My father’s voice echoed through the hall. “Hailey! Why aren’t you dressed? You have appointments today!”

I groaned, rubbing my temple. “Appointments for what? My funeral?”

He appeared at the bottom of the staircase, sharp in his suit even though it was just noon. His face was red already. “For your dress fitting, makeup testing, jewelry consultations-..”

I cut him off. “You make it sound like I’m marrying the president.”

He glared. “You’re marrying a Blackwood. ...