Louisa kicked Hurst’s foot. “Frankly, darling, I would have beat it outta here with him in a heartbeat.”
“How can you say such a thing on your wedding night?”
“Hey, Adam may have been a miserable drunk, but we had fun together, and he stayed awake!”
“And you don’t have fun with Hurst?”
“Look at him, Carrie. Oh, yeah, he’s the life of the party,” she said sarcastically. “Watching television and gaming ... damn tedious ways to pass an evening.”
“Well, there’s always sex.”
“Tonight? Oh, please, darling. He won’t be able to keep it up long enough to consummate the marriage.”
“I hate to tease, but ... from what I saw when he peed on the palm, why bother?”
Louisa laughed. “Asmallprice to pay for his large bank account.”
Together, they got him up and somehow managed to get him to the honeymoon suite, making jokes about him the whole way. Yup, one hell of a marriage ahead of them, which made her think about her own upcoming nuptials. Was all the money worth marrying a man who didn’t love her like a husband should love her? Was once-a-month sex with said man enough to satisfy her healthy sex drive? Why marry a man who didn’t desire her and was in love with someone else? She may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but she knew nothing good ever came from a love triangle. The last thing she wanted to do was spend the rest of her best years either arguing with him, pining for something she’d never have, or feeling cheated out of things money couldn’t buy.
Riding the elevator down to her room on the second floor, she felt more than a tinge of jealousy about Elizabeth. She felt downright sadness over the whole miserable affair. The saner side of her—the one who truly cared about Darcy’s happiness, not the mercenary bitch he was about to marry—considered letting him go before things got messy or ugly. But could she, as a cast off, make it on her own? Darcy and his money had always been a part of her life.
The elevator door opened to the third floor, and to her surprise, George Wickham entered, looking a little beat up.
Still, she felt the energy rolling off him, a sort of electric current that happened whenever he was hyped from either coke, drink, or desire. The look on his bruised face said all three were in play and that once meant a thirty-minute joy ride.
“Carrie,” he seductively said.
“George.”
No sooner had the doors closed, he leaned in front of her and pushed the red button on the panel. With a jolt, the elevator stopped.
“What did you do that for?” she asked, although she knew the answer, actually delighting in the prospect if for no other reason than to lift her spirits.
“Because I’m going to give you what you’ve obviously wanted all night.”
“You’re drunk.”
“True, but you still want me.”
“That’s the wrong thing to say.”
He flashed a crooked smile. “Ah, feeling a bit discarded tonight? Poor thing. Well, he may not want you, Carrie, but I do. You’re beautiful, sexy, funny, and you make my cock so hard I can hardly think straight.”
“Much better. And what about Elizabeth?”
“She’s nothing compared to you.”
FIFTEEN
The long, torturous drive back to the city beside her sister hurt Lizzy’s head. Perhaps it was penance for her foolish actions. She couldn’t think straight—not that she had time to mull over Louisa’s wedding reception filled with coincidences and simultaneous elation. In the passenger seat, Jane was a tearful, acrimonious mess, consuming all her attention. “Charlie said ...” “Charlie accused ...” “William lied…” “Charlie broke it off ...” “I’m so hurt…” “I’m a good person…” “I’m too attractive to be still single! ...” All because of something William said to her new boyfriend at the reception.
In a stunning revelation, it turned out that William knew who orchestrated—or planted—the seeds of their breakup. How did he know for sure it was Jane’s influence and regurgitated words when casting him aside for Paris? Anne must have confirmed what he accused that horrible night.
Last night, he’d confidently strode into the wedding reception, looking like ... like a billionaire who had stepped from the pages ofGQmagazine. Those baby blues stopped her heart, then it beat faster than ever, confirming what she always knew to be the truth: She still loved him with an ache so deep she’d buried it and tried to move on in a half-life without him. His obvious snub of Jane had, at the time, confused her, but it now made sense.
William hadn’t lied about anything, and knowing his code of ethics, he had been painfully forthright in explaining what he believed to Charlie. The reality of Jane’s situation hurt her heart. She admitted that her sister deserved everything she gotfrom Charlie because his was the same reason past boyfriends had broken it off without explanation and probable fear of retaliation. Charlie showed balls in confronting the accusation, but he hadn’t known Jane long enough to experience her hidden malevolence waiting to rage. Besides, if she went ballistic on him, he’d dump her, just like all the others. Meddling in the lives of vulnerable people out of petty jealousy and fake concern was a nasty page taken from their mother’s playbook and very unlike a true Wyomingite. But—trying to be a good sister—Lizzy knew how to play the game and adapt, having learned the hard way to never share anything personal with Jane. Instead, she focused on positive traits and understanding of her sister’s deep-seated insecurities.
She quickly glanced over at Jane’s sour expression. Gone was the outwardly sweet and proper sister (recognized masks to conceal the beast within) who, only days before, encouraged her to “… be more sympathetic to George in his disappointments.”
