Page 56 of Mexico Can Choke On It
I leap to my feet, grabbing my heels, phone, and designer clutch, and barrel out the door. Panic floods my system, erasing any thoughts of ladylike behavior.
If I’m lucky, I’ll find it before I have to explain to Bryce I was playing fake fiancée like a lunatic.
I burst into the garden, my bare feet slapping the stone pathway as I skid around the corner of the building. The silky tulle of my dress catches on a sculpted bush, and I yank it free with zero regard for Sebastian’s masterpiece.
“If I were a ruby the size of a grape, where would I hide?”
I press my cheek against the cool grass, peering under a massive shrub with orange flowers, then push my way deeper into the foliage. A sharp thorn rakes across my forearm, leaving a long red scratch. “Son of a—”
I bite back the expletive as I hear voices from above. A familiar blonde head appears two balconies over.
Fiona.
I scramble behind an enormous hedge and peer through the leaves.
Standing next to her is a man I donotrecognize. A man who is definitelynotmy brother.
He’s tall, lanky, with long wavy dark hair cascading to his shoulders. He’s rocking extra-tight leather pants, a paisley vest with nothing underneath, and more scarves than a magician’s sleeve. Rings decorate every finger. A feather earring dangles from one ear. His vibe? Black-eyeliner rock star meets Renaissance Fair enthusiast meets thrift store on an absinthe bender.
Their eyes are locked on each other, bodies way too close to be consideredjustfriends.
“What the shit?” I mutter.
I strain to hear their conversation, the breeze carrying fragments down to my hiding spot.
“…everything we’ve planned…”
“…Gavin has no idea what’s coming…”
I open my camera app.
“Say cheese, Home Wrecker Barbie,” I whisper, extending my arm to get an angle of them together.
They disappear into the room.Dammit.
I stretch farther, lengthening my reach, when a hand clamps down on my shoulder.
Instinctively, I whirl around—my phone gripped like a weapon—and go straight for the throat.
THWACK!
“HRRNNGGK!”
Bryce makes a sound like a goose being strangled, stumbling backward with his hand flying to his neck. His face contorts—first surprise, then pain—as his eyes bulge and he struggles to breathe.
“Oh my God, B! I’m so sorry. Seriously, though. Do you have a death wish?”
He makes another concerning noise, more wheeze than words, and tugs at his bow tie as if it’s suddenly become a noose.
“Are you dying? Please don’t die.” I step closer, genuinely concerned now. “I can’t afford the legal fees for manslaughter, and orange is a worse color on me than pink.”
“What—” his voice is raspy “— are you doing out here?”
“Communing with nature,” I say flatly, brushing a leaf off my gown. “You know how us broke people love hobbies that are free. Tree-hugging, dirt whispering, ring scavenging…”
Do not acknowledge that he is handsome AF in that tux.
That little crease appears between his eyebrows. “Pip, about earlier—”
