I just have to make sure I’m not the one paying it.
Chapter 27
Harper
“You’re not ready,” Asher’s eyes scale down my body when I answer the door. He is here to pick me up for the wedding. He’s not wrong. I’m not dressed.
“I’m working on it,” I say over my shoulder as I walk back into my apartment. He closes the door behind him when he walks inside. I am still in my underwear and a bathrobe, but my hair and makeup are done.
“Your hair looks nice,” he notes, as if he can read my mind. An evolution of spending so much time stuck in a villa together.
“That’s the easy part,” I say in place of thank you.
“What’s the hard part?” he asks while his eyes skim over my apartment. I’m aware it’s not as nice as his penthouse. I also don’t make six plus figures a year. I don’t really care. My place is cute. Cozy. Most of the things were thrifted and refurbished. It’s chic, but artsy. Full of color, just the way I like it.
“Figuring out what to wear to the wedding of the man I thought I was going to be married to,” I answer.
“I’m sure you’ll look great in anything,” he says nonchalantly as he taps on my beta fish tank.
“I don’t want to look great,” I snap.
“You don’t?” he asks, confused.
“No,” I sigh. “I want to look like…like I don’t care. Like I didn’t try, and yet, I’m making a statement. Like I don’t need him, and I’m the one turning him down. I don’t know what kind of dress says all that. I have a black cocktail dress, which he’s seen me in. I have a red party dress, which he’s seen me in. I have a green one–”
“I bet the green is stunning,” he says as he looks over the dresses I have splayed out on my bed.
“He hated it,” I say flatly. “He said it made me look like a mermaid. Like I haven’t been compared to Ariel my entire fucking life. The only other dress I have is my stupid wedding dress, which, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t wear.”
“Why not?” he asks, glancing at his watch. Of course, he looks perfect in his light gray fitted suit, black button down, and shiny wing-tipped shoes. His hair is slicked back, but still wavy. He looks good. I’m not supposed to be checking him out like this because it’s not a real date. We are not really together, much less married. It’s all for show, but we have to stay sharp. It’s really hard to do when he looks like the next James Bond and smells like cedar and honey. Fuck.
“Because,” I answer, stumbling back into the conversation. “It’s not appropriate to wear white to a wedding,” I say.
“No?” he asks, and there’s a smirk tipping the corners of his mouth.
“No…” I say, but then I find myself smirking too. “No. I can’t do it. I can’t show up to Daniel’s wedding in a wedding gown! Why are you smiling?”
“Because it would be funny,” he chuckles. I’m chuckling too.
“No. You know what? I need a drink.”
I march around him and head for the kitchen.
“Pregaming, I love it,” he says, hot on my heels. I pour two shots of tequila and pass one to him. Ash just stares at it.
“What?” I ask. “Do you need training wheels? Listen, we are about to go to Daniel’s wedding. As a couple. A married couple. If you haven’t noticed, I am kind of freaking out. This is a kind of emergency.” I grab two more shot glasses, salt the rims, and then grab a lime, quartering it and handing Asher the works.
“Damn. I didn’t realize this was a tequila kind of emergency.”
“Judge me if you want. But Jose Cuervo is my best friend when shit hits the fan,” I say, and he chuckles again. He needs to stop that shit. Asher has such serious, steely blue eyes, a jawline that could cut glass, and the world’s most pretentious scowl. But when he smiles and those dimples come out of hiding. Fuck.
No.
Don’t lose your head now.
“Cheers,” I say, picking up my shot glass and clinking it to his. We go through the motions that are ritualistically known for being the beginning of all bad choices.
The tequila hits just right, and I pucker at the bite of the lime. Then I set my glass down and regroup.
