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My knees slammed into the rotting old wood of my bedroom floor. Pain rippled from them, but I didn’t care. I was numb but overflowing, tired and yet way too aware. I choked back a sob, my nails scratching along the wood, my tears dripping down from the tip of my chin.
I couldn’t breathe.
Dad must have had Sarah grab it from the attic while we were out. A surprise, a gift, whatever its intention, it was doing me more harm than good.
Why doesn’t he want me?
The thought hit me like a fucking train. Another sob wracked my body, forcing me all the way down to the floor.
What would Mom think?
I wrapped my fingers around the horseshoe necklace, needing that little bit of comfort.
How did I let this happen?
Never in a million years had I imagined falling for Hunter Harris. I wished I could take it back, take it all back. That fucked up part of me that Jared had shaped screamed at me, telling me I wouldn’t be in this situation if I’d just agreed to marry him.
Maybe fucked up me was right.
Is this worth making Dad happy?
I cried until my throat was sore, until my eyes were so puffy I could barely see out of them. Twigs and leaves still clung to me, and when I finally picked myself up off the bedroom floor and started to undress for a shower I desperately needed, I found them in far too many places. I peeled each leaf from my skin, the veins and ripples leaving little, pretty indents.
But there were also finger-shaped bruises on the backs of my thighs. A harsh reminder.
A text from Dana illuminated my phone in the waning daylight. I grabbed it as I made my way into my ensuite and turned on the shower.
Have you seen this??
She’d sent a link to an article that had been published no less than five minutes ago. Hunter Harris and Charlotte Hammersmith: A Modern Day Arranged Marriage?
I nearly dropped my phone.
It had to be Hunter. What the fuck had he leaked? And why? Did he think this was enough to teach me a lesson to not fall for men like him, or was it just to put that inch of distance between us?
A way out of the deal.
That had to be it. If not that—if not him—then what, or who fucking else?
Chapter 27
Hunter
Lottie sat at her desk, hunched over her computer and a pad of paper, fervently scribbling down something.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
The tension was thick enough to slice with a knife. Our wedding was scheduled for tomorrow, for fucks sake, and her father was living out his final days in a hospital bed at home in front of an old television. She shouldn’t be at work. She should be with him while I took care of the last-minute prep for our sham of a goddamn wedding.
“Lottie,” I barked.
“I’m not leaving,” she snapped, not bothering to look up from her work. The brick wall was back. My key was gone.
“You really want to be at work the day before our wedding?”
“It’s keeping me sane. And I need to work for that forty-nine percent, don’t I?”
