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Callie gives her a concerned look and then says, “Fine, you handle the dress.”
“Amelia can handle the honeymoon,” Lola says. “Our resident travel expert knows all of the hottest places in the world.”
“We’re not going on a honeymoon,” I point out. “We don’t have enough time. And it’s not like we’re having sex.”
Callie tilts her head back and laughs. “You keep telling yourself that.”
I frown at her comment.
“Don’t worry,” Amelia says. “Let me handle all of your travel plans.”
Amelia writes a column at Market House called The Travel Guru. She’s an expert on all things travel, though she’s still terrified of flying. I don’t blame her. If my parents died the way hers did, I wouldn’t even want to look at an airplane. I give her a lot of credit for pushing through her fear to do her job.
“We’re going to be in Nassau,” I say. “Doesn’t that count as the honeymoon?”
Amelia shakes her head. “No, you need to get away from your wedding guests. That’s not a honeymoon if you have to entertain people.”
“But it’s not a real wedding,” I say under my breath. “So, what difference does it make? This whole thing is just for show… and pictures.”
“True,” Lola says, playing with her straw. “But why not milk it for all it’s worth?”
“Fine,” I say. “Nate told me to plan the wedding as if it were real.”
“How about this?” Callie says in an authoritative tone. “Lola is in charge of your wardrobe. Amelia will handle the honeymoon. Jules is on sexy wedding lingerie to embarrass you with at your bridal shower. And I’ll work on everything else.”
I turn my head toward Callie and laugh. “You mean you’ll tell everyone what to do?”
Callie flicks her long brown hair over her shoulder and smiles. “Naturally.”
“Any place in particular?” Amelia asks. “I’m thinking somewhere in the Mediterranean.”
“Nah,” I say. “We only have a few days. I would stick with an island not too far away from Nassau.”
“Okay, ladies.” Callie raises her glass in the air, and all of us follow suit. “To health, wealth, and getting our girl laid.” I elbow her and she adds, “I mean married…”
“And here’s to winning the bet,” Amelia says as she clinks her glass against ours.
“To the bet,” Jules says with a wicked smile. “May Harley lose miserably.”
Callie chuckles. “And to hooking up with the groomsmen.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Lola winks at Callie. “I’ve got dibs on the best man.”
“Not if I get to him first,” Callie challenges.
“And to surviving this wedding,” I say as I tap the edge of their glasses.
“Good luck,” Jules says.
Because I’m going to need a lot of it.
At the end of the day, Nate waltzes into my office, dressed in a navy suit that molds to his body. He’s all lean muscle, clean lines, and wearing a smile that could light up the entire city. The dimple pops in his cheek, making me want to reach up and dig my finger into the tiny crevice. Nate sits on the edge of my desk, staring down at me with a mixture of hunger and desire.
“C’mon, wifey.” He extends his hand and wiggles his fingers. “It’s time to make this official.”
Time for the big proposal.
A bit apprehensive, I slip my fingers between Nate’s, and he pulls me up from the chair. I press my palm to his chest, and his other hand slides down my back, holding me against his hard body.
“Nate,” I whisper.
“Harley,” he says, his lips inches from mine.
My breath hitches and Nate must notice because the corner of his mouth lifts into a crooked grin. He swipes my hair out of my face, brushing it behind my ears.
Is he going to kiss me?
Unsure, I turn my head away from him, desperate for a second to think. I have mixed feelings about Nate. How can I love and hate him, all at the same time? Well, do I really hate him? He annoys me, but hate is one emotion I’m not sure I feel anymore.
Irritation, maybe.
Sexual frustration, definitely.
I stare out the windows that overlook the city, providing the perfect view of The Philadelphia Museum of Art. It’s already dark outside as the city comes to life, the Parkway buzzing with excitement. I hadn’t missed the winter months in Philly or the early darkness that comes with it. If I were in Los Angeles right now, I would leave work to sunshine and palm trees and go home to my comfy bed and to Willow trying to feed me spring rolls. I miss her. I miss my old home, my old office, and most of all, my old life.
“We should go,” I suggest.
When I turn my head, Nate captures the side of my face with his hand. An unspoken exchange occurs between us as our eyes meet. Nate’s piercing green irises have so much fire and intensity in them a shiver rolls down my spine. My cheek tingles where our skin meets, his delicate touch spreading heat throughout my body.
