Page 25 of One Wealthy Wedding

She must be referring to something Jonah did. “Causing trouble, Jonah?” I grab his martini and drain it. I intend to get blind drunk before ten p.m., and martinis are the fast track. Jonah’s black gaze snags on my hand and the gold band on my ring finger.

“You’re married?” He sounds like he’s being strangled. “I can’t believe that.”

“Me neither. Hey, Miles, you going to drink that martini?”

Miles passes it over. “Married to whom?”

“Catherine Peterson,” I say shortly. “Not my first choice.” The understatement of the century.

Lane straightens, her blonde hair waving gently around her face. Her nose ring is a star today, with a little diamond in the middle. “Wait. Cat Peterson? From the wedding?” She looks at Miles. “He knows Cat? She never said anything to me.” She frowns. Right. Cat was at the wedding Miles and Lane attended last year, when they finally got together.

“Oh, I know Cat,” I say. “I’ve known her all my life. I can’t think of anyone I want to be married to less.” I drain Miles’s martini. Vodka. Much better than Jonah’s gin. I’m already feeling a pleasant buzz.

My friends congratulate me, and the entire time, I can’t help but think this marriage is one colossal fucking mistake.

“Glove up. Let’s go.” Jonah tosses Miles and me wraps from the corner bin. Lane and Callie left an hour ago, and I’m eager for a fight.

“Where’s the money?” I ask. Jonah and Miles groan. “You know the rules. A thousand dollars to fight. Don’t tell me you got soft while I was gone. I bet you didn’t even black out.”

Miles digs in his pocket for his wallet.

“Blacking out is not medically recommended,” Jonah says. “But since I always win, I’m usually conscious at the end.” He gives me a sharp smile but fishes his billfold out of his suit pants. We’re not dressed to box, but it’s not the first time.

“So, Theo, marriage, eh?” Miles raises his brows.

“Stop stalling,” I shoot back and duck under the ropes into the ring. It’s square in the middle of the studio, which gleams with polished chrome. A wall of floor-to-ceiling windows displays the ocean of lights around us. I love the office at night. The glass panels seem to disappear until the barrier between the outside and the inside is gone. It feels like you’re suspended in the sky.

Miles follows, and we circle each other. “It’s good to be back, man.” I grin at him.

“No one willing to punch that pretty face while you were overseas?” Miles feints the jab and steps back. He’s an inch shorter than me, and his arms are just a hair shorter than mine. He’s a better boxer, though. I’m no natural talent. Just an adrenaline junkie.

“Nah. I was too busy for that.” I go in for a jab-cross, and he slips back.

“What’s with the marriage?” Miles asks.

“It’s not real,” I say.

“Did you get inspired by this one’s idiocy?” This from Jonah.

I grin at Miles. “Oh yeah. Lane was your fake girlfriend, right? That worked out.”

“Thank you,” Miles says dryly. “It did.”

“I don’t understand why you two can’t be normal,” Jonah says.

“Yeah, we should just hire women we hate to be our secretaries and fuck them in secret,” Miles says.

A laugh bursts out of me, and Miles uses the moment of distraction to hammer me in the ribs. The breath whooshes from my chest, and I double over. “Fuck.”

“Distracted,” Jonah admonishes. “And Callie was never my secretary.”

“Ah yes, it was all a ruse to get revenge. How’d that go for you?” Miles asks.

“Great, actually.” Jonah turns to me. “Can you punch him in the throat, please?”

I go for a cross to the throat, and Miles dances back. “Going to have to do better than that,” he crows.

“Stop talking and punch me,” I growl. I’m glad to be back with my friends, but damn, it’s more apparent than ever that it’s the two of them and me. Not three partners. I’ll always be an outsider to their inside jokes and their meteoric rise to the top.

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