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Chapter 3
Mysti May
3:30 PM FRIDAY
“I would ratherdie.In a dumpster fire. On a Monday!” Percy screams at me, and I jerk the phone away from my ear.
She could shatter glass with that voice. I’m lucky I have quick reflexes, or damn, I would’ve gone deaf.
“Perce, don’t pitch a fit! Lord almighty. These rules are only for the time being. It’ll make Norbert happy, and as his futurewife, I have to take that into account now,” I repeat, emphasizing my soon-to-be title.
I look around the private jet I’m on—Norbert’s jet—and revel in the lifestyle I’m about to acquire. This is a big deal to me—becoming a wife. And for good, this time.
I get why they’re not happy with his rules, obviously, and I prepared, knowing full well that they’d be a hard sell. Especially because it’s the night before my wedding.Thenight when you’re supposed to let your hair down before you’ll have to tie it up for the rest of your life.
But I think it’s safe to avoid that part of me. For good. Who knows what trouble I’d get in if I allowed myself tequila—and other men?
If it wasn’t for Norbert, I wouldn’t be here. There would be no lavish private jet taking me to Tijuana, of all places. And my ladies wouldn’t be going with me.
Sometimes, you have to pay a small price for a lifetime of stability…and happiness.
“Hmmm…” I hear someone mulling over their words before saying something.
It’s probably Sammi. Always thinking, figuring out the best way to approach a situation. That is, unless tequila’s involved.
In which case, Sammi and logic are two different stories.
Yet another reason why we’re not having any.
“I’m having a hard time understanding why you agreed to these rules.What, doesNorbertnot trust you or something?” Sammi’s tongue lingers on his name like she tastes something sour.
I admit it’s not the best name. No one, that I know of at least, has ever said, “Oh, look, honey, it’s my handsome and fun-loving husband, Norbert—Norbert Butts.”
I get it, but I’m also the last one to get married here. I need some stability in my life after everything I’ve been through.
“Darlin’, wouldyoutrust us? In Tijuana? Unsupervised?” I ask.
She can’t argue with that—it’s a fact.
“Who says we need to be supervised? We’re grown-ass women who’re capable of taking care of themselves. We’ve done well so far,” Percy chimes in, her temper getting the best of her.
She’s never been good at taking no for an answer. Just ask her husband.
“Seriously, Perce. You really think that?” I laugh sarcastically.
She knows damn well how capable we are of getting ourselves into shit, not out of it. There was Vegas, Bangkok, Amsterdam…no, Tijuana will not be added to that list.
“She does have a point,” Becky says, the tone of her voice rising at the end of her statement, making it sound like a question.
But hell, I’ll take any support I can get at this point.
“Thank ya, darlin’. Finally, someone understands.”
“No, I get it,” Sammi interrupts. “I just don’t like that you have to abide by his rules to make him happy. Why can’t you just be yourself?”
“Myself? That might cost me this marriage.” I don’t like how that sounded. Did it really sound that…pathetic? I continue quickly, trying to distract them from the issue. “And I’ve worked too damn hard to throw this relationship away.”
“But this shit has never worked before,” Percy argues.
