“Not if, when. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her to marry me. But I have to be honest, words aren’t working.”
“Ah. So…you’re plotting something underhanded? That’s something I’ve always admired about you, that talent to know when and how to be thoroughly unscrupulous.”
That makes me laugh. It sounds funny coming from upstanding Dan. But he’s not wrong. “I’m thinking truly down and dirty …”
“Tell me. I’ll see how I can help.”
Three days later
Perrie
My wedding is tomorrow and nothing is anything like I imagined. One by one, my college friends let me know they won’t be able to fly in last minute after all. They’re all too busy or broke. Turns out my high school friends and I don’t have that much in common anymore. Most are either still in college or think I’m crazy for settling down now. So no epic bachelorette party for me, which is actually fine. I’m not into exotic dancers or drunken party games. But my fiancé is still out of town. My dad has been conspicuously absent for hours. And Hayden is who knows where. I thought at least one of them would spend my last night as a single lady with me, but no.
I feel wretchedly alone.
That’s not precisely true. I have plenty of regrets to keep me company. They’re piling up and telling me that every choice I’ve made has been wrong.
My phone dings, interrupting that cheerful thought. I glance down to see a text from Derek.
Meetings all done. Everything went great. It’s not official yet, but I think Brayden and I nailed this account.
That’s great! I type back.
Sorry again I had to ditch out this week. Everything in place for the big show tomorrow?
My fingers hesitate over the screen. I’m so close to calling everything off. Of course, right after I got everything into place. I finally found a dress off the rack—with Hayden’s help. He’s been weirdly supportive the last couple of days. And as if he realized the error of opening his mouth, he’s been absolutely silent about marrying me after his impulsive proposal.
I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. I’ll press on and hope for the best, but I’m well beyond second thoughts. I’m on the billionth now.
Yes. Are you still okay with this wedding thing?
Of course! Don’t give up on me. I’ll be back. We got this.
Thanks.
Anything for you, darling. He sends a wink emoji with it.
With a faint smile, I darken my phone. Derek won’t let me down. He never has. I wish I could have fallen in love with him, at least a little.
Adding that to my pile of regrets, I pad barefooted to the liquor cabinet and pop open a bottle of red. The sound of vino sloshing into my empty glass is a sad one, but I drown it out by tossing back half the wine, then heading to the kitchen to find my last supper. After tomorrow, I’ll either be happy…or totally brokenhearted.
While I choke down some leftovers from last night’s roast chicken before I lose enthusiasm for food, I reach for my phone. It’s stupid and impulsive and likely to end in misery, but I tap out a message to Hayden.
What’s up?
No answer. When I mentioned something yesterday about maybe having a gathering tonight, he was oddly vague about his plans and changed the subject. Does he have a hot date? A hookup with a fuck buddy? Or is he just over me?
It’s a depressing thought.
With a sigh, I clean up my solitary dinner, plop onto the sofa, and stare into my nearly empty glass. While I contemplate pouring another, the doorbell rings. By the time I peer out the peephole, I see a driver climbing back in his van and driving away.
I open the door and find a bouquet of flowers on the porch, a colorful profusion of gardenias, pink lilies, cabbage roses, and orchids. It’s huge and breathtaking.
Who sent this?
I don’t know but I find myself smiling as I carry the flowers into the living room and root around for the card. I pull it free from its envelope and find three simple words.
Smell me now
Automatically, I comply. The beautifully dizzying scents swirl in my head and make me desperate to know who had them delivered to me. The card isn’t signed. Derek wouldn’t send me flowers; I know that. In fact, I can only think of one person who might have.
Hayden.
That possibility ricochets through my head as the doorbell rings again. I reach the peephole in time to see a local courier drop off a bag from a liquor store. When I retrieve it and peek inside, I spy a bottle of very swanky champagne. There’s an attached card with another three-word instruction.
Chill me now
Beside that, I find a plain white oblong box with another unsigned note.
Don’t open me