I turn back to the room and catch hot guy watching me, his dark blue eyes glinting with mild amusement. Leaning casually against the wall, he looks every bit as smug as Aiden just sounded.
“So,” he begins, his tone infuriatingly casual, “are you heading to another town? The hotel said they’ll cover your accommodations.”
“Nope.” I fold my arms and square my shoulders. “I already booked some amenities, and I plan to make this the best fucking week.”
“In your honeymoon suite . . . alone?” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smirk.
“None of your business,” I snap. “Why don’t you change towns?” I glance pointedly at his duffle bag, daring him to explain. “Why exactly are you here? You book solo vacations all the time?”
“As I told you, I’m here for a wedding,” he replies smoothly. “And the woman I invited canceled on me because, apparently, I’m not taking her seriously.”
“Oh, you’re one of those,” I say, rolling my eyes.
His brows pull together, irritation flashing across his face. “What the fuck does that mean?”
ChapterFour
Ledger
Weddings are supposedto be joyful. A celebration of love, commitment, and all that bullshit. But to me, they’ve always felt suffocating. I’ve spent most of my life dodging family gatherings and emotional heart-to-hearts, so attending this one for a teammate is already pushing my limits.
And yet, somehow, I’d rather be here—halfway across the world in Italy—than dealing with my family right now.
If I weren’t here, I’d be stuck at a dreary family reunion orchestrated by my mother, surrounded by fake smiles and grudges served alongside overpriced wine. Oh, Ledger, how’s . . . who were you dating last time we spoke? Still nothing serious, huh? Translation: When are you going to stop playing and do something respectable with your life?
Then Mom will be lecturing me and my brothers about how we’re the only family we have and family is blah, blah, fucking blah . . . Yeah, no thanks.
So here I am, sharing a honeymoon suite with a stranger who’s been glaring at me like I personally ruined her life. Granted, I did walk in on her while she was half-naked, but hey, that’s not my fault. She should just leave and let me be, instead she says, “Oh, you’re one of those.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I grab the champagne bottle, pop the cork, and pour two glasses. If I’m stuck here, I might as well drink and enjoy the fucking view.
“What are you doing withmychampagne?” she asks sharply, her glare slicing across the room.
“Drinkingmychampagne, darling. And sharing with you, because I’m that fucking nice,” I reply, smirking. “And for the record, I’m not leaving. As I said, I’m not about to rent a car and go back and forth all week.”
“This is unacceptable,” she huffs, snatching the glass from my hand and downing it like it’s plain water. Then she holds it out, her expression defiant. “Top it.”
I arch a brow but oblige, refilling her glass before setting the bottle down. I take a sip from my own and let the silence stretch, watching her out of the corner of my eye.
“So,” I say finally, my tone deliberately casual, “what’s the plan? Are we flipping a coin for the bed, or are you heading to a different town?” I circle back, hoping this time she’ll say she’ll leave.
She glares at me over the rim of her glass. “Why don’t you leave? I’m the one who booked this suite.” And the woman is stubborn, ladies and gents . . . but I won’t let her win.
“Technically, someone canceled it, so now it’s up for grabs,” I point out with a shrug. “Look, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me here, but the hotel’s fully booked. So unless you’ve got a brilliant idea, we’re stuck.”
She mutters something under her breath that I don’t catch, but judging by her expression, it’s not complimentary.
I lean back, swirling the champagne in my glass and watching her like she’s the most interesting thing in the room. And honestly, she is. The way her jaw tightens when she’s annoyed, the fire in her eyes when she looks at me—it’s refreshing. Most people either fawn over me or avoid me altogether. She does neither.
“So,” I ask, tilting my head, “what’s your story?”
Her scowl deepens. “Why do you care?”
“Because from the looks of it, we’re going to be roommates until Monday, and I’d rather not spend the week in complete silence.”
She hesitates, then sets her empty glass down with a sharp clink. “Fine. My story is that I was supposed to be here on my honeymoon. My fiancé decided he didn’t want to marry me after all, but the trip was non-refundable. So here I am.”
I blink, caught off guard by her honesty. “Damn. That’s . . . pretty fucked up.”
