AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“My first wedding wasn’t really a wedding,” she explains. “We didn’t do anything big. We went down to city hall and signed some papers. Our two witnesses were Anthony’s friends. Afterwards, we went to this diner down the road and celebrated over flat beer and bad pizza. So I guess it’s just nice to go look at dresses and pick out flowers and decide on an actual menu with people who are excited that you’re getting married.”
“We’re already married.”
She shoots me a glare. “You know what I mean.”
“Why didn’t you have a wedding the first time?” I can’t help but ask. “Was that his idea?”
“Actually, it was mine,” she admits. “His parents told him they weren’t going to come for it. They didn’t support us getting married. Once I knew that, I decided I didn’t want one at all.”
I clench my teeth. It pisses me off that her deadbeat ex’s parents thought that she wasn’t good enough.
She leans forward to swirl her fingers through the bubbles, and I catch the curve of her breasts breaking the surface of the water. I adjust my position so she doesn’t notice how hard she makes me without even trying.
“Weddings are all about family,” she continues. “It didn’t make sense to have one without any. But sometimes… Well, never mind.”
“Go on.”
She glances up at me, her cheeks flushed with heat and memory. “Sometimes, I wish that Anthony had insisted on a wedding. I mean, it would have been nice to feel like marrying me was a celebration to him.”
“That fucker doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you,” I growl.
She seems surprised by the vehemence in my voice. She opens her mouth and, for a second, I think she’s going to tell me about his sudden reappearance.
Tell me. Let me trust you, Paige. Just say the fucking word so I can do what I swore I’d do and keep you safe.
Then she palms her pendant and says, “Misha, do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
I don't know if it’s the sight of her naked and vulnerable, clutching her magic fucking pendant. Or if it’s her looking up at me with those huge, warm, all-too-trusting eyes of hers.
But I can’t say no.
“Eight o’clock,” I sigh, despite the uneven pounding in my chest that says this is a bad idea.
Her answering smile is brilliant and dangerous and completely disarming. “Don’t be late.”
73
PAIGE
I get dressed for dinner ridiculously early. I’m not sure if it’s nerves or excitement—maybe both. All I know is that, with an hour still to go before eight o’clock, I’m sitting here in a jade green gown that Misha bought me with my hair in an intricately braided updo that almost cost me the circulation in both of my hands to tame into place, and my heart going about two hundred beats per minute.
The result of all that effort: a last-minute text from Misha, so terse I almost don’t believe it’s real.
MISHA: Can’t make it. Something came up.
I stare at the message for a long time, reading and rereading the words to make sure they mean what I think they mean.
He’s standing me up.
He’s canceling.
I got dressed up for nothing.
The initial surge of anger has me typing out an angry text message that tells Misha exactly where he can stick his half-assed apology.
Before I hit “Send,” I come to my senses and delete the message. Instead, I open a different text thread.
PAIGE: He stood me up. An hour before our date.
