Chapter 1 The Proposal
CHAPTER ONE
THE PROPOSAL
ASHA
The bartender slides two tequilas across the polished mahogany just as his laugh cuts through the reception chatter. Deep. Smug. Unmistakable. I don't look.
"You okay?" Sydney bumps my shoulder.
"Peachy." I wrap my fingers around the shot glass.
"Liar." She follows my gaze in the bar mirror to where Trigger holds court with a cluster of guests. "I know this week is...complicated."
"Seven days, Syd. Seven days to either propose to that asshole or lose everything." I throw back the shot, welcoming the burn.
She shifts uncomfortably. "Have you talked to your dad about it? Maybe there's another way—"
"My dad?" I laugh bitterly. "You mean the man who wasn't even going to tell me about the lease? Who only came clean because I showed up with Laney, who needed an internship. I knew he wouldn't turn me away, because she was a student at Louisville."
"Asha—"
"No, seriously. Every time I came home…Louisville, the racetracks, random business trips.
He made sure I was never actually at the ranch, and I went along with it because I loved him.
Because I trusted him. Sixty years, a year for every acre, and it all goes back to the Hales. My mom's legacy…gone."
Sydney's face is carefully neutral. She knows my relationship with my father has been strained; she just doesn't know the depth. "Maybe he was trying to protect you."
"From what? The truth?" I signal the bartender for another round, as the sight of my father laughing across the bar grates on my nerves.
How can he laugh when we're on the verge of losing something so important to my mother?
"I've been planning my whole life around that ranch.
Vet school, the horses, the business. Now I don't even know what I want anymore. "
She's quiet for a long moment, fingers tight around her glass. "What are you going to do?"
"About the ranch? Or about him?" I nod toward where Trigger is now looking our way, that infuriating smirk on his face.
"Either. Both."
The DJ's voice booms across the reception hall before I can answer. "Alright, alright, do I have all my single ladies on the dance floor? Come on, don't be shy…"
I close my eyes. Great, now this.
"That includes you, ladies!" Laney's voice rings out, and suddenly, my best friend is at my elbow, radiant in white lace and tulle, eyes sparkling with champagne and happiness. "Come on! Maybe you'll catch it."
Maybe I don't want to catch it. Maybe I want to run for the hills and never look back.
But Laney is linking her arms through ours, and I'm sure if Trigger wasn't watching me before, I know he is now.
I can feel his gaze like a brand between my shoulder blades.
There's no way I can back out now. If I did, he'd know I cared about what he thought, and that would give away too much.
Caring is a weakness. Caring gets you exploited.
The bartender does me a solid and quickly passes me the second shot I ordered. I toss it back and let the liquid courage settle hot in my chest.
"Let's do it," I say, forcing fake glee into my voice. I'm happy for my best friend—I am—but that doesn't mean I want to catch a bouquet.
She just married a Hale. Laney knows exactly what position I'm in. Hell, part of me thinks she might throw the bouquet right at me just to speed things along.
Laney was one of the first people I’d trusted in years.
Maybe because I saw something broken in her, something familiar.
Or maybe it was just the kindness she showed when I walked into class, soaked through, muddy boots tracking dirt everywhere, no supplies.
I sat beside her and asked to borrow a pen.
She gave me a genuine smile without an ounce of pity.
We were fast friends after that. She's also how I gained my bonus best friend, Sydney.
They were kind of a package deal since they grew up together.
Now, I have not one but two best friends.
That title is not one I give easily. Everyone I've ever known has betrayed me somehow—even the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally.
But I let Laney in because I saw that same wariness in her eyes, that same careful distance.
She knew what it was like to build walls.
And now she's married. Not just to anyone, but to his brother. The brother of my enemy.
I don't feel betrayed, not exactly. Laney didn't do this to hurt me, but that's almost worse.
It proves why I'm content being a one-woman show, single for life.
Even when people don't mean to leave, they still do.
They find someone else, and you're left on the outside looking in.
This loss just hits different because of the name now attached to hers.
She pulls us onto the dance floor and positions us right where she wants us before looking toward the head table, where her bouquet sits in waiting. "Don't move. Stay right here," she instructs.
"Yes, Mom," I tease.
Her eyes flash up to mine, and she smiles big. "I'm serious. This is serious. You have one week and—"
"Don't worry about me," I say. "This is your night.
"Tick tock, Mrs. Hale. It's time to toss that bouquet," the DJ announces, and for once tonight, I'm glad for one of his interruptions.
"You know she's going to nail you in the face with those flowers, right?" Sydney deadpans.
"Yep. And I'll use you as a human shield."
Laney glides to the table to grab her flowers, and I smooth my dress, suddenly hyperaware of every eye in the room. My heart begins to accelerate with the knowledge that another set of eyes is keenly tuned to my every move, and I can't help but wonder if he's praying I don't catch the bouquet.
Laney turns around, her veil floating around her shoulders, bouquet raised high above her head. "Ready, ladies?"
I'm suddenly a ball of nerves, my palms sweating, my breath coming too fast. This is ridiculous.
It's just a stupid tradition. It doesn't mean anything, but I can't help but feel like my fate and the future of my mother's land lies somewhere in the knotted lace holding her bouquet of sunflowers together.
"One...two...THREE!"
Laney launches the bouquet backward with all the enthusiasm of a major league pitcher and immediately overthrows it.
I watch in slow motion as the bundle of sunflowers and white daisies sail over my head, over the reaching hands of every woman on the dance floor, tumbling end over end through the air.
Then, because fate loves a good joke at my expense, it nails Trigger Hale directly in the chest.
He catches it on reflex, and for one suspended moment, the entire reception hall goes silent.
My body goes cold before every nerve catches fire.
Unbelievable. Though, really, I should have seen this coming.
Because why wouldn't the universe decide that even this, a stupid bouquet toss at my best friend's wedding, has to somehow involve him?
Everyone's now staring at him, but his eyes are only on me.
My face heats, but not from anger, from something else, something I've tried hard to keep tucked away.
But that gaze…it's a dark storm that's always had the ability to see too much, remember too much.
The DJ's voice crackles over the speakers, dripping with amusement. "Well, folks, it looks like we just found our groom!"
The entire reception breaks out in laughter, and my feet are cutting across the dance floor before I can fully think through my next move.
I'm suddenly too visible. Eyes bore into me from every direction, and it feels like they are all connecting dots they have no business connecting, as if they all know about the impossible choice I have to make and how it all comes back to this man and his arrogant, blasé indifference to my misfortune.
"Trigg, what the hell? Are you trying to cause a scene?
A single woman is supposed to catch the bouquet.
" The words come out sharp, and my irritation almost falters the moment his cologne hits me.
That damn scent, the same one that I once found comfort and safety in, the one that made me foolish enough to think he might be different.
A subtle tick pulses in his jaw before he says, "I'm not sure how I'm the one causing a scene. I'm practically at the back of the room. The flowers hit me. I wasn't diving across the floor to get them, but since they're so important to you…" He extends his hand holding the bouquet. "Take them."
It's not a suggestion. It's a challenge.
"You know what these represent, right?" I question with false patience, tossing the weight of the gesture back in his lap.
"I do," he answers.
Just that. Two words. No explanation, no elaboration. Like he's deliberately keeping me in the dark, watching to see how I'll react.
I hesitantly take the flowers from his grip and focus on keeping my hand steady as my heart thunders against my ribs, so loud I'm sure he can hear it. Is this a game to him? Another way to twist the knife?
"Are you proposing?" I arch an eyebrow, my voice dripping with sarcasm even as my heart hammers traitorously in my chest. Two can play at whatever game he's started.
"Am I?" He tilts his head to the side, and there's something in his eyes I can't read.
I thought I could swallow my pride. I thought I could pretend, but I can't. I refuse to be his entertainment for the evening.
"Whatever." I push the flowers back against his chest, harder than necessary.
His expression shifts, and something reminiscent of regret seems to appear, but it's gone before I can be sure. He's always been so damn good at hiding. I step around him, needing distance, needing air, but his hand darts out and captures my wrist. Not rough, but firm. Deliberate.
"Wait. Do you want me to?"