Page 6 of Accidentally Marrying the Billionaire

“Name?” the woman behind the desk asks, smiling brightly.

“Evelyn Barlow.”

Her expression changes instantly.

“Oh!” she says, eyes lighting up. “We’ve been expecting you.”

I grin to myself.

Game on.

She types quickly, nodding as if confirming something important. “Welcome, Ms. Barlow. We’re so pleased you’ve arrived safely. Everything in the suite is waiting for you. Your fiancé will be joining you soon. I believe his flight was slightly delayed.”

Fiancé? I’m guessing this means my character is either a bride or a newlywed.

Before I can ask what everything entails, another staff member appears at her side. Then another. Suddenly, my small carry-on is whisked away, and I’m being offered water—sparkling or still—and asked if I prefer rose petals or orchids.

“Uh… orchids?” I say, because why not?

“Excellent choice,” the concierge replies solemnly.

I’m escorted past the regular elevators to a private one, and when the doors slide open, the words bridal suite are casually dropped like this is a totally normal thing to hear on a Thursday afternoon.

“Your suite is fully stocked,” the concierge says. “Mr. Sinclaire has thought of everything, but if you find you need anything at all, do not hesitate to contact me directly.”

My stomach flips.

The whole bridal theme makes sense because we’re in Vegas. It makes me wonder if everyone participating will be paired up. Maybe the murder will involve someone offing their spouse. I’ve got to ask Finley how she found this adventure.

The suite is… unreal.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook the famous Las Vegas Strip below. More gourmet chocolates sit in decorative dishes on nearly every surface. Next to them are orchids—actual orchids—arranged artfully in beautiful vases. Wow, that was fast.

There’s a bar area with an impressive display of liquor. But also a wide variety of fresh fruit. I move further into the suite and step into the bedroom. The room itself is enormous with a sunken bed that looks bigger than a King. I don’t even know if they make beds bigger than standard King-sized. The linens are so white and crisp they practically glow.

Then I notice the rack of dresses, all in varying shades of white. Sleek satins. Lace. Minimalist. Dramatic. Short. Long. Everything from modern chic to classic romance.

A note hangs from the center hanger.

Pick one you want and put it on.

A laugh bubbles out of me.

“Well,” I say to the empty room, “that’s bananas!” I giggle. “But so damn fun.”

I pick a simple ivory dress—elegant without being over-the-top—and slip into it, half expecting someone to burst in and accuse me of stealing or being in the wrong place.

No one does.

I’m adjusting the straps when the knock comes.

I barely have time to turn before the door opens.

And then⁠—

Oh.

Oh wow.