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Then, he was gone. And I trusted him to do exactly as he had said. He had more money than a god. I could pay him back later if need be. Right now … I was going to focus on the next drink. And the next after that.
I didn’t know how much time had passed.
Court and Sam came by and had a drink with me. They tried to cajole me to move from my seat. To go home and sleep this off. Promising that it would all be better in the morning. But I didn’t move. I wasn’t sober any longer, and I had no intention of sitting around at home,alone.
When home was where I was supposed to be bringing Whitley back to. Every inch reminded me of her. The way she lay across my bed, her full breasts spilling out of the top of the comforter. The smell of her on my sheets.
No. There was no way I was going home anytime soon. Maybe not ever. Not without her. I was going to have to fucking move if I couldn’t figure this out. Because I’d never be able to walk into our building and not think of her.
The guys must have been running interference on access to me. I kept expecting my parents to show up or my aunt and uncle. Fuck, even my cousins. Malcolm would be knocking some sense into me. Nate would be disappointed. Trey would cross his arms and look cranky. I could picture it all, but that didn’t mean I wanted to deal with any of it.
And as day turned into night with no answer from Whitley, one person made it through their defenses.
“Hey, Gavin,” Maggie said as she slid into the stool next to me. She waved at the bartender. “I’ll have a gin martini, extra olives, extra dry. Thank you.”
“Coming right up.”
“Mags,” I said with a head tilt toward her. I wasn’t quite seeing double of her. I’d been force-fed food from the restaurant next door when I refused to move. So, I wasn’t on a completely empty stomach, but I wasn’t sober either. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was supposed to be at your wedding.”
I winced. “Yeah. Did you not get the memo? It’s not happening.”
“I was informed.” The bartender slid her a martini, and she made a satisfied sound after she took a sip. “Delicious.”
“And you’re here why?”
“Oh, because I’m the only one who can even remotely relate to what you’re going through.”
I arched an eyebrow at her. “You and Locke got married.”
“Locke and I were an arranged marriage, as you well know.”
“Yeah.”
“And yours was fake.”
I winced at that word. Hearing it from Whitley had been one time too many.
“It wasn’t.”
Maggie took another sip of her martini. “No?”
“Well, yes. It started that way. It started because I needed a date to your wedding.”
“And so you brought a fake fiancée?”
I groaned. “I know how it sounds, but I liked her from the beginning. I thought I could make her see the same if we moved the roadblocks out of the way.”
“How’d that work for you?”
“Peachy,” I said with a pointed glare.
“We’re both stupid. We should have only agreed to get married for love. Not for any other reason. Not for an arrangement between our families. Not so Whitley’s dad could walk her down the aisle. Not for any of it.”
“And you don’t love Locke?” I inquired.
She scoffed. “Hardly. I mean … I wanted to. I tried to.” She looked far away, as if remembering a time when it had seemed possible. “We’re just too different. I saw it, but he didn’t. It’s never going to work the way we wanted it to. But it still could for you.”
