Page 67 of Be My Bride

Brett smirks. “You sure marrying her was an accident?”

“What?” I tear my eyes away from Asia. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve done a lot of stupid things with a lot of gullible women before, but you never went so far as to marry them.” He juts his chin out at Asia. “And you’ve never cared for those women, the way you do with her.”

“Are you asking if I’m in love with my wife?”

His lips twitch. “Are you?”

“I don’t want to hurt her.” I face the stunning view of the strip. “I’m not sure she understands what she just signed up for.”

“Just keep it as uncomplicated as you can. We can get what we need done in a month. Four weeks. That’s it. Quietly divorce and move on with your life.” He lifts a brow. “But keep the trips to the Vegas marriage chapels at a minimum. We can’t deal with any more viral wedding ceremonies, okay?”

I open my mouth to tell him off when my phone rings.

I pull it out of my pocket. Glance at the screen.

My body tenses. “Damn.”

“Who is it?”

I show him the name blaring across the screen. “It’s my mother.”

Seventeen

Asia

The first class section of a plane is… different. It’s strange to be here. At the front. With the wealthy people who can afford to spring extra for leg room and lobster.

I spent my life content at the back. Scrunched between a sweaty guy or a talkative grandma. Suffering when the person in front of me reclined their seat. Getting kicked in the back by a kid with too much energy.

It was fine.

Great.

Whatever.

It was what I could afford and I was content.

I never once looked up at the curtain that separated all the sections and wanted more. So sitting here with enough leg room to throw a frisbee, I’m wondering if I can ask to be exchanged.

Stewardess, I’d like my orange pumpkin and my Cinderella rags back, please.

Sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I want my scrunched leg room. And the sweaty guy pressed against my shoulder. And the kid kicking my chair in the back.

I’m comfortable there.

Life makes sense back there.

I might have my head in the clouds, but I’ve got my eyes wide open. What’s going on here is only temporary.

My clock strikes in thirty days.

One month.

After that, this will all disappear in a poof of pixie dust.

Hansley touches my wrist. “What's wrong?” His eyebrows pinch together. "Are you feeling nauseous?”

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