LENA’S POV

I was sitting at a corner table nursing a warm glass of champagne and stealing the free Wi-Fi when the bouquet hit me in the chest.

I hadn’t even been looking. Phone in one hand, half-listening to some aunt of the bride complain about the chicken, when white roses and greenery smacked me hard enough to nearly knock the glass over. I caught it on pure reflex. The room erupted in cheers and groans.

Then the groomsmen noticed.

Five of them. Still in their dark suits, ties loose, jackets open. They moved like a pack.

The tallest one reached me first. Dark hair, sharp jaw, the kind of...