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I nearly let out a chuckle. "Surfing accident."
She shakes her head. "Should've known she is dating a surfer.
I open my mouth to set the record straight—that Tilly and I aren't... well, whatever she thinks we are—but she cuts me off. "It doesn't matter. You can't wear jeans to the ballroom."
We exit the elevator and approach a door. She knocks, and a bearded man with a toddler on his hip peers out, giving me a once-over. Holy shit, he’s huge. Shoulders twice as wide as mine and standing at least six foot tall. I stand up straighter, but hell, it’s pointless. The man is a giant.
"Grayson, meet Tilly's boyfriend. Surfer boy. He needs a tux,” she says, giving me a glare.
Again, I try to interject. "Not her boyfriend. My name is Tommy." But they both laugh it off.
"If she brought you here, trust me, you’re in," Grayson says, dismissing my protests. Before I can explain that coming up the mountain is a surprise, and maybe not a welcome one, Grayson and Not-Tilly are already searching through the wardrobe near the flatscreen TV. The little boy, with his rosy cheeks and runny nose, is focused solely on the puppies singing on it, and the whole moment feels completely surreal. This is the family Tilly is afraid of?
Grayson's voice pulls me out of my thoughts. “White or black?” But he isn’t really asking me. No, he’s speaking directly to Tilly’s clone.
"Black," she decides for me, thrusting the suit into my hands. “He’d stick out like a sore thumb in white.”
I'm still processing the whirlwind of events as she raises an eyebrow expectantly. It hits me a split second later. They want me dressed. “Oh, now?”
"Not the sharpest tool in the shed, huh?" Grayson says with a smirk. “Bathroom's behind you.”
Retreating to the bathroom, I slump onto the toilet seat, pulling out my phone. Dialing Tilly's number, I brace myself. This surprise visit has spiraled into a mess, tangled in her family's web, far from the romantic gesture I had envisioned. My eyes close, and I silently wait for her to pick up the phone. This is not going to go well.
Chapter thirteen
Tilly
I’m finally heading down the hall at ten minutes till eight when my phone buzzes in my small purse. I pause to fish it out.
Seeing Tommy's name on the screen, I answer instantly, a tease ready on my lips. "Miss me already?" I can't deny the little leap my heart did at his call. When I sent the picture, I half expected him to call or text right away. To be honest, when he didn’t, I was a bit disappointed. But now, my stomach is full of flurries as I wait for his delicious voice to admit he’s a goner for me.
"Uh, not exactly," he says. Something’s wrong. His voice carries a nervous undertone that instantly makes the hairs on my neck stand up.
"Oh, okay. What's up?" I ask, trying to mask my disappointment. As he explains his current predicament, irritation bubbles up inside me.
"What's the room number?" I ask him off as soon as he finishes his tale. There will be plenty of time to yell at him when I pull him from Grayson’s room by the ear.
"838," he says.
I end the call, not bothering to say goodbye, and spin around, storming down the hallway until I reach the indicated room. After knocking on the stupid fancy door—I mean honestly, these look like they weigh thousands of pounds and belong in a Scottish castle—Miranda opens it up, greeting me with a smirk, "Can we help you?"
"Where is he?" I demand, bypassing her attempts at humor. Grayson, lingering behind her, gestures toward the bathroom. He looks just as amused as Miranda, but I really don’t want to deal with that right now. I have to get Tommy out of here before more damage is done. I don't bother with pleasantries, hammering on the bathroom door until Tommy opens up, already in his borrowed suit.
Damn him... I nearly forget why I’m pissed. He looks positively delicious. The tux clings to his frame in all the right places, showcasing his athletic build. Despite the slightly long cuffs, he could probably be mistaken for Hollywood royalty about to walk the red carpet.
I snap my mouth shut, preventing the drool from cascading out like Niagara Falls, and manage to find my voice. "What are you doing here?"
"I came to find you."
"I told you not to come."
"I know, but—"
"You’re not coming to dinner," I state flatly, hoping to end this discussion here and now.
Miranda speaks up behind me. I didn’t know she was watching our little show. "Actually, I've already added him to our count."
I whip around. "Then undo it. He's not coming, Andy."
