my sobriety and ingested a hit of LSD.
I laughed so hard my voice broke.
I felt delirious. “You’re a trip.”
“I’m dead serious, Anthony.”
“You’ve lost your marbles. You’re nuts if you think I’ll go for this white picket fence crap.”
“What you want has never been good for you.”
My body stiffened.
Then shock yielded to rage.
“You need a smack in the mouth. You don’t tell me what to do!” My fury boiled over as Vinn faced the mantel, picking up a framed photo of his toddler. “Wave the baby photos at me all you like. I don’t give a shit. I have zero interest in settling down.”
He smiled, and it softened his appearance. “Once you’re a father, that’ll change.”
Fucking moron.
I shook my head, smoldering. “I won’t do this.”
“You will.” Vinn shoved a peg board of headshots under my nose. “Pick one.”
My sight landed on the third woman. She sat on concrete steps, legs crossed at the ankles like a princess. A leather headband pushed back her dark hair. She was like a firefly, lighting the gloom with her delicate beauty. I stared into her eyes, and something shifted in my chest.
Something broke.
No.
Something threatened to ignite.
One
Evie
I’m grateful that my fiancé has good hygiene.
I’m grateful that my fiancé is tall.
I’m grateful that my fiancé is handsome.
The ink bled through the paper as I wracked my brain for a fourth virtue for my gratitude journal. Every day, I wrote five things for which I was grateful. The simple reason for this was that when the darkness inside me lightened so did the world outside.
Not today.
No amount of pretty thinking made this situation better because I was giving up on love. I’d said my goodbyes to the man I’d never meet or marry, the romance we wouldn’t share, the butterflies that’d never flutter, the passion that’d never ignite, and the children we’d never have.
What I liked about my fiancé, Tony Costa, was vanishingly small and mostly superficial. There wasn’t a single-fucking-quality about his character that I admired.
My soon-to-be husband did not inspire people.
He put the fear of God into them.
The hotel suite’s door opened, admitting an older guy with an easygoing vibe. I liked his smile. It was warm without being too friendly.
“This came for you, Miss Craine. Tony sent it.” He appeared at my elbow, sliding a tall glass filled with a golden liquid into my hands. “Prosecco from Italy.”
How thoughtful.
I had no clue about wines. The club gravitated toward beer and whiskey, and anything more than twenty dollars was considered a waste.
My throat pounded as I swiped the drink. I tipped it into my mouth, the bubbles snapping my tongue. I drank, unimpressed by the warmth fluttering my chest. It lacked the punch of straight vodka, my go-to this week when reality got too close for comfort.
“He’ll be along shortly to check on you.”
“Great.”
Christian stood behind me, brows furrowed. Perhaps the tone in my voice concerned him. “You have nothing to worry about, hon. Tony’s a standup guy.”
“Really?” I murmured, playing with my new phone. “Is that why he’s forcing me to marry him?”
“He’s not as bad as you think.”
“Again, not very comforting.”
Christian grabbed the empty flute. He studied the glass, a deep frown wrinkling his brow. His sympathy was wasted on me. I didn’t trust Christian.
I didn’t trust any of them.
A combination of emotional blackmail and threats had forced me to accept Tony’s proposal. Dad stole my life’s work and would’ve sold it for a pittance if I hadn’t said yes, which was how I ended up in front of a vanity wearing couture. A designer bag sat in my lap, the pillowed leather gliding over me like silk. The finest accessory I owned, apart from my jewelry. The pre-wedding gift held my phone programmed with one contact:
T
My thumb traced his number.
I hadn’t worked up the nerve to call him. I’d treated the last week as a vacation, relishing the pampering I never could’ve afforded on my own. My future husband’s people had extensively prepped me. They’d waxed every inch of me. They’d thrust my hands into hot baths and trimmed my cuticles. They’d conditioned my hair, exfoliated my skin, and painted my nails.
I’m grateful my fiancé takes care of me.
He’d spared no expense to make me his possession. My engagement ring was a gaudy diamond solitaire on a platinum setting. I’d studied it with my jeweler’s loupe and appraised it at ninety thousand dollars. I hated the damned thing. It looked ridiculous on my petite hand, but Tony hadn’t asked for feedback. He hadn’t