Page 43 of Personal Escort

A small orchid bouquet in his hand.

He pushes off the wall and walks toward me.

“Cara,” he says, stopping in front of me. “You look beautiful.”

I blink at him, not understanding what is happening. I mean, I get it. He’s here. Alex clearly bailed.

Great, even my fake groom doesn’t want me.

But how?

“I haven’t seen the photographer yet,” he says. His mouth keeps moving and the words slowly sink in, but the more he talks, the less in synch this whole moment is. Mouth. Words. Not matching up.

“Where’s Alex?” I finally ask, cutting him off.

“I’m Alex.”

“No…” All the other words slam into my brain.We’re going to have an audience in a minute. Photographer. How do you want to do this?“You’re…my Alex for today?”

“I…” He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. “I’m Alex, period.”

I look up at him, all the pieces falling together. There was never an escort. All of this adventure was carefully orchestrated for me to never have— “What?”

“We don’t have a lot of time to do this, gorgeous. But I’m…an Alex. Your Alex. That wasn’t the original plan, but as soon as you picked that name, I knew I couldn’t let…” He shrugs and gives me a lopsided grin. “We can fight about this in a minute if you want. I’ve got a limo upstairs. The photographer can wait for us.”

He’s got a limo.

I keep repeating things in my head, hoping the echo will make sense of what’s going on. “This wasn’t a prank?”

“God, no.” He slides his wallet out of his back pocket and flips it open. I take the California driver’s license he hands me.

Tobias Alexander Hunt.

“You’re actually an Alex.”

“I am. And I’d like to be your Alex.”

“What…How…When…” I hand back his license, then shake my head. “We can’t do this.”

“Of course we can.”

“Toby!”

“Elope with me. For real or pretend, I don’t care.”

I laugh, and once the hysterical edge catches, it doesn’t let go. Toby takes my arm and guides me to a corner of the platform. I lean back against the wall and he lets me laugh until my sides hurt and my eyes water. “Nowthat’scrazy.”

He leans in, close enough for me to get a whiff of his aftershave, which makes my heart ache, but not as much as the warm words he murmurs in my ear. “I love you.”

That just makes me laugh harder, which isawful, because I love him, too.

But this is not the way to go about anything.

I wipe the tears from the corner of my eyes, then hiccup.

Oh, crap. When did my laughter turn to legit tears? I screw my face up and shake my head. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Toby hands me a cotton, monogrammed handkerchief and brushes a kiss against my cheek. “No, this was a terrible idea. All on me. Shit. I take it all back.”

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