Page 9 of Stick Fight

I exhale. “Can I let you know in the morning?” I’m not sure why I’m asking that. It’s not like I have any other options.

“Love you,” Mom and Dad tell me after I say the same. I end the call. When I see Cass’s number come up, I toss my phone onto the bed, not wanting to talk to him. I’m about to head to the bathroom for a long soak when a text comes through, and I glance at the phone.

Cass: If you don’t show up tomorrow, I’ll ruin you.

I stare at the phone, the room closing in on me. He’s threatening me? Threatening to ruin me if I don’t go through with the wedding? What the ever-loving hell. I’m already ruined, and honestly, it’s not the threatening part so much, but that he still wants to marry me.

Cass: Don’t you dare fucking make me look bad in front of everyone. Be there or else.

Ah, now I get it. Cassian St. Pierre, the prodigal model son of a famous fashion icon, Luc St. Pierre, is not to be made a fool of in public, especially when the world is watching. But it’s okay for him to make a fool of me in private. I glance at the dress designed by his father and shake my head. Of course, it was all about the fashion for the media. I wanted to make my own dress, but Luc St. Pierre didn’t approve.

I walk to the big bathroom and turn on the faucet to fill the tub with water. It’s big enough for two, not that I’ll be sharing a bath with anyone anytime soon. I find some vanilla scented bath salts and sprinkle them in. Clicking the door shut, I strip out of the dress Rip brought me, and slip into the tub. I close my eyes, but quickly open them as visions of Cass and Todd jump into my mind’s eye.

The door to the suite opens in the distance, and a few minutes later, knuckles rap at my door, “Gabs, you okay in there?”

“I’m okay,” I tell him. Honestly, he’s so sweet and I’m not really used to anyone handling me with kid gloves. While I have great, caring parents, I’ve always been independent, and pride myself on standing on my own two feet. I guess that will be changing when I scurry home tomorrow with my tail between my legs.

“I got all your stuff.”

I gulp. “Was there any trouble?”

“We can talk when you’re done. Did you talk to your parents?”

“Yes,” I say quietly, a lump in my throat. “We can talk about that too.”

“No hurry. Take your time, okay? Oh, and I brought you a bottle of wine.”

Wine. I could really use a glass or two. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I tease.

“Actually, yes,” he admits honestly. “You didn’t seem to have a taste for hard liquor, so I figured wine. It’s what the WAGs always drink.”

Like I said, observant.

In a much lower voice, he adds, “I’m no psychologist or anything, Gabs. We leave the head shrinking to Melanie.” While I have no idea who Melanie is, I listen intently. “I’m not sure what she’d tell you, but I say tonight with your world on fire, wine to help douse the flames, a movie to help forget, and maybe reminisce about old times for fun, and then tomorrow…reality.”

I nod even though he can’t see me. My world is on fire tonight. “Wine is perfect, Roman.” A strange little bubble of warmth wells up inside me. “Thank you. That was very thoughtful.”

I listen carefully, and there’s silence for a minute, and I think he’s left the door, until he speaks, “I can pour a big-ass glass and bring it in.”

It’s so weird, because hearing his voice still there, right outside the door, brings a weird measure of comfort. “While that sounds nice…” I glance down at my naked body. I used bath salts, not bubbles, so there’s no hiding anything. “I’m kind of naked in here.”

Was that a groan? Good Lord, I must be hearing things. Roman isn’t interested in me. He never has been, and what man wants a woman who’s a hot mess and has been crying her eyes out about her ex? None.

“I’ll back in, with eyes closed. No peeking. I promise.”

I laugh at that and can’t believe Roman Marinelli has managed to make me laugh as my life crumbles around me. “What if you trip, or worse, fall?”

“I skate backward all the time. I won’t get hurt. I got this. But I like that you are worried about me.”

“Actually, I was worried about the wine spilling.”

His big bark of laughter brings a smile to my face. “Smart ass. But hey, despite everything, I love that you never lost your sense of humor, Gabs.” His voice softens when he says my name.

Wait, what? He thinks I have a sense of humor. Do I? I sure as heck don’t remember ever making Cass or anyone in the industry laugh. It’s a very serious, fast-paced business, where you’re run off your feet and gratitude is tossed around…never.

“I’d love a glass of wine,” I finally say.

“On it.”

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