Page 14 of Working for the Runaway Bride

But this isn’t a joke.

Brittany shakes her head at him. “Don’t talk to her that way.”

“This doesn’t concern you anymore.”

“Apparently, it never did.”

She walks past me, smelling of heavy perfume and alcohol. At the hallway entrance, she stops.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

I don’t know whether she means it. I don’t know whether it matters.

I say nothing.

The front door opens and closes. Then I’m alone with the man I’m supposed to marry. Carter finishes buttoning his shirt.

“You embarrassed me,” he says.

I stare at him in disbelief. “I embarrassed you?”

“You didn’t need to make a scene in front of her.”

“You brought her into our house.”

“I didn’t think you’d be home.”

The admission knocks the air out of me.

“That’s your explanation?”

“I thought your car was at the shop.”

“It is.”

“You didn’t tell me Jessica was driving you.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to warn you before coming home.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t think I do.”

“If I knew you were coming home, this wouldn’t have happened here.”

I swallow against the ache in my throat. “It still would have happened.”

He shrugs. That shrug hurts more than the lipstick on his shirt. It hurts more than the pink shoes at the door or the lies he told Brittany. It tells me this isn’t the first time. Maybe not with her, but with someone. Maybe several someones.

“How many?” I ask.

“What?”

“How many women?”

He looks toward the window. “Don’t do this.”

“How many?”