Page 155 of Mexico Can Choke On It
“Your accommodations will be prepared post haste,” Nigel says, nodding to staff members.
“Just the single room for myself,” Reginald replies. “Miss Tenley will naturally be sharing Bryce’s room.”
Sharing Bryce’s room.The words stab straight through my ribcage, like a red-hot poker. The edges of my vision blur.Don’t cry.
“Certainly, sir. The staff will help you to your suite so you can freshen up from your travels.”
The crew jump into action as Nigel, ever the unflappable professional, redirects his attention. “Apologies, Mr. Sterling, but the rehearsal must proceed.”
Bryce’s dad claps a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Cigar lounge, when you’re finished here,” he says under his breath. “We have matters to discuss.” Then his expression brightens like someone flipped a switch. “What a splendid weekend this is going to be.”
He extends his arm toward Amanda with old-school gallantry. “Amanda, darling, allow me to escort you to your accommodations.”
Just like that, they saunter off like they own the entire fucking planet.
“Will the wedding party kindly return to their designated positions?” Nigel calls out with renewed authority. “We shall resume from where we were interrupted.”
Bryce walks back to his spot without one goddamn look in my direction.
I feel wheezy and lean against the side of the ceremonial arch. I’m about to projectile vomit all over these beautiful flowers.
Bryce is a cheater. A lying, manipulative asshole. He used me.
I can’t believe I fell for his poor, tortured billionaire act. All that bullshit about feeling trapped by his legacy, about never connecting with anybody before. He knew I had a soft spot for underdogs, so he played me like a fucking virgin. Made me think I was rescuing him, when really, I was his dirty fling—something spicy to sample in Mexico.
That’s how these people are trained from birth—to see everyone else as pawns in their twisted games.
How could I be so fucking naive?
Hot tears threaten behind my eyes, but I don’t let them fall. Not here. Not now.
“By law,” Nigel says, flipping a page on his clipboard, “you are required to declare that you know of no legal impediment to your marriage…”
Hana whisper-gushes to me, “Isn’t itwonderfulthat Bryce’s fiancée made it after all? I literally cannot even with how perfect they are together!”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to vaporize the douchebag with my eyeballs. Who still. Has not. Looked. At me.
Hana’s motormouth keeps going. “Although, oh my gosh, this morning I was super worried there might not be a wedding with all the crazy prenup drama!”
That snaps me out of my homicidal thoughts about creative ways to murder lying billionaires.
“What prenup drama?” I cut her off, turning sharply.
Hana’s eyes light up. “Oh, well, Gavin’s lawyers couldn’t get all of Fiona’s legal team’s requests sorted out in time, so they’re just going to skip the prenup paperwork until after the wedding! Isn’t that romantic? I mean, in our world, that’s unheard of. It’s so beautifully trusting and brave!”
The world tilts sideways.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” flies out of my mouth like a volcanic eruption, and suddenly every eye in this ridiculous tent is staring. I don’t care. I’m already moving.
“You don’t have a prenup? Are you fuckingkiddingme?”
My brother’s face hardens. “Petra, we’re not discussing this here.”
“Like hell we’re not! Tell me it’s not true. Please tell me you’re not about to marry her without any legal protection.”
“It’s handled,” he says in his infuriatingly calm tone. “We’ll execute a postnuptial agreement after the ceremony. It’s a nonissue.”
“I’m aware of what a postnup is. That’s not romantic trust, Gavin—that’s Russian roulette! You’re the idiot loading the chamber!”
