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“Get dressed, Gianna. Think of this as work. We are here for a reason, whether we like it or not. Asshole husband or not. We’ve got to come up with a plan; we can’t stay on the ranch forever until Dad forgets why we’re here.”

He has a point, so I toss off the blanket and plant my feet on the floor.

“You’ve got half an hour,” he tells me, then he’s off.

I’m going to need ten of those minutes to stare aimlessly into my closet to work out what to wear. Harper did fill it with some beautiful clothes; it’s not quite my usual style. I can make it work, regardless.

By the time I straighten my hair so it falls to my waist, swipe on my signature red lip, and brush my lash extensions, I slip on my boots. Not my usual platform ones. Black cowgirl with red stitching.

Yep. I look hot. Just in case I do happen to bump into my husband.

As I head down the stairs, there's a knock at the door. Dom is already there, opening it up. I’m greeted by Harper and Lola, who has a bottle of champagne in her hand, in a cherry red dress that matches her long curls.

I slow down as I reach the final step. “What’s going on?”

“Welcome to your post-wedding bachelorette.” Harper squeals excitedly.

Lola starts blowing on a high-pitched whistle that makes me wince. Dom lied to me, the little traitor.

I open my mouth to try and form the words to get out of this, and then I look at Harper, smiling at me, like I’m her friend. And the words never come.

Instead, I smile and walk out the door without even saying goodbye to my brother. Harper links her arm through mine.

“I’m not letting you stay pissed off in that house for another day on your own,” she tells me.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“This is my first night out since I had Willow, so I’m going to be drunk in an hour.” Lola giggles as she walks ahead of us with a spring in her step.

We make our way past Colten’s house, and a shiver runs down my spine. He lives a five-minute walk from me. And he hasn't tried to talk to me. Which tells me everything I need to know.

“We’re meeting a few girl friends in town,” Harper tells me. “And we’ve got Tate coming with us as security.”

“I don’t need security, Harper.” I laugh.

It’s kind of sweet they think of that, though.

I swallow the lump in my throat. I can schmooze at charity galas. I can negotiate with billionaires. Meeting Harper's friends? Scares the shit out of me. Making small talk? Makes me want to jump in my Rolls and drive back to LA.

At least there, I know what’s coming every day. There aren’t really any surprises. If I behave, I live my life as I please. If I don’t, then I pick from the punishment menu.

“How many friends?” I ask, cautiously.

How many of them have fucked my husband is what I mean. How many of them will hate me because I’ve “taken” him off the market.

Why can’t I stop thinking about this damn man and his giant penis?

The bar is packed, even if it is a Thursday. I’ve got an espresso martini in my hand, and I’m happy, or perhaps tipsy after the six other cocktails I drank in quick succession. Lola and Harper’s friends seem okay. One is a hairdresser and is desperate to give my hair a treatment, and I’m not sure if I should take offense. My stylist in LA costs a fortune; my hair should not be dry.

“Is V okay?” Harper asks Lola across the table.

She nods, but her smile doesn’t follow. “I’m finding motherhood hard, even with Hunter, who is probably the best dad in the world. She’s finding it hard on her own.”

“Where’s the baby daddy?” I ask.

“He said he wants nothing to do with the kid,” Harper tells me quietly.

“And he’s still alive?” I blurt out.