because honestly? It was on brand. Of course she would crash the wrong wedding before attending the one where her ex-boyfriend was marrying her childhood best friend.
Of course.
By the time she reached the right venue, Sophie had mentally gone through all five stages of regret. She paused at the entrance, trying to compose herself. The sound of string instruments spilled out into the courtyard. This one felt right. Same soft lighting. Same lavender and cream colors from the invitation.
She should've stayed home. But no, her therapist had said this was "an important moment of closure."
Closure, my ass.
Still, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The ceremony was already in full swing, and Sophie did her best not to trip on her own dignity as she slipped into the back row. The bride stood with her back to the crowd, a flowing lace veil hiding the familiar blonde curls beneath it. Jackson, tall and nervous-looking, stood across from her, trying too hard not to fidget.
Sophie kept her gaze fixed on the floor. She didn't need to see their faces. She knew those faces. Too well.
The officiant's voice blurred in her ears as she pulled her phone from her clutch and typed a quick text to her roommate.
> SOPHIE: I made it.
SOPHIE: Crashed the wrong wedding first. Kill me.
MEGAN: Did they have better cake?
SOPHIE: Didn't stay long enough to find out.
MEGAN: Brave girl. I'd have bailed. Proud of you.
SOPHIE: Thanks. I feel like a garbage raccoon in a sequin dress.
MEGAN: Sexy garbage raccoon?
Sophie smiled. Just barely. The ceremony ended with a soft murmur of applause, and the guests began filing out toward the reception hall. Sophie hung back, hoping to blend into the wallpaper.
But the moment she stood up, she spotted him.
Not Jackson. Not even close.
The man in the dark gray suit was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, his mouth curled into the kind of smirk that said I saw everything.
Tall. Sharp-jawed. A little scruffy, like he forgot to shave this morning—or maybe did it on purpose. His tie was loose, but his eyes weren't. They were locked right on her.
Sophie's spine straightened.
He didn't move toward her. Just raised a brow. Like he was daring her to say something.
So of course, her mouth got there first.
"You don't have to look so smug," she said, walking past him.
"I'm not smug," he replied, pushing off the wall. "Just impressed. Two weddings in one day? That's commitment."
She stopped.
Wait.
He'd seen that?
He tilted his head slightly, the smirk widening. "I was at the other one. The Martinez wedding? You made quite the entrance."
"Oh god," Sophie muttered.
"I mean, hey—if you're gonna crash weddings, you might as well make it memorable."
"I wasn't crashing. I got the building wrong."
"Sure. That's what I tell people when I forget to RSVP."
Sophie turned to fully face him, crossing her arms. "You talk to every random girl who walks into the wrong venue?"
"Only the ones who look like they might cry, then start laughing instead."
She blinked. He didn't look away. In fact, he looked like he was studying her. Not in a creepy way—more like he was… curious.
Like he wanted to figure her out.
"I'm Liam," he said after a beat, offering his hand.
Sophie glanced at it, then back up at him. "Sophie."
They shook hands.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
Then—
"So, what's your connection to the bride or groom?" she asked, mostly to break the silence.
"Groom's cousin," Liam replied. "We haven't seen each other in a while. He invited me last minute."
"Oh. So you're family."
"Something like that."
There was something in his tone that made Sophie pause. But before she could ask, the reception doors swung open and the crowd began pouring into the hall, dragging music and laughter with them.
Liam glanced toward the noise, then back at her. "You heading in?"
Sophie hesitated.
Inside that room were two people she used to love like they were parts of her. And now they were married. And she was standing here like an extra in her own life.
But Liam's gaze wasn't pitying. It wasn't even overly kind. Just steady. Solid.
And weirdly comforting.
"Yeah," she said finally. "Might as well get some cake out of this."
Liam grinned. "That's the spirit."
They walked in together. Not touching. Not even standing that close. But somehow, it felt easier with him beside her.
Sophie told herself it didn't mean anything.
---
"You know this isn't the right ceremony, right?" the man said again, voice low but slightly amused, like he wasn't sure if I was clueless or just really committed to crashing someone's wedding.
I forced a laugh and finally turned fully to look at him. Up close, he looked… calm. Too calm, for someone who'd just witnessed a stranger stumbling into what was supposed to be a deeply personal moment.
"I figured that out somewhere between the second groomsman and the vows," I said, keeping my tone light, even though my stomach was doing that thing where it felt like I'd swallowed a handful of batteries.
He tilted his head, clearly intrigued. "You were standing in the aisle for a while. Thought maybe you were about to object."
That made me snort. "I've objected to enough things this year. I'm trying not to make scenes anymore."
He gave a slow smile. Not charming in the overused romcom way—more like he was cataloguing me, deciding whether I was worth being curious about.
"So, were you supposed to be somewhere else, or was this an accident with… dramatic flair?"
"A little of both," I admitted, then immediately wished I hadn't.
He didn't press, thankfully. Instead, he nodded toward the main garden, where waiters in white shirts were passing around champagne flutes. "Come on. You look like you need a drink."
I hesitated. Every sane part of me said to leave. I'd just crashed a stranger's wedding and embarrassed myself in front of—well, someone who looked like he could either be a groomsman or a very confident wedding guest.
But instead, I found myself following him. Maybe it was the heat still pressing against my skin. Or the way he walked—not rushed, not cocky, just... grounded.
We stopped near a table tucked under a string of lights. He picked up two flutes, handed one to me without asking, and clinked his glass against mine.
"To mistaken identities," he said.
I laughed, because honestly, what else could I do? "To not getting kicked out."
We sipped in silence for a few seconds. The bubbles hit faster than I expected, or maybe it was just the adrenaline finally draining out of my body.
"So, what were you actually looking for?" he asked.
There it was. The curiosity.
I considered lying—something vague about being lost or following the wrong crowd—but something about him made it hard. Not in a deep soul-connection way, but more in the ugh, fine, I'll tell you kind of way.
"My ex-boyfriend is getting married today," I said, eyes on the champagne. "To my former best friend. Their wedding's supposed to be at the same hotel. I guess I went into the wrong garden."
He raised his brows but didn't say anything right away.
"Yeah," I added. "It's as awkward as it sounds."
"And you were planning to attend?"
"That makes me sound like a psycho."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Another small smile. "I think it's brave."
That caught me off guard. I looked at him.
"Showing up. Facing it. Most people would've stayed home and rage-ordered ice cream."
"That was plan B," I admitted.
He chuckled. "So, did you come for closure or to cause a scene?"
"Closure," I said, then paused. "I think. Honestly, I'm not even sure anymore."
He nodded like he understood. "Pain makes us do weird things."
"Deep," I muttered, sipping again.
"I moonlight as a part-time philosopher," he said.
That made me laugh again—like a real laugh, not the nervous I-just-crashed-a-wedding laugh.
"I'm Liam, by the way."
Of course his name would be Liam. Simple. Effortless.
"Sophie."
"Well, Sophie," he said, leaning slightly toward me, "since you're already here and haven't been tackled by hotel security, you might as well enjoy the free wine and cake."
"I can't just stay here. That feels… wrong."
"It's a wedding. There are like a hundred people here. No one's going to notice one extra guest. And besides…" He leaned back, eyes scanning the crowd. "You blend in better than most of the actual invitees."
I rolled my eyes, but he wasn't wrong. I was wearing a pale blue dress, one that used to be my favorite until it got tangled in memories. It was dressy enough to pass for guest-appropriate, but it still made me feel like I was standing in someone else's story.
I found myself asking before I could stop: "And what about you? Which side are you on?"
He raised a brow. "What makes you think I'm not crashing too?"
I blinked.
He let the silence hang for a moment, then shrugged. "Relax. I'm the groom's cousin. Barely know him. My mom made me come."
Something about the way he said it—flat but with a glimmer of amusement—told me he wasn't lying. But also wasn't exactly thrilled to be here.
"Well, thanks for not turning me in," I said.
He lifted his glass again. "Not every day I get to meet someone more dramatic than my own family."
"Gee, thanks."
We stood like that for a while, letting the music and chatter fill in the silence. People were starting to drift toward the dance floor. Somewhere near the back, a flower girl tripped and burst into tears.
"I should go," I said, suddenly remembering why I came in the first place.
"To the real wedding?"
"God, no," I said. "To my room. To bury myself in a pillow and pretend today never happened."
He gave a slow nod. "That's fair."
I took a step back, already regretting how warm the night air felt, how easy it had been to talk to him.
"Hey, Sophie," he called just before I turned away.
I looked over my shoulder.
"If you're going to crash a wedding, you might as well dance before you disappear."
I stared at him. "You're joking."
"Nope." He extended a hand. "One dance. Then you can vanish forever, Cinderella."
Against every ounce of logic, I looked at his hand.
And took it.