Chapter 10
TEN
Where are you?
Staring at Allister’s text, I feel my shoulders go stiff. Dinner was an absolute nightmare. Sitting next to him, pretending that I’m still oblivious to the fact that he’s sleeping with my cousin, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.
Are you sure that’s what made dinner a nightmare, Millie?
Looking up from my phone, I can see Allister through the dark tinted glass of the limo, standing on the sidewalk a few yards from where I’m sitting, watching his phone screen like he’s waiting for my reply.
You’re not sitting, Millie.
You’re hiding.
You’re hiding from that slimeball when what you should be doing is confronting him. Maybe even scratching his eyes out on a public street.
A few feet away from where Allister is standing, I can see Paige.
She’s wrapped around Dean’s arm like a boa constrictor.
Using her hold on him, she pulls him down to whisper something in his ear that flattens the curve of his mouth in irritation.
Looking around, he spots my father standing off to the side, near the valet booth.
Pulling his arm loose, Dean walks up to him, a friendly smile on his face, arm extended in an offered handshake.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he actually has manners.
The phone in my hand lets out a ding and I look down to see another text from Allister.
Allister: I know you’re reading my texts. Your receipts are on.
Another ding.
Allister: You turned off your location.
Another ding.
Allister: First that ridiculous dress and now you just disappear from our rehearsal dinner? What’s gotten into you?
Another ding.
Allister: Millie, you’re starting to worry me.
I bet.
Tapping out a quick reply, I hit send.
Me: No need to worry, darling. I’m at the Hawthorne.
When he reads my reply, Allister frowns.
Allister: The Hawthorne? What are you doing there?
Me: I reserved the bridal suite for the weekend, remember? We talked about it. I’m going to stay at the hotel for the next few nights rather than at the apartment. I want our wedding night to be special.
I watch him continue to frown at his phone.
We didn’t talk about anything. While I did reserve the bridal suite and I planned on using it to get ready for the ceremony on Sunday, I didn’t plan on sleeping there.
Not until about fifteen minutes ago when we started to leave the restaurant, and I realized that there was no way in hell I’d be able to spend the next thirty-six hours with him, knowing what I know.
Allister: Of course. I remember now. Are you sure you’re okay?
Me: Positive, darling. I’m going to unplug and relax. Maybe get a massage. Planning the wedding has been stressful for us both. I want to be perfectly refreshed when I meet you at the altar on Sunday.
Hitting send, I look up to watch Allister read it. When he sees what I’ve written, his shoulders relax and he gives his phone screen a smug smile.
Allister: That sounds like a good idea. You deserve some rest and relaxation before your big day.
Unable to resist, I type out what I was too much of a coward to say out loud earlier.
Me: Our.
Allister: Excuse me?
Me: Our big day.
Allister: Of course. That’s what I meant. I can’t wait to marry you. I love you, Millie.
Me: I’ll see you Sunday.
Allister: Please turn your location back on so I won’t worry.
Turn my location back on so you can be sure I’m not going to sneak up on you while you roll around with my cousin in our bed is more like it.
Before I can come up with a plausible lie as to why I can’t do what he’s asking, the rear door of the limo flies open and someone is practically shoved inside.
Not just someone.
Dean.
As soon as the door slams shut in his face, he slumps against the seat on a defeated sigh, head falling back on his shoulders to hit the back window with a dull thud.
“Shit.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
As soon as he hears my voice, Dean’s head jerks up, his gaze aimed right at me across the dark interior of the car.
“Jesus Christ,” he groans, letting his head fall back again in obvious frustration before it pops back up to glare at me. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“This is my limo, Dean,” I tell him coolly, his tone shaving several degrees off of mine even though this isn’t my limo specifically. It’s my father’s. “The question is, what the fuck are you doing in here.”
Dean barks out a laugh while the driver climbs into the front seat and starts the car. “Are my ears deceiving me? Did Proper Princess Millie just drop the F-bomb?”
When he says it, my cheeks heat with embarrassment.
I never swear. At least not out loud and it bothers me that someone like Dean knows me well enough to notice.
Glad the interior of the car is too dark for him to tell, I turn toward the window while Burt pulls away from the curb and pushes his way into traffic. “Go to hell.”
Dean laughs again. “Don’t you mean fuck off?”
Before I can answer him or maybe just open the car door and shove him into traffic, the glass partition that separates the front of the limo from the back, slides down.
“Where—” When he sees me sitting just a few inches away from him, the driver instantly straightens in his seat.
“My apologies Ms. Blackwell,” he says, his tone suddenly formal. “Didn’t know you were in here.”
“It’s not your fault Burt,” I tell him with a sigh. “I snuck in while you weren’t looking.”
Burt flicks a look past me, landing it on Dean. “Your father instructed me to take the young man wherever he’d like.” His tone turns cautious, like he just stumbled into a situation he’d rather not be in. “Perhaps I should turn around and—”
“Don’t worry, Burt.” Dean lets out a laugh that sounds like a lie. Like he doesn’t find our current situation very funny at all. “I don’t know where Millwood is going, but it’s not with me. You’re not aiding and abetting any extra-marital activities.”
“I’m going to the Hawthorne. Alone,” I tell the side of Burt’s face. “You can take Mr. Mercer wherever he needs to go—”
“After,” Dean finishes before I can tell Burt to drop him off first. “You can take me home after you take Ms. Blackwell to the Hawthorne. I can wait—it is her limo, after all.”
“Very good, sir. Miss.” Flicking me a quick look in the rearview, Burt gives me a head bob before he raises the partition between us.
As soon as we’re alone, I aim a withering look at Dean, across the dark interior of the car. “Millwood?”
“No?” Dean slouches back in his seat and man spreads while flashing me an insolent show of teeth—both purposely designed to irritate me.
“Not Millwood, huh?” Lifting a hand from his lap, he licks the tip of his finger and ticks his latest guess off his imaginary list. “I’m guessing it's not Milton, either.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Milton was my grandfather’s name but I’m not going to tell him that. “And juvenile and rude and—”
“Nothing like your precious Allister,” he finishes for me on another one of those this shit isn’t funny laughs.
When he says it, I feel a very similar sound bubble against the back of my throat. “The two of you have more in common than you think.”
“Do we have the same tailor?” he asks sarcastically.
“From the looks of your suit—no,” I tell him, shooting an arched brow in his direction.
There’s absolutely nothing wrong with his suit but Dean Mercer is a conceited asshole and I’ll never let an opportunity to take him down a peg or two pass me by.
“But the two of you are sleeping with the same woman.”
Dean’s entire body goes stiff and he sits up, pulling himself out of his man spread to lean forward in his seat. “What?”
“Allister and Paige. They’re having an affair,” I tell him plainly. “Have been for years. They’re probably together right now so I really hope you got your bathroom blowjob when you had the chance because she’s—”
“Stop.” Dean holds up a hand, shaking his head like he’s punch-drunk. “Back up. Who told you that—how do you know—”
“I received an anonymous email this afternoon. The subject line read last weekend,” I tell him while opening my clutch to pull out my phone.
“There was an attachment. I opened it, thinking it was photos from my bachelorette weekend but it wasn’t.
They were text messages between Allister and Paige.
Very... explicit text messages.” Pulling up my email account, I see that I have a new message from the same anonymous sender with another attachment.
The subject line on this one says, after your rehearsal dinner.
Leaving that one for later, I open the first email and its attachment before offering my phone to Dean.
When he doesn’t move to take the phone, I jiggle it at him impatiently.
“Here. They’re cheating on you too—I suppose you should read them. ”
He continues to hesitate, but only for a few moments before he moves, transferring himself across the limo from his bench seat to mine.
Taking my phone, Dean sits next to me while he scrolls through the pages and pages of text messages between my fiancé and his.
.. whatever Paige is to him at the moment.
When he gets to the end, he looks up at me. “Where did you get these?”
“I already told you—someone emailed them to me this afternoon,” I tell him.
“Anonymously. When I tried to email the sender back, the message was returned. Whoever it is deactivated their email account after sending them.” Before he can say the same thing I thought at first, I shake my head.
“I already thought of that. They’re real. ”
“She texted him first.” Instead of arguing with me or telling me I’m crazy, Dean accepts what I’m telling him as the truth. “Right after that weekend in the Hamptons.”
That weekend in the Hamptons.