The restaurant has been flooded.
“What?”
A water pipe burst last night. The entire dining room is destroyed.
Despite our shared history, I felt sincere pity for her.
“Brielle, I’m sorry.”
I called everywhere.
She dropped the folder on my kitchen counter.
Hotels. Restaurants. Event venues. Everything within a radius of sixty miles.
Fully booked?
“All.”
Then she opened the folder.
Inside hung a photo of Grandma’s vacation home by the lake.
My stomach clenched.
Brielle tapped on the photo.
So we do it here.
I stared at her.
At Lake Evermere?
At your place, yes.
You can’t just turn Grandma’s house into a wedding venue two days in advance.
It is a beautiful house by a lake.
She spread her hands.
People pay thousands of euros for exactly this look.
It is not an event venue.
