Chapter 33
Carly
I wake up feeling like someone has let a marching band rehearse inside my skull.
The room is too bright, my mouth tastes like regret and vomit and tequila, and every time I move too fast, my stomach threatens to bring up acid. For one long, miserable second, I keep my eyes closed and try to remember how I got home.
Then it comes back in pieces.
Sticky bathroom tile.
A girl whose name I never properly caught crouched beside me.
My phone in my hand.
Grayson.
A soft groan slips out of me as I drag a pillow over my face. I want to die. Except I can’t die today because today is the wedding.
I drop the pillow and stare up at the ceiling, willing myself not to throw up again just from the thought of putting on makeup and pretending to be a person.
I vaguely remember Grayson getting me into the house last night.
I remember cool water against my lips, his hand steady at the back of my neck, his voice more tense than usual, telling me to take another sip.
After that, everything gets fuzzy.
When I finally manage to dress myself in the dark red dress he’d bought me a couple of weeks ago and get down the stairs with my heels in hand, aiming for the kitchen for a coffee before we have to go, I find him in the living room.
He’s dressed in a dark grey suit, his white shirt buttoned to the collar, dark red tie to match my dress and clean-shaven. His salt-and-pepper hair is perfectly in place, and my god, he looks like he walked out of every fantasy I’ve ever had.
But when he glances at me, there’s no comment about my dress, there’s no little smirk, no checking how I’m feeling this morning. He just looks away.
That… doesn't feel right.
“Morning,” I say carefully, stepping past him toward the kitchen.
“Morning.”
That’s it.
I pause, standing there with my headache and my dry mouth and my sudden, creeping unease while he lifts his phone to his ear and speaks tightly with who I can only assume is Halsey, asking her how Penelope was last night and telling her when he can pick her up tomorrow morning.
He has to be irritated about last night. I got too drunk. I made a mess of myself. He had to come get me. He’s probably embarrassed, or annoyed, or both.
It’s the only explanation.
* * *
The church is beautiful in that aggressively tasteful Colorado way — stone walls, dark polished wood, huge flower arrangements that cost more than I know Aaron or Sarah can afford.
Everything smells like roses and expensive candles, and as people murmur and shuffle into pews, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other without wincing at every sound.
Grayson keeps a hand on my back as we walk in, the perfect attentive boyfriend for anyone who happens to be watching despite barely talking to me since he insisted we drive separately in case Halsey kicks up a fuss about keeping Penny for another night.
He even leans down once to ask if I need water.
To everyone else, it probably looks sweet. To me, it feels rehearsed.
We sit, and I smooth my dress over my knees just to have something to do with my hands. The organ music drifts through the church. Somewhere up front, one of Aaron’s relatives laughs too loudly.
“Are you okay?” I whisper, looking up at Gray’s tense jaw.
He keeps his eyes forward, but his hand still holds mine. “Fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
That makes him look at me at last, and there’s something shuttered in his face that makes my stomach dip. “Let’s just get through this,” he says quietly. “That’s what you want, right?”
I blink at him.
What?
Before I can ask what the hell that means, movement at the front of the church pulls everyone’s attention up. Aaron appears in his suit, grinning and smug, and Grayson releases my hand, his arm settling along the back of the pew behind me.
I tell myself again that he’s just upset about last night.
I tell myself we’ll talk after.
I tell myself a lot of things.
By the time the ceremony ends and everyone migrates over to the reception venue, my headache has receded just enough to let anxiety take center stage.
The reception is all soft lighting and champagne and too many round tables dressed in white linen. A live band plays something jazzy in the corner, and waiters glide around with trays of drinks I don’t even want to look at.
I stick to water.
Grayson acts too normal. He keeps close, touching my waist, glances down at me when he speaks to someone who knows exactly who he is, smiles at all the right moments. Anyone watching us would think we’re disgustingly happy.
By the time we’re standing near the edge of the room while people drift toward the dance floor, I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I turn to him. “Can you stop?”
His gaze drops to me. “Stop what?”
“Acting like everything’s fine when it clearly isn’t.” I lower my voice. “If you’re mad at me about last night, just say that.”
For a second, something dark flashes across his face. “You think this is about you getting drunk?”
I stare at him. “Isn’t it?”
He lets out a short laugh with absolutely no humor in it. “Jesus Christ, Carly.”
I blink at him, immediately on high alert, my back stiff and a chill running down my spine. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He looks out over the room for a moment, his jaw tensing, like he’s trying to decide whether to do this here. “I saw your phone last night,” he says, his tone flat and quiet.
My entire body goes still. “What?”
“In the car. On the way home.” His eyes cut back to mine. “A text came through. About your apartment.”
I just stare at him, my brain taking one sluggish second too long to catch up. I saw that text this morning. I didn’t even consider that it had come through when I was passed out in his car.
Fuck.
“Gray—”
“You signed a lease.” It’s not a question. “You’re moving out.”
I open my mouth, but he’s already going.
“What, exactly, was your plan? Were you waiting until after today? After the wedding? After you got what you needed from me?”
The words hit so hard I actually rock back half a step. “That isn’t—”
“No?” His voice stays quiet, but it’s worse that way. It’s sharper, colder. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks pretty fucking clear. You needed somewhere to stay. You needed a date for this. You got both. Congratulations.”
Heat flames up my face and neck. “That’s not what it was, Gray.”
“Really?” he says. “It seems like you had your exit planned the whole time.”
“That was from before—”
“Before what?” His gaze pins me where I stand. “Before you started sleeping with me?”
My throat closes, my hangover-addled mind struggling to keep up with this. My eyes burn, my chest feels heavy, and god, we’re in the middle of a sea of people I hate, and everything is wrong. “Can we please not do this here?” I croak.
“You’d prefer later? More private? Don’t want them to hear?”
“I’d prefer you not stand here acting like I conned you into this.” My voice shakes despite my best efforts. “I didn’t. And you won’t let me explain.”
“Do you still love him?”
A bitter laugh crawls up my throat, cracking and wrong. “What?”
“Last night.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “You got that drunk at his fiancée’s bachelorette party. Why, Carly? Because watching him marry someone else is harder than you expected?”
It takes me a second to process that he has actually said that to me. “Are you actually asking me that?”
“Answer me.”
“No,” I choke. “I don’t feel anything toward him anymore. I barely even loved him to begin with, in comparison.”
“Sure.”
That one word lands with all the force of a slap.
Before I can even decide whether I’m more furious or hurt, a familiar voice cuts in from just behind Grayson.
“Wow. Trouble in paradise?”
Aaron. My stomach sinks right through the floor. Of course. Of course he overheard.
He’s halfway past us, drink in hand, expression twisted, half a grin plastered to his face like this is somehow disgusting and endearing at the same time. “It’s all right, babe. Maybe date someone more in your league next time.”
The change in Grayson is instant. His whole body goes rigid. His face goes red, furious red, his hands tightening into fists, and for one terrifying second I think he is genuinely going to hit the groom in the middle of the reception.
“Gray,” I hiss.
Aaron gives a mocking little shrug. “She always did love punching above her weight. Take it as a compliment, Grayson.”
I grab Gray’s wrist with both hands before his body can fully lunge forward.
“No,” I say, voice tight and breathless and mortified all at once. “Absolutely not.”
He’s still staring Aaron down like murder is a very real option.
“Hallway,” I bite out, tugging harder, forcing my upset to go neutral for at least the next thirty seconds. “Now.”
Reluctantly, he lets me drag him out of the reception room and into the quieter corridor of the hotel. The second the door swings shut behind us, I let go of him and whirl around.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I rasp, trying to keep my voice low.
His chest is rising hard, anger still rolling off him in waves. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Do you understand how humiliating this is? You just insinuated that I’m still in fucking love with Aaron in front of him!”
His jaw tightens. “Then tell me I’m wrong.”
“I am telling you that, Grayson.” My voice cracks. “You’re wrong. What else can I do?”
“Then why sign the lease?”
I stare at him, breathing hard, and for a second I hate that he doesn’t already know the answer.
I hate that after everything, after months of this becoming real, he could think so little of me.
“It's not what you think,” I say, my voice cracking as I watch the walls start to go back up, watch his face turn to steel. “I had a plan to move out, yes, but—”
“Jesus Christ. I'm done.”
I blink at him. “You won't even hear the rest of what I have to say!”
“I've heard enough.”
“No, you haven’t—”
“You were going to leave me, and you were going to leave Pen.” His voice turns rougher now, more wounded than angry, which somehow hurts worse. “You had it planned.”
“I didn't want to,” I choke, damp and raw, humiliation making my cheeks damp. “I didn’t use you—”
“I can’t—I can’t do this right now,” he says, his head shaking, his gaze turning away from me. His expression hardens like I’ve confirmed every worst thought in his head.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. “Grayson, please—”
He steps back. Just one step, but it feels like the floor gives out under me.
And then he turns and walks away.