Page 14 of Broken Vows

I need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do if I don’t actually get that studio, and how to stop feeling like a jagged razor blade is slicing my cells. “For my favorite nurse?” I say with a smile. “Always.”

Erica’s mouth twists and she gives me a pointed look. “You know nurses are worse than a church circle when it comes to gossip, right? So, you may want to stop telling everyone they’re your favorite. You might start some street fights if you aren’t careful.”

I laugh because Erica doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my bad mood.

I rest my palm on the desk and lean forward, trying to focus on her and not my raging pulse that still hasn’t calmed down. “My money’s on you in a street fight. You can take them.”

That gets the expected grin. I always know how people will react around me. I anticipate, I read, I study them. I learn what makes them happy, what makes them tick. I know exactly what to do to make the nurses adore me, my family fear me, and the women around me soften.

Most women. Until Lexie.

Erica pushes open the door and a dozen or so of the nursing staff trickle into the office behind her singing Happy Birthday.

“Completely unfair, Erica. Next time I talk shit you have to warn me people can hear me.” I chuckle as the team serenades me, and the head nurse walks toward me with a candle-laden cake. “You guys, this is too much. Really. Thank you. Is this chocolate? You all know the way to my heart, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve officially left your twenties behind, Dr. Astor,” another nurse says as she cuts into the cake and slides pieces onto paper plates. “How does it feel to be thirty? Wiser than yesterday?”

“Hmm. Wiser might be a stretch. How about more tired?” This is not a lie. My sleepless nights are getting worse, and last night I clocked maybe four hours. I hit the gym twice, running and sweating and pumping until I nearly broke, and nothing alleviated the burn. The time stretching from where I am to where I need to be is so fucking long and tight it’s going to snap.

I take a bite of the terrible cake and choke down the artificial coloring in the frosting. “Delicious. Thank you so much everyone,” I say, looking each one of them in the eye even though my mind is trapped on Lexie. “You all really know how to spoil me.”

The nurses gather around, asking about Annabelle and my “surprise” engagement that just hit the news last week. I’m like a boxer in the ring dodging prodding questions about how I proposed, how I even met Annabelle—a Barlowe—if we’ll have kids right away and what my parents think. I maintain a smile and keep my answers short and polite.

No one here wants to hear the unglamourous side of this proposal. A year in the making. Lots of emotional torment. Anna and I devising a plan. More lawyers than Depp’s defense team ironing out prenup details. The conversation with her parents and the brisk phone call to mine letting them know what would most likely be covered on Page Six and possibly in the New York Times depending on the slowness of the news day.

People want to hear about the fantasy, indulge in the make-believe that feeds their inner romantic. So, yeah. I smile, I nod, I talk about how exciting it is. And I leave out everything else.

“I bet your parents are thrilled,” Erica says as she cuts into her cake with the side of her fork.

“You have no idea.” Thrilled is certainly one way to put it.

My mother will enjoy having a new daughter-in-law to parade in front of her friends. As for my father, he may be pleased that he’s gotten his way—but only because he has no idea what’s coming for him.

After I push my cake around enough on the plate to make it look like I ate more than I did while calculating the extra reps I’ll do tonight to offset this monstrosity, I order—playfully, of course—the staff back to work.

Once the door closes, my chest tightens. I grab my phone, knowing that I wouldn’t see a message from Michael pop up in the last twenty minutes, but checking anyway. The thud in my chest turns loud and angry, and I feel thick blood pumping through my veins.

I will do everything I can to stop Lexie from ruining my plans.

Including getting as close to her as possible.

7 Lexie

The kink in my neck is raging at an eight out of ten. I crack it, roll my shoulders, dig into it with my thumb until it cramps, and nothing releases the tension.

“You know, I’ve heard there’s a fantastic cure for those little stress neck aches you’ve been getting.” Justin bounces his eyebrows like the juvenile he is and flops down in his chair. As long as he doesn’t start thrusting his hips—which typically throws me into a fit of giggles—I’ll be good. I groan, prop my elbows on my desk, and rub my temples. “Oh shit, you actually aren’t great. What’s up?”

What’s up is that I have to push aside my seething rage toward Theo and actually do my job. These past two weeks since he stormed back into my world, a low thud has pounded in my skull. When high-profile people want to plan a wedding—in the city, in six months—the pressure is tremendous. It’s not like I can just bump someone off the Four Seasons roster even if it’s for an Astor or Barlowe. The venue is the most difficult piece to land during the wedding planning, and right now we’re working with very limited options.

And I hate admitting this, but overseeing this wedding is stressing me out. I’m plagued with nightmares that I’m lost while driving to a venue or that I forgot to book catering and jolt upright in bed with my heart racing. I’ve always taken direction from Sydney: I review things she’s already reviewed, I follow up emails she’s already sent. And now, it’s all on me. I have to prove that I deserve this spot, work with a man I hate, and plan a billionaire daughter’s wedding.

“I’m good,” I say, tugging on my sleeves, ignoring my constricted breath. “It’s just a lot of pressure.”

Justin nods. “Yeah, it is. I told the hubby who we were planning for—”

“Justin. That’s under NDA.”

“Dylan doesn’t count.” Justin shrugs and opens his laptop. “You want to come out with us tonight for Happy Hour? We’re going to hit up the martini lounge after he gets off work. We can try and find you a new sexy man.”