Page 6 of Nothing Left to Lose

“As always.”

He took the Moët bottle and guzzled more of it, squinting as he swallowed. He looked at the remaining contents, then at me. “We’re gonna need a fuckton more of this.”

CHAPTER THREE

MILLER

So if wewere doing this, I would be doing it drunk.

There was no other way I could get through it. Certainly not freaking sober. Social lubrication be damned. This was a pain buffer in the form of sparkling anesthetic, a hundred bucks a bottle.

One bottle of Moët later and I was feeling marginally better. Well... that wasn’t exactly true. I still felt bad, but I cared a whole lot less.

Which was probably just as well, because we had to meet with the contest organizer.

I was letting Brody take the lead on that.

This was all his idea, after all.

“Ah, Brody and Miller,” a woman greeted us. She was tall and thin, wearing a radio station T-shirt and a wide, bright lipstick smile. She shook Brody’s hand first. “I’m Carina. Nice to meet you,” she said, then she turned to me. “And you must be Miller.”

I shook her hand with an easy Moët smile. I really should drink more Champagne. Not that I drank much of anything, but that warm, easy feeling was nice.

“That’s me,” I replied.

She asked about our flight and if we were ready for a great weekend, if we were excited.

Uh, no. I’m dreading it. And I’m drunk, so there’s that.

“And how’s married life treating you?” she asked with a squinty smile.

“Well,” I began, because she was looking directly at me.

“It’s great,” Brody interjected. “So far,” he added with a laugh. “It’s all kinda new.”

“So new,” I said, a little drunker than I was just a minute ago. “So new it doesn’t even feel real.”

Brody put his arm around my shoulder, squeezing a little harder than necessary. “Incredible, huh?”

“Well, you were a clear fan favorite,” Carina said. “Your photos were so beautiful.”

“Yes, they were,” I said, meaning every word.

I felt Brody’s eyes on me but didn’t dare look at him. Maybe he’d see through me, see it in my eyes that I almost cried when I first saw that photo of us dancing at my sister’s wedding. How we were standing so close, our arms around each other, the way I was smiling at him.

God, I’d seen that photo and it broke my heart.

Because he’d never love me the way I loved him. And had loved him for almost half my life.

“Speaking of photos,” Carina said. “Can we pose for a few?”

“Sure,” Brody said.

A man with a camera appeared from nowhere, springing up with the radio station standee, and Brody and I were corralled next to it with the hotel name behind us. Promo, promo, promo. Whatever. If there was more Moët, I didn’t care at all.

“Okay, face me,” the photographer said. He waved us in. “Stand closer.”

I slid my arm around Brody’s waist and his arm went around my shoulder. We’d done this a million times. This was no different from any other photo we’d taken over the years.

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