He blinks, and I wonder if I’ve said too much.
Finally, he returns with, “If you ask me, they’re the ones that look pathetic. Your ex-fiancé just proved you’re better off without him, and your friend now has to live with the knowledge that she’s ruined what was supposed to be one of the best days of your life. Sure, they’re happy now, but I doubt it’ll last, and when it’s over, they’ll have their regrets.”
The bartender comes back with our drinks, eyeing Roderick suspiciously. I ignore his concerned expression, fully aware of what he must think of me.
Roderick takes a sip of his scotch, and I can’t help but wonder what his story is.
“What are you doing here talking to me? Of all the women to chat up, why the woman so obviously dumped at the altar?”
“You looked like a kindred spirit is all.”
I spike a brow. “Kindred spirit? How so?”
“You aren’t the only one left at the altar, though in my case, I was stood up at the justice of the peace.”
My jaw gapes open in surprise. “Justice of the peace? What crazy lady would stand you up?” I say without thinking.
He chuckles. “I’d say the same to you, though it’d be a crazy man because I don’t believe you were marrying a lady.”
I roll my eyes and take a long sip of my watered-down fuzzy navel.
“The marriage was an arrangement,” he says, licking his lips and downcasting his eyes.
“But you don’t look like you’re from a culture that does that sort of thing?”
He snickers. “I’m from the culture that is most known for that sort of thing.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because I’m from the culture of money. To this day, rich ‘aristocratic’ families will do anything to keep their wealth in-house.”
“Were you going to marry your cousins or something? A sister?”
He chuckles. “No. My fiancé was a fashion heiress, but apparently, someone in oil swooped in and made her a better offer.”
“Are you being serious?”
“It’s not like I wanted to marry her, but I am a dutiful son. My parents are livid. They think it’s somehow my fault. They’re probably looking up the next suitable match as we speak.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“Roderick Branson.”
My hand flies to my mouth as a lightbulb turns on in my head. “Roderick Branson! Alan Branson’s son! You’re from—”
“Branson Innovations. Yes, I am the heir.”
“But-but—why would they even care? Your family has more money than…like the combined wealth of the lower five-percent or something crazy like that.”
He shakes his head. “Your numbers are a little generous, but even if my parents had every single dollar in existence, they’d go and print more, because they’ll never have enough.”
I finish my drink and check my phone, reading through dozens of messages ranging from,“I can’t believe that asshole pulled that shit,”to,“I’m sorry I stayed for their wedding, but we’ve all been friends for so long that I didn’t know what to do.”
I shove my phone in my purse and focus on Roderick, who is literally making my heart skip a beat. I wonder what it’s like to kiss him, if he’d be better than Derek, the only person I’d have to compare him to.
“Why were you going to the justice of the peace?” I ask. “Can’t you afford a multi-million dollar wedding?”
“We could, but there are some business deals going down that we hoped to be married during, and Vegas gets the job done quickly. Plus, we didn’t want others to know—”
