CHAPTER EIGHTEEN #2
I stare in disbelief as her manicured hand curls around Bryce’s arm. “I missed you terribly, darling.”
Darling. Fucking darling.
Fiona floats over to Amanda, wrapping her in an embrace.
“Oh my gosh, this is wonderful! Having you here makes things so much more special!” She pulls back with a conspiratorial giggle.
“Honestly, Bryce has been miserable without you. Like, sulkier than usual, which I didn’t think was possible.
You’re the only one who can get him out of his infamous moods. ”
Wait. She’s the only one?
That’s when I spot it. The tic. Bryce’s whole body is rigid as a statue, and that finger of his is going absolutely berserk against his thigh —tap-tap-tap-tap-tap…
You should be nervous, you two-timing bastard.
“Your accommodations will be prepared post haste,” Nigel says, nodding to staff members.
“Just the single room for myself,” Reginald replies. “Miss Tenley will naturally be sharing Bryce’s room.”
Sharing Bryce’s room. The words stab straight through my ribcage, like a red-hot poker. The edges of my vision blur. Don’t cry.
“Certainly, sir. The staff will help you to your suite so you can freshen up from your travels.”
The crew jump into action as Nigel, ever the unflappable professional, redirects his attention. “Apologies, Mr. Sterling, but the rehearsal must proceed.”
Bryce’s dad claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Cigar lounge, when you’re finished here,” he says under his breath. “We have matters to discuss.” Then his expression brightens like someone flipped a switch. “What a splendid weekend this is going to be. ”
He extends his arm toward Amanda with old-school gallantry. “Amanda, darling, allow me to escort you to your accommodations.”
Just like that, they saunter off like they own the entire fucking planet.
“Will the wedding party kindly return to their designated positions?” Nigel calls out with renewed authority. “We shall resume from where we were interrupted.”
Bryce walks back to his spot without one goddamn look in my direction.
I feel wheezy and lean against the side of the ceremonial arch. I’m about to projectile vomit all over these beautiful flowers.
Bryce is a cheater. A lying, manipulative asshole. He used me.
I can’t believe I fell for his poor, tortured billionaire act.
All that bullshit about feeling trapped by his legacy, about never connecting with anybody before.
He knew I had a soft spot for underdogs, so he played me like a fucking virgin.
Made me think I was rescuing him, when really, I was his dirty fling—something spicy to sample in Mexico.
That’s how these people are trained from birth—to see everyone else as pawns in their twisted games.
How could I be so fucking naive?
Hot tears threaten behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.
“By law,” Nigel says, flipping a page on his clipboard, “you are required to declare that you know of no legal impediment to your marriage… ”
Hana whisper-gushes to me, “Isn’t it wonderful that Bryce’s fiancée made it after all? I literally cannot even with how perfect they are together!”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to vaporize the douchebag with my eyeballs. Who still. Has not. Looked. At me.
Hana’s motormouth keeps going. “Although, oh my gosh, this morning I was super worried there might not be a wedding with all the crazy prenup drama!”
That snaps me out of my homicidal thoughts about creative ways to murder lying billionaires.
“What prenup drama?” I cut her off, turning sharply.
Hana’s eyes light up. “Oh, well, Gavin’s lawyers couldn’t get all of Fiona’s legal team’s requests sorted out in time, so they’re just going to skip the prenup paperwork until after the wedding! Isn’t that romantic? I mean, in our world, that’s unheard of. It’s so beautifully trusting and brave!”
The world tilts sideways.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” flies out of my mouth like a volcanic eruption, and suddenly every eye in this ridiculous tent is staring. I don’t care. I’m already moving.
“You don’t have a prenup? Are you fucking kidding me?”
My brother’s face hardens. “Petra, we’re not discussing this here.”
“Like hell we’re not! Tell me it’s not true. Please tell me you’re not about to marry her without any legal protection.”
“It’s handled,” he says in his infuriatingly calm tone. “We’ll execute a postnuptial agreement after the ceremony. It’s a nonissue.”
“I’m aware of what a postnup is. That’s not romantic trust, Gavin—that’s Russian roulette! You’re the idiot loading the chamber! ”
“Enough. You’re embarrassing yourself,” he says in that big brother voice.
“Bro, you built your whole life from nothing—and now you’re gambling it all on someone you didn’t even know last Christmas? Are you out of your goddamn mind?”
Fiona gasps. “Petra, I understand it’s difficult for someone like you. But wealthy families handle these matters with more… nuance .”
“Someone like me? You mean the daughter of a woman who got stripped of everything by a man with a trust fund and a wandering dick?”
Gavin’s face darkens. “I said enough. This outburst is unacceptable. Apologize.”
“What’s unacceptable is allowing my brother to make the same stupid mistake that destroyed our family!”
The air crackles with tension. Bryce decides to enter the blast zone.
“Petra’s studying to become a lawyer,” he says. “I’m sure she understands prenups and asset protection better than—”
I spin on him so fast he flinches.
“Don’t you fucking dare! You don’t get to play knight in shining armor now, you lying piece of shit!”
He looks like I slapped him. Good.
“Pip, please…” His voice drops to a low whisper. “Don’t do this. You’re—”
“No. You can’t stand up for me after screwing me over.”
My brother’s attention jumps between us. “Hold on. Lawyer? Petra, what the hell is he talking about?”
Fiona releases a taunting laugh. “Oh my gosh, how priceless! The little dropout actually thinks she has what it takes for law school? Petra, angel, the legal field demands just a smidge more than a rebellious attitude and whatever tragic situation is happening with your makeup.”
I see red. My fists clench. My nails bite into my skin.
She takes a step toward me. “I thought we were past this, Petra. That you’d evolved beyond these destructive outbursts, but apparently you’re still the same impulsive, self-centered—”
“Fi,” Gavin snaps. “Stop.”
“No,” I say, trembling with rage. “Let her talk. Let her say what she really thinks. Because at least when she’s being a bitch, she’s not pretending.”
Gavin steps between us. “You need to leave, Petra. Go cool off.”
“Quit pretending to be my father! You’ve never asked what I want. You just see a mess to clean up.”
My voice gets stronger, more defiant with every word.
“I’m done being your perpetual disappointment. I don’t want your money, your charity, or your pity for how I live my life. I pity all of you. Living in this fake-ass world where love comes with a price tag and no one takes a shit unless it’s tax-deductible.”
“Out. Now, Petra.” Gavin’s voice has the finality of a judge’s gavel. “I’ve had it with you wrecking everything, when I’m trying to take care of this family.”
“Family? That’s fucking hilarious, Gavin. You traded family a long time ago so you could join these billionaire assholes.”
Nobody stops me when I turn on my heel. I’m so done with these rich pricks. They think their money can buy everything, but it will never buy me.
I walk away. Head high. And I don’t fucking look back.
** *
Here in the drawing room, the chandeliers shine overhead like interrogation lights, cold and unblinking. This is where it all began: me, out of my depth before I even knew it. Now it feels like a crime scene. The only thing missing is a chalk line around my heart.
I’m standing in my real clothes—ripped jeans, battered leather jacket, my combat boots still caked in beach sand—clutching the handle of my sad little taped-up suitcase like it’s the last honest thing left in this palace of lies.
A tear betrays me, slipping out before I even feel it coming. I swipe it away fast. God, I hate those sneaky little bastards.
I actually thought he’d come after me. That Bryce would burst out of the tent, grab my arm, and explain that Amanda being there was some kind of mistake. That I’m not just his dirty little secret.
It’s been over an hour, and the only thing that’s followed me is the sound of my pathetic sniffles echoing off these fancy walls.
Stupid. So fucking stupid.
I look up at the massive oil painting that’s been side-eyeing me from the moment I walked into this wealthy wasteland. Miss Muffy Von Cashmere glares down from her ornate frame, covered in pearls with that eternal, disapproving scowl.
“Enjoying the show, Lady Snootybottom?” I mutter. “You’ve been waiting to judge me ever since I arrived. So let’s hear it. Don’t hold back.”
Her painted eyes seem to narrow.
“Say what everyone else is thinking. I’m the family screw-up, the chaos monster, the walking disaster who ruins other people’s lives. ”
I press my fingers to my temples and suck in through my nose, attempting to stop the tears from flowing. It’s no use; they’re winning.
“A bartender with attitude and daddy issues doesn’t belong in a place like this. A guy like Bryce was always going to pick the blonde socialite.”
“ Ahem. ”
The noise slices into my self-pity like a guillotine.
I whirl around, nearly losing my balance. Nigel Featherwick stands in the doorway, composed as always. Miss Muffy II sits regally in his arms, her tiny black eyes sweeping over me with what feels like sympathy.
Great. Even the dog pities me. This is what you call rock bottom.
“Miss Brinkman, your departure arrangements are being finalized.”
And even my walk of shame gets the five-star treatment. Fucking fantastic.
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him with a soft click, then sets the dog down on the Persian rug. She starts sniffing around as if she’s conducting a security sweep.