Page 166 of Four Fiances & I

“I’m glad to hear it. It means a lot to Jasmine that you could be here today with her. She thinks very highly of you and has been worried,” Christian points out. I know she's been worried; she tells me all the time it's getting tiring.

“She has nothing to worry about; I’m absolutely fine.” I can feel how fake the smile I flash him is, and I know he can tell, too.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asks as he stands behind the bar.

“Vodka and cranberry juice, please. Make it a double.”

“She will have a bottle of water, nothing else.”

Every muscle in my body tightens. The bartender looks to the arsehole behind me, then to Christian.

“Water,” he agrees, nodding to the prick behind me and turning his attention back to Chelsea’s guy.

“I don’t want water; I want a vodka,” I order through gritted teeth.

“You’re being cut off. It's soft drinks or nothing.”Hisvoice comes from behind me again, causing me to clench my teeth.

“If I want to drink, I will have a drink.” I turn to give him hell, but my heel snags on my dress, and I nearly topple over; his arm around my waist is the only thing stopping me from landing on my arse.

“You have obviously had more than enough, Abigail. You can have water or head home; the decision is yours.”

Stepping to the side and putting some much-needed space between us, I turn and glare at him.

“Stop telling me what to do; you are not my father,” I snap.

“No, I’m not. He would have dragged you out long before you started making a show of yourself.” His voice is quiet but deep as he chastises me.

“Don’t you dare try to tell me what my father would be doing right now. He’s dead because of you.” A few heads turn in our direction, and I know I’m making a scene, but I don’t care.

Alasdair McIntire stares at me, his eyes wide, and I know I’m meant to be scared of him, but I’m not. How everyone, the O’Reillys included, feels the need to suck up to him, I will never know. He’s not the big, scary man everyone makes him out to be.

“Christian, Abigail is going home. Please pass on our congratulations again to the lovely Mrs O’Reilly. Abigail will be in touch soon.”

His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes hold of my arm and pulls me away from the bar.

“I’m not leaving,” I hiss through my teeth, stamping my feet.

“I think it might be for the best, Abbi. Jasmine will call you tomorrow,” I hear Christian say. When I look in his direction, he gives me a sad smile and nods before turning his attention back to the guy beside him. McIntire forcibly guides me towards the entrance to the tent, and I know there’s no point fighting it. I don’t want to cause a scene, not where Jasmine and the others might see at least.

“Aren’t you even going to let me get my things?” I snap, trying to pull my arm from him, but his grip tightens further.

“So you can make an even bigger show of yourself? No. Roman has already gone to collect them.” Roman, his security guard, is just as stuck up as the prick manhandling me. “Now, stop fighting me and get in the car, Abigail. The last thing you want is to cause Jasmine any more worry on her special day. You have done enough of that already.”

“What the hell have I done?” I snap as I stop fighting and let him lead me away from the party. The second we are away from where people can see us, I pull my arm from his grip and storm away towards where I can see his car.

“Miss Young,” his driver smiles as I approach and opens the door.

“Samuel.” Climbing into the back seat, I cross my arms over my chest and look out the window, paying no attention to Alasdair, who sits beside me.

“Here are your things.”

I take my shawl and purse, purposely not making eye contact. The car pulls away from the party, and I watch the house disappear from view. As the vehicle speeds up, I have to place my hand on my stomach as it starts to roll. The last thing I need is to throw up in front of him.

“Here, it will help.” He holds out a bottle of water, but I ignore it. I don’t want anything from him.

“Do you have pen and paper, please, Roman?”

I watch as he opens the glove compartment and hands me a notepad and pen. Thanking him, I write an address and rip it from the pad.

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