Page 7 of Happily Never After

“Relapsing?” she asked.

“He was using her mental health against her—total bullshit. Apparently she’d really struggled with depression as a teen and shared that with him, which he took as a green light to treat her like she was on the brink of drastic measures anytime she disagreed with him.”

“Oh, my God, I hate him so much,” she said, picking up her bottle of Heineken and raising it to her lips.

“Right?” I grabbed a piece of pizza and took a bite. “So she knew that if she called off the wedding, he would convince everyone she was crazy, in addition to the fact that her parents would be embarrassed and blame her for the loss of thousands of dollars they’d spent on the wedding.”

“What a nightmare.” Sophie took a drink, then lowered the bottle and said, “So then...?”

“So then we went from ‘what if someone else called off the wedding’ to ‘let’s call his side piece and get all the details’ to ‘holy shit this is a plan let’s do it.’ ”

“You stepped in.” She said it in a near whisper, looking at me with wide eyes. “You hero.”

I reached out my foot and knocked her feet off the table. “Shut it.”

“I’m serious,” she said, pointing her beer at me. “You absolutelyaremy hero. My dad works for Stuart’s dad, and the man is a soulless prick. There is zero question that ifIcalled off the wedding, he would fire my dad in a hot second out of spite. He’s just that kind of guy.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took another bite of pizza.

“I was actually going to marry Stuart knowing full well I would be annulling it or divorcing him in the near future because I couldn’t let my dad lose thirty years’ worth of work because of me.”

“There’s nothing worse than not having a choice in your future,” I said, meaning it. I couldn’t imagine Sophie marrying that guy—an asshole who cheated on her twice. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You are out here performing a public service, Objector,” she said, finishing her pizza and dusting off her hands. “Halting a lifetime of misery, one wedding at a time.”

“Hell, yes, I am.” I laughed, more buzzed than I’d planned on becoming. “Like a firefighter, only without the bravery and dangerous working conditions.”

“The softest of all heroes,” she said around a laugh, and I liked her. I mean, I didn’t know her, so she could be a total ghoul in real life, but for someone to kill a few buzzed hours with, she was cool.

She asked, “So do you have rules?”

The question caught me off guard because I absolutely had rules but hadn’t expected her to ask me that.

“The gist is that I only do it for people with no way out and who are about to marry someone they have proof has wronged them.” I wondered what time it was. “Cheaters and assholes, basically.”

“Is it lucrative?” she asked, scratching at the label on her bottle with a perfectly manicured fingernail. “I don’t even know how much Asha paid you.”

“Nah,” I said. “Beer money.”

That was a lie.

I hadn’t set out to do any of it, but the side hustle had slowly grown legs on its own. I’d helped Hannah, who then insisted I take money for the help.Goodmoney.

A month later, Hannah’s sister’s best friend reached out forhelp getting out ofherwedding. I tried saying no, but as it turned out, I was a sucker when it came to people who were doomed to wed a dickhead. Knowing I was their only hope messed with me, especially when the phrasetill death do us partwas involved.

I found it impossible to say no. As a compromise, I usually only kept enough to cover the expenses, then donated the rest.

“God,” Sophie said, looking young and tipsy as her mouth slid into a smile. “What an idea. I bet there are enough unhappy near brides and almost grooms that you could make a full-time career out of objecting if you wanted to. Hell, you’d probably have to turn away business, because one person wouldn’t be enough to handle the sheer number of people desperately trying to escape their doomed weddings.”

“Maybe that’s your calling,” I said, trying to imagine her doing it. Somehow I just knew she would kill it. “You could be The Objectress.”

“I like my job,” she said, laying her head back on the sofa and closing her eyes. “But that could be a fun side gig, being the Objectress to your Objector.”

“I don’t know iffunis the word I’d use,” I replied, letting my eyes close as well.

“Trust me, Objector,” she said, her voice a sleepy drawl. “We’d have fun.”

five

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