CHAPTER THREE #2
Another polite golf clap from the room. The groan that escapes me is so loud, it ricochets down the hallway. Gavin shoots me a warning glare.
“And now I have a huge surprise!” she trills. “Gavin, dearest, come on up. My perfect fiancé. Where are you, my little venture capitalist?”
A titter of laughter from the ballroom.
He points at me sharply. “Stay here.”
“Yeah, no. I’ve had enough of… whatever this is. I gotta get to work.”
“Stay,” he commands like I’m a disobedient bulldog .
I’m ready to argue, but he returns to the ballroom. The door clicks shut, and suddenly the hallway feels incredibly intimate.
Now it’s just me.
And Bryce.
Holy crap, he’s close.
So close I can feel his breath on my face. Last time we were this cozy was that night in my bedroom when…
Oh, hell no. Don’t even think about dusting off “Petra’s Most Mortifying Moments” playlist. He probably doesn’t remember. Billionaires like him have a built-in memory eraser for stuff like that—like blocking out a tax audit or the trauma of slumming it on someone else’s jet.
Or maybe he does remember. Maybe he’s thinking about it. What if he wants me to reach out and… Snap out of it, brain! In case you’ve forgotten, he has a girlfriend. A live-in, long-term, joint-bank-account kind of girlfriend. So, keep your fantasies at bay and your hands to yourself.
I’m about to spiral further when Bryce speaks. “Where do you work?”
“Why do you ask? Jealous I’m giving my loyalty to someone else?”
“Maybe you’re selling company secrets,” he says dryly.
“Don’t sweat it, B. My customers are usually too drunk to find their own shoes, let alone steal IPO insider tips.”
One of his eyebrows lifts so subtly, it’s almost imperceptible. Which, from Bryce, is basically him flashing his underwear on a parade float.
“So you’re a bartender.”
“Yup, at the Broken Bottle on Sunset in Hollywood. Come by sometime. First round’s on you. ”
“Isn’t that a dangerous part of town?”
“Awww. You worried about me? Don’t be. I can take care of myself, Moneybags.
I’ve got a right hook and a taser if customers get too frisky.
” I angle my head, studying him. “Why aren’t you back at the party?
You don’t have to hide here in the cheap seats with the staff.
You’re allowed to be with the beautiful people. ”
“Someone needs to keep tabs on you,” he says, his face so serious, I can’t tell if he’s joking.
“Don’t wanna leave the wild child unattended?”
He doesn’t deny it. Sooo, not joking.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
There it is—that quiet, persistent tapping of his finger against his thigh. It’s Bryce’s tell, the little sign that he’s feeling uncomfortable.
And it’s the reality check I need.
Seriously, Petra. You’ve moved on from this fantasy, remember?
I force myself to turn and gape through the ballroom peephole again.
Fiona, is front and center, owning the stage with those platinum blonde curls that cascade down her back.
Her skin’s glowing like she’s been rolling around in diamond dust and the souls of the damned.
And that floor-length dress? Champagne-colored and hugging curves that were definitely purchased with Daddy’s credit card.
By her side, Gavin is her shiny accessory—tall, handsome, and imposing.
They look perfect together. It’s disgusting.
Fiona grabs Gavin’s hand, and even from this distance, I see the flash of her engagement ring.
That diamond ?
Ten. Freaking. Carats.
Her ring was the final nail in the coffin, sealing my brother’s fate to the dark side. The second I saw that rock, I knew—he was a goner.
“As you all know,” Fiona coos into the microphone, “Gavin and I are getting married in a few months. But oh, we have the most fabulous surprise! We’ve been invited to say ‘I do’ at the utterly exclusive Casa Cashmere estate in Mexico!
So, we’re moving the wedding up to next week! We jet off tomorrow!”
The crowd erupts in gasps and excited murmurs. “Casa Cashmere?” several voices exclaim in unison, like Fiona just announced they’re getting married on the moon.
But what catches my attention isn’t the audience’s reaction—it’s my brother’s face. For a split second, shock takes over his usually controlled expression.
I have no freaking clue what a Casa Cashmere is, but it’s obvious he’s not happy about it.
***
I’m getting full-body hives.
Gavin dragged me into this Sitting Room of Doom after Fiona dropped her surprise wedding timeline bomb.
I’m standing in the corner, trying not to breathe on the many things that look like they came from the Vatican.
I can’t even with this wallpaper—some antique monstrosity featuring…
Constipated cherubs? Riding narwhals? Through clouds made of… dollar signs?
Rich people are so weird.
I count exactly seventeen ornate vases in this room. Breaking one would bankrupt me so fast, I’d have to auction off both kidneys, sell my eggs to science, work triple shifts at the bar, and still offer hand jobs on the side to make payments.
I scan my leather jacket for tiny red dots. Phew—so far, not marked for death by snipers. Though honestly, I’m not sure what worries me more: getting shot for standing here or staining this fancy rug with my blood.
My plan was simple: Deliver the cufflinks. Avoid Fiona. Get out.
Instead, I’m watching my brother and his fiancée in full soap opera mode, staging their little “discussion” about the sudden wedding acceleration.
“I thought you’d be happy, Gav-Gav,” Fiona says with a breathy little pout. “This is my dream . I’ve always wanted to get married at Casa Cashmere.”
He exhales, slow and measured. “It’s just… sudden.”
“I got so excited when they had a cancellation,” she says, eyes watering. “It’s fine. I already told them yes, but we can keep the original wedding date.”
I have to hand it to her—there’s a reason she was voted most dramatic in our senior class.
“Daddy will fix it. Cancel the helicopter parade and the underwater drone photographer. Tell the sand sommelier that we won’t be needing a curated barefoot walking experience. And I’m sure the bioluminescent jellyfish wrangler can release them back into the ocean.”
“I didn’t say no, Fi. This is… a big change. We need to talk it out. You know how important the next two weeks are for the company. We timed the wedding for after Heartvest goes public so I could focus on us.”
He pulls her close, and she nuzzles his chest. Nuzzles. I might vomit into the nearest vase.
To the outside world, Fiona is the walking definition of flawless.
But I know better. I know the truth behind the sparkle. I know the REAL Fiona.
The one who told our entire class I had chlamydia— CHLAMYDIA —and then passed out “Petra Protection Packs” with condoms and pamphlets like I was the poster child for abstinence.
Never in a million years did I think I’d have to endure Fiona Whitfield again.
Much less have her join my family.
“Fi, I want to give you everything your heart desires, but this one might not be possible. A wedding in one week is a big lift.”
“Don’t you think it would be amazing ?“ she purrs. “Eight whole days celebrating us. Our love. With our closest friends.” She waggles her eyebrows. “I’m already picturing you in that little blue Speedo.”
“Okay, can I leave now?” I ask, raising a hand. “Or do I have to stick around and watch you two mate ?”
“Petra, come say hello to Fiona.”
Oh, this sneaky bastard. That’s why he made me stay in this museum of ugly expensive crap. He knows I’ve been avoiding her since they started dating.
“Petra!” Fiona gasps. Before I can dodge, she’s wrapped me in a tight perfume-clouded hug. “Oh my gosh, I forgot you were here! Your brother… He makes me melt. Like ugh , how did I get so lucky?”
“Not sure. I’m guessing hypnosis or CIA-level blackmail . ”
“It is wonderful to see you!” she gushes, finally letting go. She holds me at arm’s length, scanning my outfit. “Look at this… creative ensemble. So brave to wear that to a formal event.”
“Thanks,” I deadpan. “I was going for ‘woman who’d rather be anywhere else.’”
Gavin clears his throat.
“Fiona’s been looking forward to catching up,” he says.
I snort. “Really? Because you’ve been engaged for six months, and this is literally our first conversation.”
“That’s my fault,” she says, pressing a hand to her heart like she’s pledging allegiance to the flag of bullshit.
“I’ve been inundated with wedding planning and my charity work, but that’s no excuse.
” Fiona’s voice drips with manufactured concern.
“Petra, I know we had our differences in high school, but I’ve forgiven you—and I hope one day you’ll—”
“Disappear?” I smile sweetly. “Same.”
Fiona chuckles—a tinkling, practiced sound. “You always made me laugh.”
“Aw. That’s the nicest way I’ve ever been called a punchline.”
“I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to be marrying your brother. He’s the love of my life. And that means you’re… well, you’re part of that too.”
I tilt my head. “Right. Like that sprig of rosemary on your dinner plate—technically food, but everyone knows it’s pointless and should be ignored.”
“I sense you’re skeptical, but I’ve changed. I’m not that girl anymore. More than anything, I’d like us to be friends.”
“Friends? You’re kidding, right? You switched my senior yearbook quote to ‘Live. Laugh. Lube.’ You announced over the morning intercom that my hair was ‘bravely resisting shampoo.’ Don’t even get me started when you told the school counselor I—”
“That’s enough.” Gavin’s voice drops an octave, signaling his warning. “Fiona has apologized—more than once. I want you two to get along. You’re both my girls.”
“Ooh, I have the most wonderful idea! We should do a spa day—getting pampered with gold-leaf manicures, sake baths, stem cell facial treatments, and some deep tissue bonding.”
“Great idea,” Gavin says, kissing her temple. “You’re incredible. Always thinking of others.”
Yeah, she’s a real patron saint of passive-aggressive revenge.