I sit back in my chair, lifting my glass to my glossed lips. “Then you’re going tolovethe other dresses I bought.”
His eyes widen as his mouth moves like a fish out of water. “Others?”
“Five to be exact,” I smile tightly.
He blows out a breath, scratching at the back of his neck. “I can’t wait to see them…”
This is how every evening goes. He tries his hardest to smooth over everything that happened, and I’m left feeling more and more vindictive with every passing day. I tried to call things off, and he only reminded me of what’s on the line.
We argue.
He apologizes.
It’s all the same.
I haven’t even been able to get in touch with Kaden. I don’t have his new number, so I’ve been left to deal with the fallout of my own choices. He shouldn’t have to fix things for me, but knowing what he’s up to would be nice.
I miss him.
There’s an emptiness in my chest that aches more the deeper I get into wedding planning. Picking out cake flavors and decorations is lackluster and dulled. Nothing possesses the glitz and glam it should anymore. This all feels…hollow.
“I’ve been thinking…” Dylan trails, catching my attention.
“That’s dangerous,” I quip.
He laughs uncomfortably as he sets his scotch aside. “With the wedding only a few weeks away, why don’t we take a trip? Maybe get some fresh air? I hear Colorado is nice this time of year.”
My eyes narrow. “I can’t leave The Bloom Room to fend for itself during our busiest season. You know this.”
He runs a hand across his mouth. “So, that’s a no, then?”
It’s afuckno.
“You guessed it,” I respond dryly.
Dylan sighs, sitting closer to the table as he grabs my hand and interlocks our fingers. “What can I do to make you forgive me, baby? I’m trying everything I can, and you still aren’t happy.”
I pluck my digits from his. “Because you’re basically blackmailing me into marrying you.”
His jaw flexes. “This isn’tblackmail, Melody. We were getting married anyway.”
I hold a hand up, dismissing the whole discussion. “I’m done arguing with you over this.”
“Fine.”
Our waiter returns, setting our dishes down in front of us. I blink at the creamy alfredo, pleasantly surprised.
“That’s not what we ordered,” Dylan says as he stops the server who’s just trying to return to the kitchen.
The balding man glances at my dish, frowning. “There was an update to the order halfway through preparation.”
“It’s fine!” I cut in quickly, my stomach grumbling. “I love Alfredo.”
As I take my first bite, the pasta melts on my tongue, and awareness zips down my spine. I’m being watched. But not by just anyone.No, this is familiar.
My eyes flicker up, searching the tables around us. Nothing.
I shove my disappointment aside as Dylan’s phone rings. He fishes it out of his pocket, rising from the table.
