Page 148 of The Wrong Groom

“Tell me about it.” I lean back into the pillows, my chest aching from the effort of divulging everything. “It feels like one long nightmare.”

“How are you feeling?” Ivy asks quietly.

“To be honest, I don’t know,” I admit. I stare at the ceiling, feeling tears prick my eyes. “I mean… Gabriel saved me, right? He kept Travis from blackmailing me. If it wasn’t for him, I’d be in legal trouble. Or engaged to Travis.” The idea makes my mouth twist. I don’t know which fate would be worse.

Chloe and Ivy exchange a dubious look. This one’s easier to interpret. They both think I’m being too kind.

“At the same time, though, he lied to me,” I continue. The tears start to slip down my face, and I don’t do anything to stop them. “Just like my parents did, all those years. They were just using me.” I shake my head. “I… I should’ve known, honestly. I was never actually the CFO. I th-thought they gave me the job just because of the Beaumont name, just to give me some sort of title, even if I had no say in the company. I guess it was even worse than that.”

I blink, and my vision blurs as I swipe at my eyes. When Chloe and Ivy come back into focus, their expressions are sympathetic.

“I wish he’d told me the truth,” I whisper thickly. “I don’t know why he didn’t trust me enough. I don’t know what he thought I’d do, or if he thought I’d fuck something up. I…” I trail off, hesitant, then murmur, “I’m angry at him. I can’t help it.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe tells me, her tone empathetic. “You have every right to be angry.”

“At everyone,” Ivy adds. Of the two of them, she seems like she’s the more furious on my behalf. There’s a look in her eye that makes me wonder what she’s said to Gabriel. I suspect he’s gotten an earful from her, and the thought almost makes me smile.

“I just don’t know what to do with it,” I admit. “I feel like everything I’ve known has been a lie.” I let out a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do from here. I have nothing left.”

“That’s not true,” Ivy protests. “You have Fashion For All.”

I try to conjure that smile, but I can’t maintain it for long. She’s right, in a sense. I do have Fashion For All. But my passion project isn’t a home, a family. It’s not a foundation. In fact, now that I think about it, even the workshop is tainted by memories. It was Gabriel who initially encouraged me to pursue my passion, Gabriel who believed in me when no one else did. Without him, I would never have built Fashion For All. It wouldn’t exist.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I whisper. My arms wrap tighter around my sides, like I’m subconsciously trying to hold myself together.

“Hey,” Ivy says fiercely. “We have your back, no matter what you decide. Okay?”

The smile comes more easily this time, even through my tears. I nod. Throughout my entire life, I’ve been taught to keep myself small and prioritize my family. I’ve never really made any friends for myself, never known the sensation of having true support. Even though the feeling is foreign, it’s more comforting than I expected.

I guess this is the first time I’ve really realized it. Chloe and Ivy have become actual, bona fide friends.

Chloe speaks up, as if she’s hearing my thoughts and wants to confirm them. “No matter what happens with your family, or with Gabriel,” she says, “you’ll always be our sister.”

There’s a lump in my throat as I murmur, “I don’t deserve you guys. Seriously.”

Ivy clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Of course you do.”

“Yeah, you do,” Chloe adds, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to have people in your corner.”

I let out a shaky breath, the knot in my chest loosening just a little. For the first time in days—weeks, really—I feel like I can breathe, even if it’s only for a moment.

Chapter 47

Gabriel

The first several days that Alexis is back in the house are a special kind of torture.

She’s here, where she belongs, but I don’t truly have her back. She’s down the hall from me, in a guest room, which is all kinds of wrong. She’s distant, separated from me by more than just walls. I can’t hold her in my arms. She’s not in my bed. I haven’t heard her laugh, not once in the days since she came home from the hospital.

Which means it’s been well over a month since the last time I heard it. I feel like I’m drowning in the quiet, unable to reach her. I still can’t sleep properly. I’m up every few hours, pacing up and down the hall, between Peyton’s closed door and Alexis’s.

I know she’s angry. I can hear it in the sharpness of her words when she speaks, the way she pulls away from me, like she’s afraid I’ll hurt her again. And I don’t blame her. I’d be angry too if I were in her position.

Still, I do everything I can to let her know that I’m sorry. To show her, like Tristan suggested. I cook for her every day. I make her herbal tea with a dash of vanilla. When she runs to the bathroom in the mornings, I bring her water and plain crackers and ginger chews, which I read help with nausea.

I buy her books. Special edition, signed copies of all of her favorites. New releases by authors I know she loves. There’s a stack growing in the living room. I don’t have enough shelf space in the house for all of them, but I keep buying them regardless.

I need her to know. I need her to be able to feel how sorry I am. The more physical evidence of it, the better.