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I take a step back, swallowing down any lingering feelings of hurt or disappointment his words may have summoned. Of course they aren’t needed. I can’t be seen wearing another man’s ring when the world still thinks I’m marrying Lucian.
I glance down at the bare ring finger of my left hand, suddenly embarrassed I’d ever removed Lucian’s engagement ring thinking Nicky was going to replace it with his own.
“All right then.” JP glances between the three of us. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, who’s down for a celebratory night of drunken debauchery out in NYC?”
My hand shoots up alongside JP and Rico’s, the three of us eyeing Nicky with large puppy dog eyes. No one even knows I’m back yet, so it’s not like anyone would miss me for another night. Apparently, entering into a marriage of convenience with your childhood crush, only for him to imply you’re not even worth a ring, requires an immediate infusion of margaritas to avoid dying of embarrassment.
“Sure.” Nicky caves surprisingly fast, agreeing to the night out. “Start heading back to the car. I’m right behind you.”
CHAPTER 40
NOW
NICKY
Rico and JP lead Daph back to the lot, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stare at their retreating forms as they round the bend, waiting until they’re completely out of view before I take a seat on the bench. The sun’s almost completely set now, enveloping the entire path in darkness, save for the intermittent flickers of fireflies.
As I lean back, my right arm comes to rest along the top of the backrest while my hand drapes down to absentmindedly rub the plaque affixed to the center.
“If you’re up there,” I begin, speaking freely into the night, “I want you to know I finally get it. The happiness you always wanted me to find? She's it. I’m gonna grab hold with both hands, and I’m not gonna let go.”
I sit a moment longer in the calming silence, my fingers gliding over the small, raised words cast within the metal. Once I’ve traced the individual letters about a dozen times, I push up from the bench, pressing a kiss to the tips of my fingers before turning to touch them to her name.
IN LOVING MEMORY OF
GABRIELLA CONNERS
“Love you, Mom.”
CHAPTER 41
NOW
DAPHNE
I shoot up in bed with a nasty case of the spins, momentarily worried the copious amounts of alcohol consumed the night before may be about to make a reappearance. It takes me a minute to steady myself, finally able to climb from the bed once I’m sure I’m not going to puke.
I look around the space, surprised to see I’m in Nicky’s room. I don’t even remember the drive back from the city last night. Somebody had to have come and picked us up, considering the boys were just as wasted as me.
I pad over to the dresser, picking up one of Nicky’s watches to find it’s just after 10 a.m. Jesus, what day is it even? Wednesday, maybe? That week in the Cape really threw off my entire concept of time. I should probably go home today and announce my return from my “spa retreat.” Mother will be most disappointed to see those last pesky five pounds are still very much attached to my ass.
God, it’s been so nice without dealing with her. Please grant me the fucking tolerance and strength to survive the days leading up to this wedding, along with the nuclear meltdown that will inevitably follow when she discovers the whole thing’s a sham.
Can’t get married if you already are. Speaking of husbands, where the hell is mine this morning? Or everyone for that matter? Am I really the last one up? Lightweight status.
Glancing around the room, it seems as though none of my bags have made their way up here. I’ll have to settle for one of Nicky’s shirts instead. Returning to the dresser, I reach to yank it open, when my hand freezes midair.
I stare down at the ring finger of my left hand, my brain glitching as I try to make sense of the sight. Slowly righting myself to a standing position, I rush to the bathroom, thrusting my hand under a steady stream of water, only to hiss in pain when my attempt to erase the small marking fails.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
It’s real. The small black script N on my left ring finger is real.
As in, it is tattooed on my fucking body.
I grip the vanity for support, the room tilting somewhat around me as I fight to breathe through the sensation of bile trying to crawl its way up my throat.
“Morning, demon.” Nicky appears in the doorway of the bathroom, showered and dressed, looking as though he’s prepared to tackle any hurdles the day may throw at him. “How’d you sleep?”
