I didn’t say I can’t handle it. I am handling it.
All. Of. It. All. The. Fucking. Time.
Now just trust the process.
—Olivia’s Secret Thoughts
“Are you seriously going to do this?” Pretty sure the last-minute trip to Tiffany’s in the hotel sobered Serena up enough to decide mothering me sounded like a good idea. Not sure how long it’s going to last though. “I mean, come on, Liv. This place smells like desperation and dead flowers.”
“It’s not a funeral home, Serena.” Maybe I’d sound a little more confident if I wasn’t currently staring at my reflection in a cracked mirror inside what I could call a dingy bathroom, but that would be giving it a prettier description than it actually deserves.
“Olivia.” With two hands on my shoulders, she moves behind me, her reflection distorted in the broken mirror. “Come on.You can’t marry this guy. You don’t even know him. And you definitely don’t like him. Hate sex I could get on board with, but marrying a guy you basically can’t stand sounds like a pretty bad idea. Unless I’m wrong and you’re secretly crushing on him. Wait—did you have some secret torrid affair I don’t know about?”
I shake my head. “Pot meet kettle.”
“First—you knew. So don’t go there.” Her nose crinkles in confusion, and I take back my earlier thoughts about her sobering up. “And second—are you agreeing or disagreeing?”
I turn to face her, then reach out and steady her as she teeters on her Jimmy Choos. “I’m agreeing with you. I don’t like Logan Adler. That might actually be the genius in this plan. My firm wants me settled. But I’m not looking for a husband and children. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why they want me to have a family. As far as I’m concerned, that would just be a reason to split my attention, not give them more of it. This way, I can do it all, have the husband, look settled, and make partner. And because I’m benevolent like that, I can even help Logan with his custody issues. Then once it’s all done, we can go our separate ways. No fuss. No muss. It works.”
“Benevolent.” She nods. “Sure. And marrying the guy who called you out for being a bitch onSports Centeris part of the genius? Aren’t you worried you’re going to want to kill him in his sleep or something?”
“Wanting to and actually doing it are two very different things.” I tuck my lip gloss back in my bag and fluff my hair. If I’m about to walk down the aisle to Logan Adler and some Elvis impersonator wedding officiant, I’m going to look damn good doing it. “Now,”—I link my pinky with hers the way we’ve done since we were little—“are you going to walk me down the aisle?”
“Your dad is going to kill you and me, you know that, right?” she groans, and she’s not wrong.
“Think bigger,” I murmur as we open the door.
“Nope. I refuse to think about what your mom is going to do when she finds out.” She drops my pinky and presses her palm to mine, lacing our fingers. “Love you, Livvie.”
“Love you too, Barbie. Now let’s get this shit done.”
I cling to my bravado like that bitch is the lifeline keeping my head above water as the tides rapidly rise while Serena and I walk down the purple velvet aisle to “Can’t Help Falling In Love.”
Damn. I used to like that song. Pretty sure after this, I’ll never want to hear it again.
Logan and Elvis stand together, waiting at the end. Logan’s cocky grin grows as I come to a stop next to him.
God, I hate that grin. I hate his stupidly handsome face too. But at least if I’m going to marry this jerk, he’s not the worst thing in the world to look at. This will go down in history as either the best or worst idea I’ve ever had.
“Damn,” Elvis half sings, half groans. Both give me the icks. “Ain’t you a tight little hunk of burnin’ love?”
“Hey, buddy,” Logan snaps as Elvis’s gaze settles on my boobs. “Eyes up here if you want to keep them in your fucking head.”
I blink at my soon-to-be husband, wishing I found that a little less hot, then at Elvis as he grumbles. That’s when I see the marriage license on the leopard-print podium. They really doubled down on the tacky theme.
Elvis takes a step back, and Logan closes the distance between us. “A little late to panic now, Olive.”
“I’m not panicking, Adler.” Okay, maybe just a little. But I’ll die on that mountain before I admit it to anyone, least of allhim.
“You’re breathing like you’re being hunted for sport, Olivia. Don’t you come from a family of superstar athletes?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?” I snap, fire flaming my cheeks because yes, I do in fact come from a family of athletes. And maybe I’m a little self-conscious about the fact that I’m not one of them.
“We’re going to have to work on that stamina.” This grin is less cocky and more devilish, and I like it even less than the last one. At least I want to like it less. In truth, it’s hotter.
I narrow my eyes. “In. Your. Dreams.”
“Nightmares, maybe.” Logan takes my hand in his.
