3. Sloan
SLOAN
Holy shit.
Kyle?
Sloan’s eyes locked onto the blue-eyed man in the elevator, her heart doing an unhelpful, very dramatic lurch in her chest.
Kyle Winnick?
How is this even possible? Of all the places, of all the weekends, of all the perfectly curated, over-orchestrated moments of her life— now?
“. . . this is my friend, Kyle. He’s my date for the night and for tomorrow,” Davy was saying through the buzzing in her ears. “Kyle, this is Sloan Carrington.”
Sloan tore her gaze from Kyle’s and snapped it back to Davy. She forced a smile. “Oh, this is your date?” she gasped out, immediately hating how high her voice went. “Evan was wondering who you were bringing.”
Davy winked. “Kyle’s a friend from my work.”
Heat crept into Sloan’s face, and she turned back to Kyle. He tilted his head slightly, clearly puzzled and wondering why she hadn’t said anything to indicate she recognized him.
Which she absolutely should have.
All it would take was one sentence. Kyle?
Oh my God, I didn’t recognize you! Easy and normal.
Believable-ish. He’d changed, after all.
Filled out. God, he’d really filled out.
He’d always been cute, but now he was very firmly on the hot side of the male spectrum, with broad shoulders, a solid build, and the kind of muscles that even his suit jacket didn’t quite conceal.
His hair, which had once been incredibly golden, had darkened to a dark blond that probably still lightened in the sun.
Any second now, she could still fix this.
Instead, she shoved her hand out toward him. “Nice to meet you.”
And there it was.
That flicker in his eyes. Quick and controlled, but unmistakable. Disappointed.
His lips curved in a polite smile anyway, and she caught the hint of that dimple in his cheek—the one that had once absolutely wrecked her at seventeen. She tore her eyes away before her brain could betray her any further.
He shook her hand and the shock of his hand in hers made her nearly jump. “So, you’re the bride,” he said smoothly, stepping out of the elevator. “How do you and Davy know each other?”
“Oh, I actually met Sloan through Evan,” Davy answered before Sloan could find her voice. “At their engagement party.”
The doors to the elevator started to slide shut and Kyle set a hand out to stop it. “We wouldn’t want to make you late,” he said.
And that’s my cue to disappear forever. “I really should go,” she said, her heart still slamming against her ribs. Would he tell Davy that she’d just pretended not to know him? Probably. He was Davy’s date.
Why did I lie?
“See you down there?” Sloan said, stepping into the elevator.
“Can’t wait,” Davy called out cheerfully as the doors started closing again.
This time, Kyle didn’t stop them. Sloan held his gaze for exactly two seconds before the doors slid closed between them.
Kyle Winnick.
Life, it turned out, had a truly vicious sense of humor.
At least the brevity of their interaction and her lie had avoided a full-blown, public, emotionally loaded reunion. The last time she’d seen him hadn’t exactly ended on a warm, nostalgic note.
God, what did he think of her now?
Did he hate her?
And why, tonight of all nights, had the universe decided to send him back into her orbit?
She pressed the tips of her fingers to her forehead, trying to settle her breath. Shake it off, Sloan. Him being here doesn’t mean anything.
The elevator opened before she could spiral any further. Her wedding planner, Felicity, was already waiting there for her, Evan at her side. “There she is. Right on schedule,” Felicity said with a wide smile.
Sloan shook away the remnants of nerves and went to Evan’s side. He lowered his face for a quick kiss. “You look nice,” she said, sliding her arm into his as Felicity led them forward.
“This wedding planner is driving me insane,” he hissed under his breath.
“She’s very good at her job,” Sloan said, giving his arm a small squeeze.
“How was your day at the spa?” Evan asked, waving at someone they passed in the hallway.
“Relaxing. How was yours with the guys?”
“Cold, dry snow, great light, and no crowds. We skied the bowls early, cut through the trees when it started getting tracked, and just kept finding soft lines. By the end, my quads were cooked.”
Even after four years of Evan trying to get her out on the slopes with him, Sloan wasn’t quite sure if she knew what that all meant.
Of course, she usually retired to the lounge as soon as he got distracted enough to ignore her lack of enthusiasm in the snow.
But she smiled at him anyway. “Sounds like a great day, then.”
“It was. Tomorrow might be even better. It’s supposed to snow tonight, so there’ll be fresh powder.”
“Yeah, too bad our wedding will interfere with that,” she said lightly.
“The ceremony isn’t until late in the afternoon, though. There’s plenty of time. I might still go out with the guys in the morning.”
“I have you and your groomsmen scheduled for hot towel shaves at ten,” Felicity cut in, without looking back.
Evan groaned. “Can you push it to noon? Or even one? What are we supposed to do with all that time between the shaves and the ceremony? Sit around and waste a perfectly good ski day?”
Sloan bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t about to start a fight right before the rehearsal, but she hated the way his words made her feel like their wedding was just one more annoying thing to check off the to-do list in the middle of his ski vacation.
“Consider yourself lucky,” Felicity said, stopping abruptly in front of a set of massive wooden doors.
“The women are starting hair and makeup at seven. You boys get to sleep in. Besides, I have Jennifer Larson from The District Gazette for a quick interview after the shave.” She glanced at Sloan.
“And she asked me to have you reconsider, Sloan. All she wants is a few photos and some questions. Everyone loves photos of the bride getting ready.”
Sloan shook her head sharply. “Please tell her no. Again. I really only want my bridesmaids there.” She’d already consented to photos after the ceremony—not that she had much of a choice.
Despite loathing the spotlight, marriage to a congressman came with obligations , as her future mother-in-law liked to remind her.
Evan rolled his eyes at her, then looked at Felicity. “Tell Ms. Larson it’s fine. If I can handle a few photos so can Sloan.”
What the hell?
Before Sloan could argue, Felicity looked sharply at Sloan and smiled.
“Marvelous. I’m going to go ahead and take Evan into the atrium since all the groomsmen are in there.
My assistant will start gathering the bridesmaids and send them out here to you with your dad. Need anything? Champagne? Wine?”
“Wait—”
“Why don’t you have someone grab us both some water?” He gave Sloan a practiced smile and squeezed her wrist. “You don’t want to risk not looking sober before dinner.”
Sloan was suddenly parched—but it had nothing to do with thirst.
“I’ll have Kelly send someone to bring it to you.” Felicity winked at her. “Take some deep breaths. You look gorgeous. And soon, this will all be over with, and we can go upstairs and have the most incredible dinner ever.”
She whisked Evan through the door. As the door closed, Sloan heard him say, “But seriously, what are the chances of changing the shave—”
Sloan blinked at the door, feeling a little like she’d just walked out of a windstorm.
A white marble bench was beside the doors to the atrium, and her heels clacked against the stone floor as she went toward it, then sank against it. A few of her friends had suggested she elope when she’d gotten engaged, and she understood why.
But if she were honest, she’d probably always be destined to feel like a supporting character in her own wedding.
Evan’s mom, Bernice, had planned most of it—sending the bills to Sloan’s father like clockwork—and Sloan had told herself it was good that Evan’s mom was so invested because, after all, this was something mothers should do with their daughters.
Bernice had only had sons, and Sloan’s mom had died back when she was a freshman in college, so Sloan had hoped she could bond with Bernice over the experience.
But with Felicity in the mix, that hadn’t exactly gone the way Sloan had imagined, either.
Mostly, she’d been politely managed by Felicity and Bernice.
If she were honest, it wasn’t anything like the wedding she’d once imagined. She and her mom never talked about her perfect wedding day together, but Sloan knew that if her mom was still alive, things would have been simpler. And more fun.
It’s moments like these that I miss Mom the most. I was too young to lose her.
But it’s just a day . . . right? The marriage itself is the most important thing. At least, that was what she was hoping.
“Sloan Carrington?” a woman’s voice sounded softly down the corridor.
She looked up. “Oh, do you have my water?”
The woman, in a hotel uniform, came closer and held out a white envelope that looked like a card. “This is for you.”
Sloan frowned, taking it from her. Her name was printed on the envelope. Probably a wedding present, but it felt thicker. Maybe someone had stuffed it with cash.
She ran her finger under the envelope seal, then peeked inside. Rather than cash, several pieces of folded printer paper caught her eye. She tugged them out and unfolded them . . . and she nearly dropped the paper.
A printed text exchange. With a photo.
Her chest squeezed, and she gripped the paper tighter, the room spinning around her.
Not just any photo. A graphic one . . . sent by Evan to someone named “Tasha.”
This was no present.
It’s evidence.
Of my cheating shit of a fiancé.