Page 23 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
God.You’d think he was twenty-three with the way he spoke sometimes, not thirty-five. “It’s definitely your kind of wedding.”
“Wouldn’t have happened without ‘ya,” he said, his smile wide, but didn’t come close to meeting his eyes. “You’re a saint.”
My jaw ticked. “I haven’t paid for all of this foryou.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mom and Dad would be real proud,” he droned. “Anyway. Minor thing, we wanted to order masseuses for the next couple of days, y’know, limber up before we say I do, but front desk said they needed your approval since it's your card, so?—”
“I already told them no.”
He blinked at me, brown eyes swallowing the light whole. “What?”
“I’m not paying for that,” I said simply. “You want it? Charge your maintenance account like everything else. Or is that drained right now?”
His fake smile faltered.
I took a step backward away from him, rolling my eyes at his lack of an answer. “My girlfriend’s arriving separately,” I added. “You’ll be down a van from around four this afternoon, I’m sending someone to go get her from Cancun.”
His brows knit together. “You’re seeing someone?”
“She’ll be here for the party tonight,” I added, not daring to elaborate as I offered a fake smile back to him and turned toward the villas.
————
The bar inside the main lounge was all stonework, gold accents, and seashells, filled with the scent of orange blossoms and spiced rum. I stood near one of the open doorways that looked out over the ocean, drink in hand, collar loose, eyes trained on the front door while waiters in white jackets floated past with trays of ceviche and champagne.
Zach was back at the villa with Margot, sun-kissed and passed out after hours of pool games and mango smoothies. I’d kissed his damp curls post-shower before I’d left, whispered that I’d see him in the morning. He hadn’t even stirred.
Now it was just me and the hum or conversation around me, the performative laughter of new-money guests who had no idea who they were supposed to impress, so they tried anyone and everyone.
My phone buzzed in the pocket against my chest, and I slipped it out.
Sienna:
I’m outside. Just need two minutes to fix my makeup in the car.
I started typing back, but another one came through a second later.
Sienna:
Please tell me it looks less like a gaudy, dressed-up prom inside.
I snorted into my scotch.
Me:
It doesn’t.
Ryan was leaning against the bar across the room from me, chatting up a group of people with a bravado that could’ve swayed anyone who wasn’t me or Sienna. Lauren was draped over him, tucked into his side in a short little white dress with flowers in her hair, looking like she’d just stepped out of a bridal magazine shoot for rehearsal dinners with her glossy, pristine curls, and an artificial saccharine smile.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket. I wasn’t sure if I should expect chaos or angry indifference, but I was perfectly happy to deal with either.
I didn’t watch the door anymore. I watched Ryan.
And I could tell the second she walked through those doors without turning my head.
Ryan’s glass paused halfway to his mouth, his smirk dead, his gaze locked across the room like it was actively trying to murder him. He might’ve hidden the shocked agitation from those around him, but I knew him too well, knew his little tells — the way his jaw ticked near the hinge, the way his throat worked like someone had punched him square beneath the jaw.
Then Lauren looked up at him, saw what I saw, and followed his gaze like a hawk. Her eyes narrowed. Her mouth twitched. Her shoulders drew back like a snake before they struck.
