Page 22 of How to Ruin Your Ex's Wedding

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I don’t respond.

Fine. Hunter Simpcox and Tabatha Seton. Don’t make me sorry I’m telling you.

I move my hand to respond, then pause a moment.

“Remember when you said it would be funny if they asked me to be their wedding photographer?”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow and takes a long drink of his beer.

“Well, what if I was?” I look at him.

He looks at me.

“No,” he says, his eyes widening.

I nod as I finish off my beer.

“You have to do it,” he says. “No, wait, you can’t do it.”

“Which is it?”

“You have to do it,” he concedes.

“My thought exactly.” I pick up my phone to set an appointment with Liza Littleton.

5

Tabatha

“Are you sure you are okay, Tabatha? You don’t look well.” Hunter reaches over and takes my hand in his, lifting it to his mouth to kiss the back. This is the third time he’s asked on our short drive home.

“I’m fine. I think I just overdid it in yoga this morning,” I tell him. Truth is, I overdid it remembering how good it felt to have my hands on Pax again. I may not be able to stand the man, but he has always had a beautiful body that I love to touch.

Loved.

That Ilovedto touch. Not love, I’m happily engaged to a wonderful man who I also love to touch.

More so than anyone else.

Ever.

Yeah, keep telling yourself that.

I shut my eyes and lean my head against the cool glass of the car window. Marrying Hunter is the right decision. He’s handsome, polite, attentive, and he adores me.

He calls you “my queen.”

But really, in the grand scheme of things, how horrible is that? Not at all.

He worships the ground you walk on.

Which is a good thing.

Literally. Like he would lick the bottoms of your shoes if you asked him to.

We never argue.

Because he has no passion.

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