Page 142 of Runaway Bride and Prejudice

Grey, however, is staring at me with wide eyes. I scoot back against the headboard, knees to my chest in a protective ball.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re …” She sputters.

The other two are now studying me too, but Lex figures out whatever it is first and gasps. I glance down, wanting to be sure I’m still clothed and that I haven’t grown a second head or something. Being gasped at by a person whose face is fully painted is kind of an ironic moment.

“Those are Van’s pants,” Callie says.

I look down again, my cheeks warming. “Oh. Yes.”

I’m practically swimming in the sweatpants, which I pulled out of a drawer to sleep in last night. Desperate moment? Possibly. I mean, Ididhave my own pajamas. I can’t reallyexplain why I felt the need to go through Van’s drawers to find a pair of pants to sleep in.

I just … wanted to wear something of his.

And I’m aware this probably makes me both hypocritical and sad but this is where I’m at in life: wearing the sweatpants of a husband who I haven’t been completely honest with while his sisters gape at me in full face paint.

Not exactly part of my life goals.

“I can take them off,” I say.

“No!” both Lex and Grey practically shout.

“Okay,” I say slowly.

Grey’s expression softens, but it’s Lex who sniffles. I glance between them, still trying to understand, my body poised in fight, flight, or hide under the bed mode.

“I don’t think Van has ever let a woman wear his clothes,” Grey says softly. And now her eyes are brimming with tears too.

“I mean, it’s not like heletme. I helped myself. Kind of a Goldilocks situation where I just made myself at home. These definitely don’t even fit and?—”

“No,” Grey says, biting back a smile with teary eyes. “He gave you his bed. Full access to his room. I bet he’d love to see you in his sweatpants.”

“And take you out of them,” Lex says with a smirk that’s all too close to Van’s.

Callie elbows her. “Gross.”

I glance down at the fabric pooling around my body. My toes are practically the only part of my feet visible. “He really hasn’t let any woman wear his clothes?” I ask. “I mean, I thought he dated a lot.”

Callie snorts. “Oh, he has. Just not anyone who ever got far enough to wear his pants. All super casual.”

I wrinkle my nose. Maybe I didn’t want to know about his dating habits. I feel a strange lump in my throat, and I’m notsure if it’s because they’re emotional or because I’m thinking about Van and other women.

“But don’t worry—it’s not like Robbie treated women poorly,” says Callie.

“We’d have killed him.” Grey’s tone is far too chipper to be talking murder.

“There just happen to be a number of women out there whoalsodon’t mind dating with zero commitment and expectations,” Lex explains. “No strings. And definitely no sweatpants.”

Not really helping.

I hold up a hand. “Could we, um, not talk any more about Van’s dating history?”

“Right,” Callie says, and she seems to regain a bit of composure. It’s still hard to take her or any of them seriously whenever I look at their painted faces. “Well, let’s get you up then. Come on—hop to it.”

“I’m sorry?” If anything, I curl into myself tighter. Especially when the three of them start advancing toward me. Slowly. But definitely making movement, coming at me from three sides.

“We don’t have much time,” Grey says with a shrug.

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