Me: It’s nothing. I’ve got it handled, trust me.
Happy: And he’s going to be at the wedding tomorrow?
Me: I mean, yeah, his dad is the groom.
Happy: And you’re still planning on wearing that red dress?
Me: It’s the only one I brought with me, so yes.
I wait for Happy’s response, but it doesn’t come, and before I can send him a follow up, I’m next in line at the bar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks with a kind smile.
“She’ll have the cabernet,” Peter says before I can speak for myself, sidling up far too close. “And I’ll have a scotch on the rocks,por favor.”
Por favor?I spear Peter with a serious side-eye because what the ever-loving fuck?
I don’t miss the flush of annoyance in the bartender’s olive skin, his dark gaze swinging from Peter to me, and I shake my head once in the hope that he realizes I am so not with this guy. He presses his lips together in an understanding smile as he gets to work, making our drinks, and I do all I can to completely ignore the ignorant piece of shit dressed in a poorly tailored designer suit next to me. I wish I was back home in New York where I belong, because I know for certain, between the way my mother is treating me, and this sack-of-door-knobs who I wouldn’t trust alone with my drink, I don’t belong here. Not anymore.
CHAPTER 38
HANNAH
Istartle awake, sucking in a gasp, my eyes flying open. I must have been having one of those dreams that I didn’t realize was a dream until right now, as I stare up at the ceiling, momentarily wondering where I am, what day it is, and whether I’m dead or not.
Sitting bolt upright, I scan my lavish surroundings and it finally dawns on me that I’m in South Carolina, in a hotel, and that Happy never sent me a FaceTime request like he said he would.
I rub my tired eyes, and the dull ache in my head reminds me that I drank possibly one too many cabernets last night. It also reminds me of the reason why I consumed a few too many drinks; my father knows about Happy and me. I toss the duvet off and reach for my phone on the nightstand, finding a text from both Fran and Millie telling me that my dad knows—amazing, thanks for the update girls—and one from my mother telling me not to be late to the venue. But there’s nothing from Happy and nothing from my father, and I don’t know which one unsettles me most.
Happy cannot be pissed about Peter. Surely not. I mean, theguy is a walking, talking red fucking flag. Not to mention he will be my stepbrother in a matter of hours. Ew.
My father on the other hand…. The fact that he hasn’t reached out to me to question my so-called relationship status with Happy is low-key concerning because he’s stewing on it, and when he stews on something, it festers until eventually he explodes.
“Fuck.” I groan, massaging my temples while reading my messages.
Instead of dealing with my problems like an adult, I decide to order almost everything available on the room service menu so I can rot in bed until it’s time to get ready for the stupid-ass wedding.
Forcing myself up and into the bathroom to pee, brush my teeth, wash my face, and pop on some cooling eye mask patches, I walk back out into the room right in time. My tummy rumbles in anticipation at the knock on my door.
I unlatch the dead bolt and pull open the door, but instead of a top-hat wearing hotel attendant pushing a room service cart, I’m met with a backwards ball cap wearing Happy Slater carrying an overnight duffle and a suit bag.
It takes a few seconds for me to process what is actually happening right now. For a moment, I can’t help but wonder if maybe I’m still asleep and this is one of those scary, realistic, alcohol-induced dreams. But then Happy invites himself in, drops his bags on the floor with a thud, and grabs me around my waist, pulling me flush against him before claiming my parted lips with a kiss that seems to bring me back to life.
When I realize that I’m awake, and Happy is really here, in South Carolina, kissing me, I’m forced to pull back, gaping up at him with an undoubtedly incredulous look on my face.
“What are you doing here?” I search his face, reaching up and touching it, just to make damn sure he’s real.
Happy chuckles. “I flew down here to see you.”
My eyes flit between his, my brows knitting together. “W-why?”
His hands on my waist gently squeeze me, ducking his head and grazing my lips with a murmured, “Because I missed you.”
A shiver lights up my spine from his words and his closeness, but I pull back again, offering him a dubious look because suddenly it all makes sense. “Did you fly down here because you were worried about Peter?”
A sheepish smile ghosts his lips, but he conceals with a dismissive laugh. “Pfft, no!”
I arch a brow.
