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True. But it doesn’t stop me wanting her like crazy. I’m counting down to this weekend—Sunday. The day after the Jack and Jill party, when I’m going to need to relax and unwind. I’ll let myself see her then.
In the back of my mind, warning bells are ringing. She’s not right for me. I don’t do casual sex.
And if I’m being totally honest, there’s something veryun-casual about this. I like the woman, even though I know nothing about her. But she’s like an antidote to the hardest parts of me. To the uptight, unable-to-slow-down, unwilling-to-compromise parts of me.
And right now, I’m craving her more than anything.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Drew
IT’STHEDAYof the Jack and Jill party. Thank the freaking lord! I can’t wait for this to be over so I don’t have to exchange any more angry emails with Flynn Lewis. Ugh. Flynn. What kind of name is that anyway?
I’d thought about looking up his company and doing some snooping, but why give him the internet traffic? Frankly, I don’t want to do a damn thing that might benefit him.
Fun little piece of Richardson family history: Presley and I aresupercompetitive with costumes.
It was our favourite thing as kids—we’d cobble together costumes out of almost anything for birthday parties, special days at school and fake Halloween. I say fake, because we don’t formally celebrate Halloween in Australia, but my sister and I were determined to bring it to our neighbourhood after watching too many re-runs ofHocus Pocus. We’d round up support from the other kids and convince Mum to let us host a spooky party. One time I turned myself into a stegosaurus entirely using hand-painted egg cartons.
So this is a big deal—my sister’s pre-wedding party. Well, one of. We’ve got the Hen’s partyanda kitchen tea which includes the mothers and all the aunts and older relatives. But tonight is only for the bridal party and friends of Presley and Mike. The theme is “dress as your hero” so I’m going as Gene Simmons from KISS. Obviously. He’s an icon. Plus, I thought it would be fun to wear a faux-leather catsuit with studded bat wings.
As one does.
I called the venue today to confirm the time, because I never got my email invite. When I checked over the list I’d provided the best man and his assistant, I realised I’d forgotten to put my own name on the list. Rookie mistake. It’s no big deal, however, and I can’twaitto see what Presley has pulled together for her costume.
After spending a good hour doing my makeup in the traditional black-and-white KISS style, I slip a coat over my costume to ward against the chill. Then I stride out of my apartment building in the patent leather over-the-knee books that I’ve decorated with silver studs, which gets a thumbs-up from my Uber driver. He blares “Mr. Speed” as we head to the Jack and Jill party.
I’m late, which isn’t much of a surprise. Punctuality was never my strong suit, but Flynn’s assistant told me she would be there early to fix up payment for the party. Plus, I like to make a grand entrance. Most people slip on a kitty headband and call it a day—so Presley and I get a lot of attention for our creative outfits.
The Uber rolls to a stop and I take my time navigating the uneven cobblestone entrance in my platform boots. The old mansion was originally owned by a super-wealthy family who lost the house during the recession, and it lay abandoned for years. Eventually someone purchased it and turned it into an event venue, restoring it to its former glory. It’s a cool spot, and the perfect place for a party.
I head through the main doors, where a table is set up. There’s printed papers and a list, along with a few pens and bottles of water. A gold sign tells me to “please wait here” but nobody is manning the desk. I scan the area and hear classical music floating in from one of the rooms off to one side. Following the sound, I reach the door and poke my head in. There are lots of people around, but all are dressed in suits and cocktail attire. Little black dresses as far as the eye can see.
Perhaps they have another event on at the same time. Before anyone can see me, I walk back through the foyer and check out the other side of the venue. Empty. So Presley’s party must be in a room on the other side of the fancy cocktail party.
Oh, well, I wanted to make an entrance, so I guess I’ll have to make two. I head back into the room with all the people dressed in black. I don’t recognise anyone and heads snap in my direction, so I give a little wave. There’s an archway on the other side. That must be it.
Then I see the banner:The future Mr. and Mrs. Lewis.
She’s taking his name. Interesting. I always thought Presley was going to keepourname.
I stride through the archway and my mouth falls open. Presley stands in the middle of the room, surrounded by people. She looksincredible. Her hair is pinned up with gold leaf-shaped clasps, and her body is draped in yards of black and gold fabric that shimmers as she moves. She looks like a model in a couture fashion show.
But there’s one big fucking problem...she’s not in costume.
None of them are.
Presley’s eyes widen as she turns in my direction and her smarmy fiancé clamps a hand over his mouth. Shit.
Realisation crashes down on me like an avalanche—Flynn Lewis pulled a fast one. How could he have known about the changes I made? All I’d wanted was to give my sister the kind of party she deserved, a party she would have wanted. Not this...stuffy extravaganza.
Presley rushes forward and the room is filled with tittering and snorts and flashes ofoh, my God.“What happened?”
“Your future husband’s giant pain-in-the-ass best man is what happened.” I grit my teeth.
Everybody in the room is looking at me. And I mean literally everybody—even the waiters carrying trays of cocktails around the room with gold swizzle sticks are gaping open-mouthed at me.
“Oh, no.” She drops her face into her hands. “This is...unbelievable.”
