I’d always loved that about him—that he didn’t just defy stereotypes, he blew them out of the water.
“Come upstairs. I’ll lie down with you for a bit,” he says, his voice gentle. “We can talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you, and I won’t leave until you’re asleep.”
My heart warms for a moment, fullness filling my chest.
I was worried for nothing.
Overanalyzing for the sake of overanalyzing.
This man—Dorian Hawthorne—is going to be an amazing husband.
“I’ll be up in five,” I say before ending the call.
I glance over at the handsome divorce attorney and slide his card back. “Thanks for letting me vent. It was nice meeting you, Gabriel.”
“Good luck tomorrow, Olivia.”
His eyes linger on mine a moment longer, and then he turns his attention to the bartender, flagging him down and ordering another Boulevardier, and I return to my suite, where my fiancé is leaning against my door, beaming ear to ear when he sees me.
It’s in that moment, all those silly little doubts fade away.
Chapter 2
Gabriel
I’m on my third Boulevardier when the sound of some woman giggling in the corner behind me catches my attention. It’s been over an hour since the gorgeous blonde invaded my personal space—and personal life.
Though she’s long gone, I can still smell traces of her perfume. Sugar and citrus, sweet and bubbly. Fitting, I suppose.
I wish her luck. I do. But if she walks down that aisle tomorrow, she’s making the biggest mistake of her life. The asshole who gets to marry that woman might have all the money in the world, but he’s the one who’s marrying up, not her.
Obviously I hardly know Olivia, but in the short amount of time we spent together, I grew a bit fond of her company, and that’s saying a lot because I haven’t felt that way about anyone since before …
With wide, dark eyes, a fan of thick lashes, and a bubbly, if not too personable air about her, I found myself intrigued.
In a way, she reminded me of my old self. So full of life and wonderment. Ready to tackle her future head on and quiet the doubts that creep up on all of us at some point or another.
But her fiancé FaceTimed her.
And then she was gone.
Good luck, Olivia. And I mean that. A woman like her deserves true happiness and a man who loves her more than he could ever possibly love anything else in this world.
The giggling behind me grows louder before it dies down to a whisper, and when I turn to see what all the fuss is about, I spot a couple stumbling into the bar, arms wrapped around each other.
The bar is mostly empty, save for a middle-aged couple and the real-life porno people going at it in the corner, when in walks a man with a confident stride, his hand stroking his strong jaw as he scans the room like he’s looking for someone. There’s a familiar look to him that I can’t quite place, but I’m not about to sit here staring at him.
He takes a seat beside me and orders two drinks: one Manhattan and one Chardonnay, and then he checks his watch. He smells of old money and a fresh shower.
This guy’s definitely planning to get laid tonight.
The Chardonnay goes untouched for another minute, then another, and the man forces a hard breath through his nostrils before firing off a quick text.
“Women, am I right?” the man says.
I glance over to realize he’s talking to me.
“Twelve minutes,” he says, shaking his head. His phone buzzes and the screen lights with a new message. “Fannntastic. Ten more minutes because I have all day, Elizabeth.”
He chuffs before turning to me again.
“Sorry.” The guy waves his hand and he’s facing me now.
Good God.
It’s … Olivia’s fiancé.
I recognize him now from their little FaceTime session earlier this evening. And I distinctly remember him saying he’d lie with her until she fell asleep … and now here he is at the bar, meeting up with some girl named Elizabeth.
Everything around me flashes red, and my fist clenches around my drink. It’s almost gone, but I’m going to stretch it long enough to figure out what this asshat is trying to pull exactly.
Drawing in a calming breath, I decide this calls for a little motivational interviewing. As an attorney, I’m skilled in the art of asking all the right questions.
“So, you in town for business?” I ask, knowing damn well the answer is no.
“Nah. Getting married tomorrow.” He raps his knuckles on the polished bar top and then checks his phone.
“No kidding? I think I met your bride-to-be earlier.”
I watch the color drain from his face.
“Blonde? Chatty? Smells like lemonade?” I only add that last bit to fuck with him. “Thought she went back to her room to meet up with you?”