Thank YOU, reader of this book, for reading this book! You are a part of my dream come true and I’m forever grateful. Seriously. I don’t want to sound like a creep, but I love you, man.
Thank you to Kim Lionetti, for putting up with my exclamation point–laden emails and for being a genuinely great human whom I adore. You are more than I knew I needed in an agent and I’m so lucky to have you.
Angela Kim—your title should be Super Editor, or perhaps something like Vice President of Awesome Editing. (You’re good enough to be president, but who wants that job, right?) I love working with you and am thrilled that the party isn’t over.
The whole Berkley team, honestly, but especially Bridget O’Toole, Chelsea Pascoe, and Hannah Engler; thank you so much for working so damn hard. And Nathan Burton—I love your covers so much. Please never say no to us because I will cry big, fat tears of sadness (and I’m an ugly crier).
Thank you so much to Bookstagram and BookTok. You are incredible creators, doing amazing work in the name of books, and we don’t deserve you. Special thanks to Hailie Barber, Haley Pham, and Larissa Cambusano for being especially kind to my little babies.
And THE BERKLETES. I adore you all so much, and I can’t quite believe I get to call you my friends. Please don’t ever kick me out of your club.
Random human beings who make me happy: Lori Anderjaska, Anderson Raccoon Jones, Cleo, @lizwesnation, Caryn, Carla, Aliza, Chaitanya; messages from you make my days brighter. Thank you for being you.
Also—my favorite Minnesota relatives, the Kirchners: I just felt like I should mention you here because we had a blast visiting you, we love you, and I swear we didn’t mean to bring you COVID.
And the family [Alexa, play “We Are Family” by Sister Sledge]:
Thank you, Mom, for everything. Without you, none of this would’ve happened for me. I love you more than you’ll ever know.
Dad—I miss you every day.
MaryLee—you truly are the NICEST person in the world, the Good Sister, and I can’t wait for our next road trip.
Cass, Ty, Matt, Joey, and Kate—remember that time I half-listened to you while working on my laptop? Yeah, I’m sorry. For all those times. But I’m sure you got away with a lot when I was handing out “uh-huhs” willy-nilly, so we’re good, right? You are my favorite people and I tell everyone we’re best friends.
And lastly, Kevin. I dedicated this book to you, so I feel like I don’t really have to add anything more, do I? I mean, I like the way you’re happiest when you’re reading books outside. I like the way you tell me to drive defensively and watch out for inattentive drivers EVERY TIME I leave the house. I like the way you don’t seem to mind that I suck at homemaker-ing. I think I like every little thing about you. Thanks for being cool.
Keep reading for an excerpt of the next romantic comedy by Lynn Painter
THE OBJECTORS
from Berkley!
Sophie
The moment my dad raised my veil, kissed my cheek, and handed me off to Stuart, I wanted to throw up.
No—first, I wanted to punch my groom right in his besotted smile.
Then I wanted to vomit.
Instead, I took his arm and grinned back at him like a good bride.
The pastor started speaking, launching into his cookie-cutter TED Talk about true love, and my heart was racing as I waited. I swear I could feel four hundred sets of eyes burning into the back of my Jacqueline Firkins wedding gown as I heard nothing but the sound of my panicked pulse, pounding through my veins and reverberating in my eardrums.
Was he already there, seated among the guests? Was he going to burst through the doors, yelling?
And—God—what if he was a no-show?
The photographer, kneeling just to my right, took a photo of my face as I listened to Pastor Pete’s love lies, so I turned up my lips and attempted to project bridal joy.
“You look so nervous,” Stuart whispered, giving me a small smile.
I honestly don’t know how I didn’t throat-punch him at that moment.
“Welcome, loved ones,” the pastor said, beaming at the congregation as he spoke. “We are gathered here today to join together Sophie and Stuart in holy matrimony.”
I felt my breath hitch, unsteady, as he kept yammering, leading us closer to the moment. Oh, please, oh, please, oh, please, I thought, panic tightening my chest. With every word he spoke, my anxiety grew.
Stuart squeezed my trembling hand, the ever-supportive fiancé, and I squeezed back hard enough to make him look at me.
“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your—”
“I do.”
A collective gasp shot through the large chapel, and when I turned around, the man standing up was not at all what I expected. He was big and tall and impeccably dressed: charcoal suit, white shirt, gray tie, and matching pocket square. He looked like Henry Cavill’s stunt double or something, but with darker hair and more intense eyes.
Honestly, I’d imagined he would be a party bro, like Vince Vaughn in Wedding Crashers, but this man looked more like he belonged in a boardroom.
“So sorry to interrupt,” he said in a smooth, deep voice, “but these two should absolutely not be married.”
“Who is that?” Stuart hissed, daring to give me an accusing stare as a low rumble of whispers emanated from the pews.
“Oh, she doesn’t know me, Stuart,” the man said, looking one hundred percent comfortable in his uncomfortable role. He raised one dark eyebrow and added, “But my friend Becca knows you.”
I gasped, my response entirely authentic even though I’d actually practiced it beforehand. I’d known this man was coming, but I hadn’t expected him to be so . . .
Good.
The man was good. The way he spoke made me feel just as shocked as I’d been two nights ago, when I’d discovered Stuart’s Becca on his phone.
“Listen, pal, I don’t know—”
“Stuart. Shut up.” The man looked down at his wrist and straightened his cuff, as if the mere sight of Stuart bored him. “The lovely Sophie deserves so much more than a cheater for a husband. I would imagine most of us here know it isn’t the first time; wasn’t there a Chloe last year?”
“I don’t know who you are, but this is bullshit.” Stuart’s face was red as he glared at the man, and then his darting eyes came back to me. I looked at his face, remembering how it’d looked when he’d sobbingly begged my forgiveness over his Chloe transgression, and he actually had the gall to say to me, “You know it’s not true, right?”
My gut burned as he feigned innocence and I said, “How would I know that? Isn’t Becca the name of the girl who texted you in the middle of the night, and you said it was a wrong number?”
“It was a wrong number,” he said with wild eyes. “This guy is obviously trying to ruin our day, and you’re letting him, Soph.”
“Then give me your phone,” I said calmly, and Pastor Pete pulled at his collar.