Page 43 of The Bad Wedding Date

Her cheeks flamed red as she brushed the new dress down over her thighs when she stepped out of the bathroom.

“Does it look okay?” she asked.

“Mmhmm.” I nodded, not trusting my voice to make any other noise. Okay didn’t cover it. Her face, now natural, glowed, and the dress showed off her figure to perfection, making her light up in a way she probably thought hadn’t been possible.

“It’s not something I’d usually wear.”

You should be dressed up in the finest garments every day of your life, Charlotte.

We held eye contact for a moment too long, and something strange tugged at my heart, making me raise a hand over my chest to rub at it before I cleared my throat again and turned away to pick up my key card.

“We should get going.”

“Do you think my shoes will look okay with this?”

“You’ll look good no matter what you wear.”

Shit, I hadn’t meant to say that, but those thoughts were tripping out without restraint, and that’s what made everything about all this so dangerous now. I didn’t look at her when she subtly cleared her throat, instead making myself busy by closing the door behind us and walking down the corridor.

Once in the elevator, I tried to keep my eyes on the descending numbers, but I couldn’t help side-eyeing Charlotte, who seemed to be having the same problem. Our gazes kept meeting, only for one of us to look away quickly and pretend there had been nothing good to see. She was tipsy—had to be considering the amount she’d drank over the course of a few hours—but sober enough to not be stumbling around or slurring her words.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket.

Wade: Dean and Joey are in there now. They’ve got eyes on the crowd, so you’re free to stay focused on the girl. For such an important event, the security was shite. Good job you’re there.

He wasn’t lying about that. For people with such wealth, fame, and power, the few guys in black suits I’d seen around the edges of the room left a lot to be desired.They were probably vanity security, there to look the part instead of playing it and being of any use.

Me: How’s the hostage doing?

Wade: Asleep.

Me: Good

Once the doors pinged open, Charlotte and I made our way back to the main room. At first, nobody looked our way, and she tried to stalk over to a table in the far corner in the shadows, away from the lights. One shake of my head, and I had her walking in another direction. Apart from the small groan and eye roll, she didn’t resist.

Her and those damn eye rolls.

I picked two chairs at the edge of the dance floor and turned them to face each other before we sat down, not far away from where Emmie danced with her mother. It was also close enough for Mitchell Grant and Mayor Williamson to see that we hadn’t slipped out into the dark of the night as they’d probably hoped.

They hadn’t won, and they never would.

Mitchell was the first to double-take his daughter, and once his eyes settled on her, his smile came to life before he looked at me and gave me a nod of gratitude. I didn’t nod back. He could be as pleasant as he wanted, but as far as I was concerned, he was as much to blame for Charlotte’s bullies as the bullies themselves.

When Laurie Grant saw her daughter, she frowned in confusion before she grabbed Emmie’s arms and turned her away so she couldn’t see Charlotte’s new look. That brought a smirk to my face.

That’s right. Now you see how much prettier Cinderella is compared to the ugly sister.

“You look gorgeous,” I said to Charlotte, leaning in, resting my arm on the table between us.

“Thank you.” She blushed. “Where the hell did you get this dress from? Do you have a wife or girlfriend hiding up there that I don’t know about?”

“No wife. No girlfriend. Just a couple of female hostages. I told them to be quiet, though. I didn’t want them to make you feel uncomfortable for stealing their clothes.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, her makeup from earlier almost gone. She looked better without it—freer—and I imagined waking up next to that face on a fresh summer’s morning. I imagined her hair flowing free over a white pillow and the lazy smile she’d give when she turned my way and—

“Are you okay?” she asked, scowling. “Your face looks funny.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed. “Sorry. Just… thinking.”

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