So I lay there in the dark, listening to his breathing slow and deepen. I'd told myself this would be simple. Show up. Smile for his family. Take the money.
But lying here in the dark, hyperaware of every breath he took, I knew I was in trouble. Because at some point between his gratitude and my anger on his behalf, the lines had blurred. And I had no idea how to get them back into focus.
Tomorrow was the wedding. I just needed to get through tomorrow.
Chapter Four
Hunter
Iwoke up Saturday morning with Dixie Lane ten feet away in the same bed.
We'd stayed on our sides like we'd agreed, but somewhere during the night I'd rolled toward the middle. She was closer than she should have been. I should have moved back.
I didn't.
I checked my phone. Nine o'clock. The ceremony started at two. Plenty of time.
Dixie was already stirring. She rolled over, eyes still closed, hair a mess of tangles across the pillow. One strap of her tank top had slipped off her shoulder.
"Morning," I said quietly.
Her eyes opened, unfocused and sleepy. For half a second, she smiled at me like waking up together was normal. Then reality caught up and the warmth drained out of her face.
"Morning." She sat up, tugging the strap back into place. "What time is it?"
"Nine. We've got time."
"Good." She swung her legs out of bed, stretching. The tank top rode up, exposing her stomach and the curve of her hip. I wondered what her skin would taste like. Felt like a damn idiot for wondering.
"Bathroom first?" she asked.
"All yours."
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand and disappeared into the bathroom. Water ran. I lay there trying to cool down and failing.
When she came out, hair damp and face scrubbed clean, I was already dressed—jeans, boots, a simple button-down with the sleeves rolled up. "Hungry?" I asked. "I saw a restaurant off the lobby when we checked in yesterday."
"Starving, actually."
The restaurant was packed. Wedding guests clustered at nearly every table—I recognized two of Hudson's college buddies nursing coffees and hangovers near the window, and Kendall's aunt waved enthusiastically from a corner booth. Staff hurried past with trays of pastries, and someone had already set up a mimosa station near the entrance. We found one of the last open booths, tucked by a window overlooking the manicured gardens—the boxwood topiaries and marble cupids looking slightly absurd in the pale February sunshine. One of Hudson's groomsmen spotted us and gave an exaggerated thumbs up from across the room. I flipped him off without looking up from my menu.
Dixie ordered eggs and toast. I got coffee, black, and was halfway through my second cup when she pulled out her phone, frowning at the screen.
"You okay?"
