Page 60 of The Player's Obsession

“To a fun-filled weekend,” I say as we tap our glasses.

I sip the champagne. It’s perfect. Not too dry, not too sweet.

“I could get used to this.” I take another sip.

“I wonder if I can order a case of it. It is smooth.” He puts the bottle back in the icy water and walks to the window. I can’t take my eyes off his muscular buttocks and sniff the air like a bloodhound just to get a whiff of his expensive cologne.

I look around and notice the pillows on the white leather sofa are teal with gold V’s embossed. Are those V’s for Volkov? The rug between the fireplace and the sofa is a white shag carpet. I wonder how many couples have fucked on it. Strike that, I know the answer. Everyone. Having scrubbed my share of stains, I can’t help but wonder how they keep a white rug looking this good.

“Honey, come look at the view.” Oliver is talking louder than normal, and I wonder what’s wrong.

I join him at the window and take in the natural beauty of the fresh powder on the ice-covered lake.

“Listen,” he whispers.

I hear muffled noises from Serena’s room.

“Oh, no. We can hear them, so they must hear us.”

“Right, so we need to be careful.”

“How are we going to play this situation now? It’s gone too far. We can’t steal the spotlight from the bride and groom. That’s like being ghosted by everyone who knows you. It’s bad manners,” I whisper.

“I doubt we’ll be able to deny anything. Serena happens to be the gossipmonger of the rich and famous. Her daddy is into oil and all that implies.”

“That’s a line fromSweet Home Alabama.”

“Sweet, what?”

“Never mind,” I calmly reply.

“Oh, movie quotes. Right, that’s one of Mom’s favorite movies. The mayor reads that out of the magazine after she finds out about her son’s engagement,” he replies.

I’m flabbergasted.

“How ironic, now that I think about it.” He chuckles and finishes his drink.

Oh, my, I’ve found a movie buff. And I’m the fiancée with a secret, just like in the movie, only it somehow got twisted into a marriage.

I finish my drink, and he refills my empty glass. He’s clearly done this before. He’s not a bartender, so I wonder how many women he’s poured champagne for.

Then it hits me. We have one bed, the honeymoon suite. I’m horny, and the champagne is not helping me forget how much I want Oliver to throw me over his shoulder and carry me to bed.

“I can see you like this champagne,” he comments.

“Yes, it’s yummy. I’m enjoying myself, and I’m nervous as hell.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“This is more than I bargained for, I feel…dirty.”

“Don’t, we’re going to have a fun time.” He walks around the room, sipping his champagne, and turns on the TV. He gives me a naughty smile. It will muffle our voices when we talk. “I bet Serena already posted something about us. I’m going to check her social media feed.”

As soon as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, there’s a knock on the door. I panic and look to Oliver for guidance on what to do.

“Who could that be?”

“Probably our luggage,” he replies with no concern.

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