Page 36 of Kiss the Bride

And if there’s a fourth reason, it’s her tears. Even in her afternoon sleep, I heard the bed shake with the weight of her silent sobs and ragged breathing. She cries in her sleep and tries to be brave when she’s awake. What sort of fucked-up asshole would I be if I moaned her name or got a stiffy when she’s grieving over another guy?

Suddenly, she stirs, whispering in a choked sob, “Hunt.” I freeze. What the living fuck? I didn’t do anything. She’s using my chest as a pillow, but I’m not doing anything wrong.

“Sweetheart?” My voice is a tentative whisper, confused and concerned. Whatever she needs, I’ll have it done by morning.

“Why’d you leave me?” Her voice is muffled and thick with tears. At first, I think she’s dreaming of Mitch and has our names confused, but when she asks again, her voice is clearer and there’s no confusion. “Hunter, you know I loved you. You were my first and only. Why’d you leave me? Why?”

I can’t answer, but I can hold her until morning. Parents can live without sleep, and so can I.

“Can you repeat that—thanks.” I frown at the list of pre-booked activities in front of me, starting with a couples massage and a private beach romantic getaway meant for Olivia’s now-canceled honeymoon. I’ve stayed at luxury resorts all over the world, but this one takes extravagance and opulence to a whole new level—which is my double-edged sword

It’s good because the resort is a haven for romance, designed to pamper couples after the stress of wedding planning and who need nothing but each other. It’s bad because, well, Olivia and I aren’t a loved-up couple. I hoped to work with the activities director to adjust plans and maybe cancel or postpone activities but most are non-refundable and booked out for the three weeks we are here. Meaning, either we use them, or lose the money. My economics professor would call it a sunk cost but I’ll call it not forcing Olivia to do anything she isn’t ready to face.

“Where’s the rest of that bottle of red?” Olivia calls from the bedroom, her voice heavy from a hangover. Fantastic. After almost drinking her weight in alcohol yesterday—yes, I noticed the two empty bottles—and now it’s her first thought again, today.

“You sure you want to start your day with another drink?” I call back, knowing I need to get food into her, stat.

“Are you sure you want to start judging me this early before I’ve even had my coffee?” she retorts with the sassy attitude that she’s been missing since we arrived.

“We could go down to the restaurant and have breakfast,” I suggest. Other than half of her poached salmon, I haven’t seen Olivia eat anything substantial since we left the mainland yesterday.

“I’m not hungry. Just tell me if the rest of the wine is in the fridge, or do I need to order more?”

“Babe, you know me.” I start, finding a packet of dry crackers in the welcome hamper next to bottles of water. “I can matchyou drink for drink—I have, I can, and I will. We’ll wake up tomorrow, deal with the hangover and do it again.” I hand over the water first, freeing my hands to open the crackers. “But I want you to at least match me bottle of water for bottle of water.”

“Since when did you become Mr. Sensible?” she scoffs but takes a swig from the bottle.

“Maybe because I’ve had more experience drinking to forget, and know how to balance it out.” I give her ayou know me, look and shrug, hoping self-deprecating humor might lighten the mood.

“Yep, that would be me.” She snaps, her voice brittle with frustration. “Can’t keep a man, and can’t even drink.”

“Liv!” I snap back, hoping she’s ready for tough love. “Will you just for a minute, pull your head in?” This isn’t the time of need to handle her with kid gloves. She used to be a lightweight drinker but she’s downed more in the last twenty-four hours than I’ve seen her drink in a week-long party. Her parents and friends trust me to look after her and I’m concerned. The crying in her sleep has me worried and I don’t know how much of her messed up head is Mitch’s doing or mine. Yes, Liv and I are friends, but what if I can’t put my own shit aside and help her?

What if me being here is doing more harm than good?Then, I’ll leave.

“Olivia Woodgrove. Get that beautiful ass out of bed. Come down to the beach. We’re going on a walk.”

“No. Go away. Leave me alone.”

“No alcohol. Yes to a walk.” I take the house phone from her hand and set it aside.

“No to a walk. You go. I don’t want you watching me as if I’m about to break. I need a minute. You need food. Go.”

“Just don’t order any booze until I get back, yeah?”

Deciding if I faint from hunger that I can’t help Liv, I head down to the restaurant and feel conspicuously single amongst allthe loved-up couples. The staff find me a small table overlooking one of the twenty-four spectacular beaches. Olivia picked the perfect place to start the rest of her life—and it still stings that I’m the one footing the bill. But, since it’s my credit card being swiped, I refuse to feel guilty.

“Anything else, sir?” The waiter asks as he tops up my coffee.

“My—“ I stumbled over what to call Olivia. She isn’t my partner or girlfriend.Companionsounds too cold andfriendsounds like we have something to hide. People who arejust friendsdon’t come to a place like this. “Ms. Woodgrove is not feeling well enough to join me for breakfast. Can I take something back to our room for her?”

Smooth-talking asshole, I think to myself. Calling herMs. Woodgrovewon’t fool anyone. But, if it gets food to Liv, then I’m willing to suck up feeling uncomfortable.

“Certainly, sir. What would Ms. Woodgrove like to eat?”

“I don’t know,” I admit. “How about you make of one serving of your three most popular breakfasts that women order, and I’ll see if I can tempt her with at least one.”

“Very good, sir.”

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