I’m making my way to the buffet—really, I should have eaten the entire tray the caterers brought, because I’m running nothing but nerves and champagne—when a very tiny, very pale, very blond woman comes up and throws her arms around me. “Oh my goodness, you must be Savannah!”
“Hi,” I say, rather than,Who are you?
“I’m Alexis—Lexi is fine—Isaiah McDonald’s wife, second baseman, blah blah, and girl, it is so nice to finally meet you.” Lexi lets me go, whips out her phone, sips a pink cocktail, and shepherds her toddler, a little boy with curly hair and brown skin like his father’s—seemingly all at once. “Here, put your number in.” She thrusts her phone at me. “I’ve been on Isaiah to get that from Brayden, but you know how men are. Absolutely useless when it comes to anything but hitting a ball with a stick.”
I type my number into her phone and hand it back to her. A second later, a chime comes from my phone, which I stuck down one side of my dress next to my left boob so I won’t lose it. I extract it—“That is a good idea,” Lexi chirps—and see that Lexi has sent me a whole bunch of heart emojis and added me to the Peaches WAGs group chat.
Me: Hi everyone, it’s Savannah. Brayden Forsyth’s…
Wife. What I am. To this room full of people. To the state of Nevada and every other state. To everyone but the two most important people in the matter—Brayden and myself.
I add an emoji of a bride. That feels more honest, somehow.
Instantly, a dozen messages come in:his andwelcomes and pretended outrage that Brayden took so long to get me added. Ballplayers, it seems, can’t be relied on for anything. Everything else has to be managed by women like Lexi—women like me, I realize.
“Anyway”—Lexi’s son tugs at her dress and she scoops him up one-handed without losing a flicker of her smile—“we gotta take you out. I’m sure Brayden has you stuck in that big ol’ house by yourself.”
Which he one hundred percent did. Strangely, my gut flares defensively. “Bray’s been so sweet, giving me time to settle in.”
Lexi’s expression doesn’t waver, but her eyebrow ticks as if questioningBraydenandsweet. The way Barb’s had. So maybe Brayden isn’t fooling as many people as he thinks. “This lifestyle can get lonely,” Lexi says, tone slightly more serious. “Tell you what—the boys have a road trip coming up. We gotta make sure we have as much fun as they do when they’re out of town.”
I think of the bruise on Brayden’s neck that he had while he was at the altar vowing to love, honor, and cherish me. Whatotherfunwas he getting up to on the road? “That sounds great!” I say. “Am I the only new girl in the group?”
Lexi’s forehead pinches in question.
Despite it being warm in the room, I’ve managed to avoid sweating—glistening, really—before now. My palms suddenly go damp. “Asher—I mean Adler, the first baseman. I was wondering if his girlfriend had been added to the group chat yet.”
“You’re so sweet to think of that,” Lexi says. “But no, I don’t know that he has someone.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” If I take a drink of champagne just then, it’s mostly so Lexi doesn’t notice my smile.
“He’s here, you know?” Lexi scans around the room. “Or he was.”
“Who?” I ask, trying not to let my gaze follow hers.
“Adler,” Lexi says. “I thought you would have noticed. He was looking right at you.”
Chapter Twelve
Savannah
Asher’s here?I look around the room as discreetly as I can—just in time to see Barb call the party to attention. A mic materializes in her bony grip.
“Now that we’ve gotten a chance to get to know one another,” she says, “it’s time for us to salute the happy couple.” Music comes on—something slow and orchestral that I didn’t pick out. “Time for the first dance.”
Oh no. I expected kissing, maybe for us to hold hands and endure jokes about beingnewlywedsfrom partygoers. Not everyone watching us as we sway together.They’re gonna know we haven’t danced together before.
My father believed in my learning traditional skills: horseback riding, tennis, dancing. Only my dance instructor had sniffed at my height—too tall—and body—too large—and told me I was better off marrying a man who would appreciate my other assets. Namely, my father’s money. Of course now my inheritance is a few cancelled credit cards, a dozen unreturned phone calls, a wedding party invite markedreturn to sender, addressee no longer at residence.
So I can’t dance, not really.What kind of princess is useless at a ball?The crowd parts, forming an empty central space that can function as a dance floor. Brayden appears by my side. He looks steadier on his feet than he did—but it’s possible that’s just wishful thinking.
“Don’t step on her toes,” someone shouts, and the entire room laughs.
Then a smudge appears in my vision. Anaura. Oh no. Not now, not now, not now. The aura flickers away. I could have anywhere between a few minutes to a few hours before my migraine arrives.Please just let me get through this song.If I can get through this song, things will be all right.
“May I have this dance?” Brayden asks, a parody of politeness.
I offer him my hand, feeling unwieldy on the points of my heels. The music is slow, dreamy. One of Brayden’s arms settles across my back, the other clasps his hand in mine. Instinctively, I place my palm on his shoulder.
