“I know I’m in a bind,” she went on. “I also know it looks like you’re the only way out right now, but that doesn’t mean you have to rescue me.”
She swallowed hard, then cleared her throat when swallowing didn’t seem to have worked. “You don’t have to be the good guy in every scenario. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be my knight in shining armor. Or my shield. Or the Westwood family’s designated problem-solver.” Her voice cracked and she shook her head. “You shouldn’t just marry people because it feels like your duty.”
Hot pain twisted in my heart. I leaned forward, wrapping my fingers around the edge of the desk beneath me and leveling her with a look she couldn’t mistake.
“You’re nothing like Savannah.”
The words came out too sharp and too fast, and immediately, I saw the flicker of hurt cross her face. Soft. Barely there, but I fucking hated it.
Goddamn it.
That wasn’t what I meant. Not even close, but the second the name left my mouth, I knew I’d stepped wrong. Her shoulders tensed and her breath caught, and she looked away like the comparison, any comparison between them, was the last thing she’d wanted to hear.
Great. Just great. She hasn’t even said yes yet, and now I already have to dig myself out of a hole I just made. Welcome back to marriage, pal. It’s always just a laugh a minute, isn’t it?
Yet, even as I thought it, I knew this really wouldn’t be anything like the way it had been with Savannah. In fact, this time, despite how it was starting, I was really looking forward to it. That didn’t mean that it was just going to be easy, though.
CHAPTER 25
CHARLOTTE
On our first night in Vegas, I was drunk. Not fun-drunk or cute-drunk, but champagne-that-cost-more-than-an-entry-level-car drunk.
The suite Trent had put me in looked like someone had dared Prince to decorate a Las Vegas penthouse while blindfolded. Purple velvet everywhere. Gold trim on everything. Pillows shaped like doves. A bed big enough for an entire choir.
I felt ridiculous standing in the middle of the suite, wearing the little white dress that Stella had shoved at me when she’d unexpectedly met us at the airport. It had been in a garment bag until we’d arrived, but I shouldn’t have trusted her when she’d said, “You’ll look bridal enough for the photos, babe. Now go.”
My head buzzed from the nearly emptied bottle of champagne I’d downed in the last hour. The room kept listing gently left and right, like it was trying to rock me to sleep, but I didn’t want to sleep because tomorrow was a big day.
Tomorrow, we were allegedly getting married. Tomorrow morning, which was less than twelve hours from now.
In less than half a day, Trent and I would be saying ourI-dosin a chapel he’d chosen. Or reserved. Or bought. Honestly, I had no clue.
He hadn’t exactly lingered long enough to explain. He’d walked me into our deliciously gaudy suite, pressed a kiss to the side of my head like I was something fragile, set my suitcase down, and disappeared.
“I’ll see you soon,” was all he’d murmured before he’d practically run out the door, not to be seen or heard from since.
That had been hours ago.
I poured the last bit of champagne into a glass and swallowed it like it was medicine. The bubbles burned pleasantly on the way down. My phone kept vibrating, unread messages from my father, Gregory, one from Stella demanding pictures of the room, and one from Trent that was short and sweet.
Trent S: Please stay in the suite. I’ll be back tonight. Promise.
I ignored them all. Because being stuck here alone was like purgatory, an in-between place separating my old life from my new one. In just a few hours, I was going to stand in front of a stranger, preferably in an Elvis outfit with a disposable camera, saying I do to the boy I’d spent half my life trying not to want.
My father was absolutely going to kill me once he figured out where I’d gone and panic was absolutely going to catch up with me if I just kept hanging around with my empty bottle. After drinking about a gallon of water, I slipped into a different dress, slung my purse over my shoulder, checked that I still had my bank card, and opened my banking app.
My balance blinked back at me, nice and plump for now, but Dad was going to freeze the account the second he realized I had eloped. I might as well burn through every last cent I still had before he took it all away. A small, defiant spark lit in my chest.
“Vegas,” I muttered to myself, wobbling slightly in my high heels. “Get ready for me.”
The corridor outside the suite smelled like expensive perfume and the ghosts of cigarettes past. In a stroke of luck Iwas going to take as a good sign, the elevator was already on our floor. I took it down to the lobby. When the doors opened, an explosion of noise hit me like confetti to the face, slots chiming, dealers calling out, and people cheering or groaning.
It was so bright, loud, and alive, and I felt weirdly invisible. Weirdly free. I headed straight for the casino even though I hated gambling, the last of the champagne still buzzing in my veins. If I was getting married tomorrow—fake married, real married, or whatever technicality Trent was clinging to—then tonight, I was going to do something reckless on my own terms.
My own little private bachelorette party. Not quite what I thought it would be, but hey. Something is better than nothing.
“Let’s do this,” I whispered to the carpet, and then I plunged into the glittering, chaotic heart of the casino to lose the rest of my money before someone could stop me.
