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She winked at me and then ushered me out of the apartment. Sometimes, it was to my benefit, having a full-time celebrity publicist as a best friend. Champagne waited for us in the car, and we toasted my wedding day as we drove the short distance to the venue.
I stepped out of the car and inside the glossy lobby. This was where Gavin and I had seen each other for the first time after I returned. It felt like a million years ago when I’d been in that outrageous outfit for English’s meeting with her mother-in-law and I’d flirted with Gavin like we hadn’t missed a day instead of three years.
I did a double take as we walked by that same spot because Gavin King happened to be right there. My gorgeous groom in slacks and a button-up, holding two cups of coffee and watching me like a hawk.
“Gavin, you’re not supposed to be here yet!” English groaned. “Didn’t you read the itinerary?”
“Of course I did. That’s how I knew to be standing right here.” He stepped up to me and pressed my favorite coffee into my hand. “Didn’t think you’d survive without this.”
My heart leaped at the gesture. Coffee was how we’d reconnected all those weeks before I was willing to let myself take a chance. Now, here we were, on our wedding day, and I was tongue-tied and uncertain. There were things we still needed to say. So many things. But I had no idea how to get them out.
“How was your night?” he asked, as if seeing straight through my makeup to my puffy eyes.
I shivered at the words. “It was … interesting.”
“So was mine.” He tilted his head, as if expecting me to say more, but I didn’t know what he wanted.
“Okay, lovebirds, I need to get Whit to her hair and makeup in exactly three minutes, or we’ll be running behind,” English said. Her eyes were on the Rolex on her wrist.
“Can you give us a minute?” I asked English.
She looked ready to argue with me, but there must have been something on my face that stopped her. Because she sighed and said, “Five minutes.”
English stole Gavin’s coffee, much to his displeasure, and then gave us the space we so needed.
“What did you do last night?”
“Poker,” he said. “I won.”
“That’s good. Doesn’t Sam normally win?”
“Yeah. Pretty sure he was feeding me cards. What about you?”
“Strip club,” I said with a stilted laugh.
“Yeah? Bring anyone home?” He asked it so innocently that there was no way that he’d know that I’d found Safia sitting outside my door.
I should just tell him, but fuck, how did I even begin to explain? I didn’t care about Safia anymore. Yet I couldn’t get the words out that I needed to say to make this real. Because, without them, was this all as real as we claimed it was?
“Of course not,” I forced out. “I thought we only brought someone home to share.”
His face fell slightly, and he nodded. “Right. Yeah.”
“Gavin …”
“Whitley Jo Bowen,” a voice cut across the lobby, silencing anything I’d been about to say.
I whipped around with wide eyes to see my father storming toward us. He looked furious. No, beyond that. He looked apoplectic, as if at any moment, he was going to burst from the anger coursing through him. I’d seem him look at me like that before when I was in high school, but normally, Mom yelled, and he was the calm one. What the hell had happened?
“Dad?”
He stopped in front of me with fire blazing in his eyes. “How could you do this?”
I blinked in surprise. “Do what?”
He ignored me, turning to face Gavin. My father pushed him full-on in the chest. Gavin took two steps backward, more in shock than because of the strength of the shove. Dad had always been a big man, but with his bout with cancer, he’d shrunk before my eyes. Losing weight until he was almost unrecognizable. It hadn’t been a good sign, but Mom didn’t want to talk about it until after the wedding.
“Dad!” I gasped.
