Page 46 of The Billionaire and His Forever

As I wait for Bow to take care of the Graham situation inside the police station, I marinate in my rapidly growing indignation and outrage. I can’t believe this is our fucking wedding day. Not only were we prevented from exchanging actual vows, but we’ve both somehow managed to get arrested. It might be funny if it weren’t so goddamn awful.

Taking a deep breath, I resolve to put on a happy face for my groom. Well, as happy as I can make it. There isn’t much I can do about my puffy eyes and red nose, but I run through the pack of tissues from Bowen in an attempt to wipe clean all of my ruined makeup. Then I roll the window down and pray that my teary eyes will be dry before Graham gets back.

Minutes pass, and I more or less stop checking the time because I’m driving myself crazy with anxiety. Not soon enough, I finally see Bowen and Graham walking toward the car. My heart squeezes in my chest at the sight of him. His collar is popped, the knot of his tie loose, and he’s carrying his jacket with his sleeves rolled up. Disheveled as hell, but still devilishly handsome.And mine. Despite all of this, he’s mine.

That’s not nothing.

Graham gets into the car first. He takes my hand and kisses it, and as tame as the gesture is, it instantly lights my insides on fire, temporarily banishing my fear and grief. Our eyes meet and everything slows to a fading pulse. It’ll be okay, I realize. We’ll figure it out.

“Well, this is cozy,” Bowen says, sliding in on Graham’s other side and closing the door behind her. Graham looks over at her and Bowen grins. “What an honor to be packed into the back seat of a car like a can of sardines with the bride and groom on their special day.”

“What’s the status of Abbie’s case?” Graham asks, not seeing the humor in the situation.

Bow huffs out a breath. “They have nothing besides Natasha’s word. In my professional opinion, the prosecution would have a hell of a time trying to prove this overdose was at the hand of someone else. There is absolutely no evidence that supports that.”

“So the case is closed,” Graham says, sounding relieved.

Bowen frowns. “I didn’t say that. The ball’s still in their court.”

“So we can’t go home?” he asks, squeezing my hand.

“You can. But Abbie’s bail stipulates that she can’t leave the City. She’s going to have to stay at the apartment here in Manhattan. Unfortunately.”

I watch Graham mull this over, his jaw clenching. “Fine. Take her to the apartment. I’ll go back to the estate to be with Jude. She’s going to need me. And I’m going to have to tell her that her mother is awake. Jesus Christ.”

As Bowen instructs the driver to take us to the address in Central Park West, every good feeling that was blooming in my heart withers and dies. I hadn’t expected Graham to be able to stay with me, but hearing him so easily choose to abandon me on what should be our wedding night? It still hurts. I know he needs to take care of Jude, but what about me?

We should have exchanged our vows by now. We should already legally be man and wife. But instead of us spending the night together, I’m going to be all by myself in a large, empty apartment. It isn’t fair. None of this is fair. I guess Bowen was right about that.

Swallowing down another round of tears, I clear my throat and ask Graham, “What happened with the assault? Who did you get in a fight with?”

“I ran into Quinn,” is all he offers in explanation, avoiding my gaze.

My stomach does a slow roll. He punchedQuinn? Why? Quinn is with Natasha. Why is Graham starting fights with the person his ex-wife is sleeping with?

Did he realize he still has feelings for her, now that she’s awake? Does he…want her back? Does he regret moving so quickly with me?

What if he decides he doesn’t want to reschedule our wedding?

“Graham?” I ask softly.

“I can’t talk about it right now, love,” is all he says. “I know you’ve been through hell and back, but let’s just get you tucked away safe and sound. We both need rest.”

He covers my hand with his, but it does little to soothe my worries. We spend the rest of the drive to the apartment in silence.

Chapter Twenty

Abbie

New York City’sfamous lights sprawl before me like a terrestrial galaxy, glowing warmly from countless windows and skyscrapers and traffic signals in the semi-darkness of the urban jungle. It should be beautiful, but it only makes me feel more trapped inside this apartment. A fucking glass box stuffed with luxury but no soul. But even the million-dollar view can’t negate the harsh, relentless sounds of the horns and alarms and sirens out there. This city is so massive, so unknowable, so chaotic and bustling and full of life.

I hate it.

I want to go home. Back to the estate. I don’t want to be in this fucking apartment, surrounded by couture furniture and cold modern art. Natasha’s perfume lingers in the air, like it’s being pumped in through the vents, and this whole place smells like her, feels like her. It’s an extension of her being, and everything in it serves as a reminder that I can’t escape her claws.

And then there’s me, sitting illuminated by a single lamp, my reflection emphasizing just how lonely I am. A lost little girl in a wedding dress, caught in the belly of the beast. It’s almost midnight, which adds to the cursed ambiance of the place. Though I suppose the good news is that this day is soon to be over.

I press my forehead against the cool glass, closing my eyes to let myself mourn the loss of what today was supposed to be. What my life was supposed to be. Who knows what will happen now? I don’t even know if Graham still wants to be with me. What my future holds.

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