Me: No need to worry, darling. I’m at the Hawthorne.
When he reads my reply, Allister frowns.
Allister: The Hawthorne? What are you doing there?
Me: I reserved the bridal suite for the weekend, remember? We talked about it. I’m going to stay at the hotel for the next few nights rather than at the apartment. I want our wedding night to be special.
I watch him continue to frown at his phone. We didn’t talk about anything. While I did reserve the bridal suite and I planned on using it to get ready for the ceremony on Sunday, I didn’t plan on sleeping there. Not until about fifteen minutes ago when we started to leave the restaurant, and I realized that there was no way in hell I’d be able to spend the next thirty-six hours with him, knowing what I know.
Allister: Of course. I remember now. Are you sure you’re okay?
Me: Positive, darling. I’m going to unplug and relax. Maybe get a massage. Planning the wedding has been stressful for us both. I want to be perfectly refreshed when I meet you at the altar on Sunday.
Hitting send, I look up to watch Allister read it. When he sees what I’ve written, his shoulders relax and he gives his phone screen a smug smile.
Allister: That sounds like a good idea. You deserve some rest and relaxation before your big day.
Unable to resist, I type out what I was too much of a coward to say out loud earlier.
Me: Our.
Allister: Excuse me?
Me: Our big day.
Allister: Of course. That’s what I meant. I can’t wait to marry you. I love you, Millie.
Me: I’ll see you Sunday.
Allister: Please turn your location back on so I won’t worry.
Turn my location back on so you can be sure I’m not going to sneak up on you while you roll around with my cousin in our bed is more like it.
Before I can come up with a plausible lie as to why I can’t do what he’s asking, the rear door of the limo flies open and someone is practically shoved inside.
Not justsomeone.
Dean.
As soon as the door slams shut in his face, he slumps against the seat on a defeated sigh, head falling back on his shoulders to hit the back window with a dull thud.
“Shit.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
As soon as he hears my voice, Dean’s head jerks up, his gaze aimed right at me across the dark interior of the car.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, letting his head fall back again in obvious frustration before it pops back up to glare at me. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“This ismylimo, Dean,” I tell him coolly, his tone shaving several degrees off of mine even though this isn’tmylimo specifically. It’s my father’s. “The question is, what the fuck areyoudoing in here.”
Dean barks out a laugh while the driver climbs into the front seat and starts the car. “Are my ears deceiving me? Did Proper Princess Millie just drop the F-bomb?”
When he says it, my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I never swear. At least not out loud and it bothers me that someone like Dean knows me well enough to notice. Glad the interior of the car is too dark for him to tell, I turn toward the window while Burt pulls away from the curb and pushes his way into traffic. “Go to hell.”
Dean laughs again. “Don’t you meanfuck off?”
Before I can answer him or maybe just open the car door and shove him into traffic, the glass partition that separates the front of the limo from the back, slides down. “Where—” When he sees me sitting just a few inches away from him, the driver instantly straightens in his seat. “My apologies Ms. Blackwell,” he says, his tone suddenly formal. “Didn’t know you were in here.”
