Page 97 of Rush

“Duly noted,” he says, hands raised.

Philippa’s still laughing, cheeks flushed.

I turn to her with a smirk. “Now go have some makeup pre-marital sex.”

She gasps, “Elena!”

Andrew looks like he’s short-circuiting.

“What?” I shrug. “You’ve got a few nights left. Might as well make them count.”

Philippa swats my arm, still trying not to laugh as she opens the door.

Andrew follows, glancing back like he’s not sure whether to thank me or excommunicate me.

“Please don’t look at me like that,” I call after him. “The walls in your penthouse weren’t exactly soundproof.”

“Oh my God, Elena!” Philippa’s voice carries from inside. Andrew chuckles.

I wave. “You’re welcome!”

The door clicks shut, leaving me alone in the hallway—barefoot, buzzing, and just a little bit smug.

Chapter 11

American Money

Way too wired to go to bed, I rip off my dress, tossing it over the armchair, and throw on my red bikini and robe. Shoving my phone into the pocket, I pad barefoot downstairs toward the heated indoor pool the wedding coordinator showed us earlier today on the tour.

As I pass the kitchen, I spot the staff finishing up—clearing platters, wiping surfaces. There’s still a tray of cut fruit and a few unopened bottles of champagne.

“Hey, can I take this?” I ask, pointing at the fruit and bottles.

They nod without hesitation.

By the time I step into the pool room, the heat hits like a soft hug. Warm, balmy and quiet.

The water shimmers beneath the low lights, steam curling off the surface.

I drop my robe, letting it puddle at my feet, and sit on the edge with a sigh, dipping my legs into the pool. The heat wraps around my sore feet—hot and soothing—easing the tension in my muscles. I reach for the champagne, pop the cork—wincing as it rockets across the room with a loudpop.

Oops.

I don’t bother with a glass, just pour the golden liquid straight down my throat, careful not to let the bottle touch my lips. It’s cool, crisp, the fizz dancing on my tongue. I’m not about to choke on bubbles and die alone in a pool like some tragic pop-star. I can already see the headlines. Kylie would find some way to contact me via Ouija board just to scold me about my public image.

I laugh at myself.

For the first time all day, I exhale.

I pull out my phone. Two texts.

Riley

You okay?

Elena

Yeah.