Like I needed him to clarify.
Ben. The man who told me I'd be prettier if I lost twenty pounds, then got annoyed when I stopped eating in front of him. The man who made me feel like my body was something to apologize for, something to hide under loose clothes and dim lighting. The man who called me a "warm-up omega" like I was practice for something better.
It took me a long time to unlearn the shame he planted in me. To stop flinching at my reflection. To wear jeans that actually fit and not feel like I was asking for criticism. I'm still not all the way there, but I'm closer than I was. And I'll be damned if I let him drag me backward.
"Right," I say. "Ben."
Savannah pats my knee gently. "I didn't know he was your ex. If I had known..."
"Then you would have killed him."
I cover my mouth. I can't believe I said that out loud.
"I meant then you would have canceled the wedding."
Again. Stop talking, Sharon.
"This is a bad idea," Savannah says, shaking her head. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."
"No. It's fine. Time heals wounds and all that."
I jump up, my body suddenly humming with nervous energy. My gaze flicks to Cassian, lingering on the way his shirt stretches across his chest. I bite my lower lip, trying to focus. My ex is marrying someone else, and I'm planning it. Perfect.
"Shit!"
My heel catches on something, sending me tumbling forward. Strong hands grip my waist, steadying me against a wall of warm muscle. Cassian's breath tickles my ear, his scent wrapping around me like smoke.
"Careful," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble I feel against my back. He holds me longer than necessary. I don't pull away.
I turn my head slightly, our faces inches apart. "My knight in smoky armor," I whisper, my voice huskier than intended. "Planning my ex's wedding might just be fun after all."
Don't worry, universe. I have everything under control. You can take a break.
Oh yeah. You already did that when you left me to plan my ex's funeral.
No. Wedding. I meant wedding.
2
JETT
Something's wrong. Sharon didn't show.
I waited at the venue for half an hour. Grabbed a coffee. A couple of donuts. Had a fucking pie because apparently stress eating is my coping mechanism. And now I'm heading to Savannah's house because the wedding planner never turned up. Work is drying up anyway. Actors wanting to do their own stunts, thanks to Tom Wild. He got the actors thinking they can get more money by doing it themselves, which they do, and my job, which was in demand, is drying up like the Sahara Desert.
Sharon's supposed to meet with Penelope Carter at the wedding venue at 9 a.m. today.
This isn't like her. I remember when she was dating Ben—she was always put together, always trying so hard to be perfect for him. The kind of woman who showed up early and double-checked everything. So where is she? The strange part is that no one turned up. Just me and the venue owner. No bride. No groom. No one. After thirty minutes, the owner said she had other appointments and locked up. I headed to Savannah's to figure out what the hell was going on.
I'm sitting in Savannah's living room after explaining what happened at the venue, clearly Savannah has her hands full. Damn, I've never seen a pregnant lady carrying triplets, but by the stress lines on Savannah's face, her pregnancy isn't the one stressing her out. Her alphas are Xavier took her temperature and blood pressure like three times while I was venting, telling me that if it reached 180, I would have to leave. No idea what that means, but the dude is uptight. Met him twice, and that was enough for me to know we could never be friends.
I stand up and walk to the window, watching the snow fall outside. My jaw clenches thinking about Sharon sitting alone at that venue, probably freaking out. That's not like her to just no-show something. Sharon cares. She actually gives a shit about things.
"Great, she's calling me back," Savannah says, picking up her ringing phone.
By she, she must mean Sharon.
She puts her on loudspeaker.
