Page 71 of It Happened in Vegas

Keaton held my hand on his thigh. I managed a smile.

She led us through the basics—how things had been in town, any surprises, our favorite newlywed memory. Easy stuff. Until she pivoted.

“Well, I have good news,” she said breezily, flipping a page in her notes. “The network has decided to hire Sophie for a new show, a business makeover program. Weekly format. L.A. based. Big prime time slot.”

My breath hitched. Keaton’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s… amazing.”

“It’s an exciting opportunity,” Melanie chimed and leaned forward, eyes glinting. “For Sophie, not both of you.”

The words fell like a guillotine. I tasted bitterness, blood-hot on my tongue. He smoothed his collar, gaze distant. “Not me? Of course.”

She smiled. “Nothing personal. The show is about brands. Reinvention. Not hops and brewing. It’ll film over a few month in L.A. How do you feel about that?”

He leaned back slowly. “Would it upset me?” He was looking at her, not me. But his voice had turned cool. Detached. “No. Of course not. I’m very supportive of anything Sophie wants to pursue.”

But I heard it. That hesitation. That slight emphasis onSophieinstead ofwife.

Melanie smirked, clearly pleased. She went looking for cracks, and he’d given her a glimpse.

I suddenly couldn’t breathe. The word divorce dropped into my thoughts like a bomb.

We were supposed to break up. Supposed to stage a heartfelt goodbye for the cameras and walk away. It had always been part of the deal.

Only I'd watched my mom navigate divorces after my dad left and again with my stepfather. She tried to hide it both times, but I saw the pain, the bitterness that took hold of her and wouldn’t let go. I still wasn’t sure she got over them even as she sat comfortably in an Italian Villa with husband number three. I promised myself I’d never end up like that.

Here I was. With one husband. Fake, maybe, but the emotions werestill there, raw beneath the surface. Falling. Failing. Risking the same heartbreak as she did.

By the timethe Halloween party started, I had all but emotionally retreated. The night windy evening blew the orange lanterns swaying in the Hops’ windows. Inside, Jessa had draped cobwebs and strung lights so the bar looked almost magical. We handed candy to tiny ghosts until dusk, then flipped the switch for the adults after dark, featuring a live band, most sexy costume contest, and a DJ.

I wore a little black number—lace, horns, a “sexy devil” costume that felt on brand. Keaton donned a flannel and a cowboy hat, an easy grin never quite reaching his eyes.

We hustled and we worked the bar, the crowd swelling so much he grew concerned about fire safety. But every time I looked at him, my heart clenched. My love for him simmered under the surface, so new and fragile, it’d hurt like hell if something broke us up.

Then I caught sight of Starla drifting toward the bar, arching her back like a cat, casting come-hither glances at Keaton. My blood boiled. And there, camera lens trained like a sniper, was Melanie, soaking up every second.

I stormed over. “What’s she doing here?” I hissed, voice low.

Melanie tilted her head, innocent and predatory. “Adding spice. Your breakup arc needs heat, I think.”

Starla leaned over the counter, flaunting her cleavage like she hadn’t humiliated him on national TV.

Melanie ate it up a few feet away, camera focused like a hawk.

I balked, but I didn’t have time to deal with her when, of all people, Griffin West arrived. He didn’t see me, and stalked to the bar, taking a barstool at the opposite end of Starla and catching Jessa’s eye to order a drink.

I flitted around the tables as long as I could, keeping a close watch on him at the bar, while dealing with the partiers. So consumed I was trying to keep busy that I had lost track of Keaton, and didn’t notice Jessa came out from behind the bar to check on me.

“Are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine. Great. Do you know where Keaton went?” I asked.

“I think I saw Melanie and her crew head toward the kitchen with him and Starla a while ago. But listen, there’s this really handsome man at the bar who is asking for you.” She ran a handover her hair as if to check every strand was in place. “Do you mind if I ask who he is?”

“Uh. Hang on.” I couldn’t escape the face off any longer and approached Griffin. When I did, his face lit up with the same boyish slanted grin but years older, dressed in an expensive custom suit and Italian leather shoes.

“Hey, Sophie,” he said, calm and unreadable. He finished his drink, probably whatever expensive brand of whiskey Jessa could serve him, and set the glass down. “I thought we could stop wasting time. So I came to find you here to get things settled once and for all.”

“There’s nothing to settle. I can’t talk about it now, Grif, but soon I’ll be able to give you the full details,” I started and forced a smile.

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