Never Got Over You -Whitney G. Page 0,54

to leave for so long, but I also knew that she would’ve talked me out of it, if she knew the truth.

I’d accepted a job on an oil rig to earn what I needed to propose to her—what I needed to secure starting our future together. The job was supposed to be offshore with plenty of cell and internet service, but the fine print left out the fact that the deal was only good for certain rigs. Mine wasn’t included. Still, though. At two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year, I calculated that two years was more than enough for me to start my own business and make a name for myself.

I was now armed with an engagement ring, borrowed time, and a puppy I’d named Blue. I’d barely slept the night before―waking up every half hour at the slightest rattle of the train tracks. I’d rehearsed my proposal so many times, that I could recite it backwards, in English and in French.

As I drove into town, I tried not to think about where we would go from here. All I needed was for Kate to say yes, and we could figure out the rest together.

I made my way to Edgewood Hotel and froze when I entered the lobby. The space was nearly unrecognizable. In place of the elegant, brown sitting chairs and dark, luxury couches, were rows of silver and white chairs. The high vaulted ceilings were adorned with flowy, white panels, and the usual red and pink rose arrangements that lined the columns were replaced with white lilies and baby’s breath.

“You should have seen this place a few hours ago,” the hotel clerk said as I approached. “Prettiest party that I’ve never been invited to.”

I laughed. “Let me guess, some filthy rich tourists just got married?”

“Ha! No, this was beyond rich-ass tourists.” He smiled. “This was just the pre-wedding party for their out of town guests. I can’t even fathom how over the top the wedding will be.”

I handed him my reservation confirmation. “Well, good to know that some things here are still the same.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged and handed me a pen. “The Kensington and Harrison families uniting their dynasties once and for all shouldn’t surprise anyone from here, I’m sure.”

“What?” I raised my eyebrow. “Who did you just say?”

“The Kensington and Harrison families ...” He arched his brow, then he picked up a copy of The Edgewood Times and handed it to me. “Kate Kensington and Grant Harrison are getting married.”

I heard his words, processed them slowly, but I didn’t believe anything until I saw them in print.

In the paper, under a large picture of Kate kissing Grant, was the truth.

We are pleased to formally announce the engagement of Grant Harrison, III and Kate Kensington.

The official party to celebrate the occasion will be held at the Edgewood Hotel and open to the public.

The wedding ceremony will be held, in private, at the Kensington Estate. We thank our friends, family, and Edgewood neighbors for their best wishes, and we look forward to building our future together.

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

I reread the words tons of times—hoping that I was stuck in some alternate form of reality. My blood was simmering and my heart felt like it was on fire.

“Would you like one room key or two, sir?” The clerk’s voice made me look up.

“Zero,” I said, stepping back. “I won’t be staying here.” I tucked the newspaper into my pocket and rushed to the exit doors.

I needed to fucking breathe.

I paced the sidewalk as my mind raced with questions. I knew there had to be some type of explanation for this shit, some grand reason why she would do this to me.

She didn’t even think to tell me ...

Needing to work off the steam, I decided not to hail a cab. I walked to the Kensington Estate, up the private and secret path Kate had shown me long ago.

I tried to think of the perfect words to say, but the only sentence that settled on my lips was, “Why the fuck are you marrying him?” Well, that and “Please tell me this is some type of joke.”

“Sir?” A white suited security guard approached me. “Sir, are you on the guest list for this wedding?”

“I should’ve been.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t have a name on the list, sir.” He pointed to the path. “Otherwise, I’ll have to call the cops.”

“I’m an old friend of Bernie’s,” I said, remembering her old security guard’s name.