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Morgan just laughed evilly. "Oh yes, you will. It's my birthday. I get to have whatever I want."
He just shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Lance had always hated roller coasters. He couldn't even do fair rides. The Ferris Wheel made him very nervous. And he could just tell her that, but he wouldn't. Because whatever weirdness was going on with them now, he would never admit defeat to Morgan. "Fine, pick your poison. I bet you give up long before I do."
Atticus gave me that soft, elusive, corner-of-his-lip smile, which told me he was getting exactly what he wanted. "Fantastic. You just have to pick the best location. How about Universal in Los Angeles?"
I grinned at that. "Yeah. That way we'll get great dinner options, get to do some shopping on Rodeo Drive, and do touristy shit like visit studios."
Morgan clapped her hands together. "I love it. But you don't have to shut down Universal Studios for me."
Atticus shrugged. "I'm doing it for Micah. With his delicate sensibilities, he couldn't possibly wait in line."
I tossed a bottle of sunscreen at my husband, who, shockingly, caught it adeptly. "I'm pretty sure it's Atticus who won't wait in line. He is never very patient."
As everyone chatted, my sister leaned over to me. "He's not really going to rent out Universal Studios, is he?"
"Oh, he most definitely is. You've met him, right?"
"I don't want all that. Especially since all of this was my fault.” She dropped her gaze as if ashamed. “I feel terrible about bringing Lucy into the apartment."
I took my sister's hand and squeezed it. "That was not your fault. Remember, we lay blame at the feet of those who perpetrated injustice, not anywhere else."
"I know, but I don't want to be rewarded for being a dumbass."
"You're being rewarded because it's your birthday, and you deserve to celebrate. Enjoy it. Besides, you know full well you can't tell Atticus anything. He does as he pleases."
"Or rather, he does as you please."
The hem of my skirt shifted under the table. My gaze flickered to my husband, who grinned at me and winked.
I just ignored him. We'd already been late coming to brunch because of him. He'd taken one look at my sundress, and before I could protest, he had me bent over the couch and moaning.
When his fingers teased higher up my thigh, I grabbed his hand and shook my head, which only made him pout.
At the end of the table, I saw Lance spring up and walk back into the restaurant. When he rejoined us, he gave me a big smile. “What did I miss?”
Atticus took my hand. “You’re just in time for me to ask Gwen to marry me again.”
35
Atticus
I had planned the day down to the last detail. Cake tasting—because of course Gwen's stepmother insisted on handling every aspect of our second wedding, which meant that we had to endure the mind-numbing rituals of planning it. But I didn't mind so much. At least it was something we could do together, something that didn't involve security protocols or me watching her every move like a hawk.
But Gwen was acting off. As I watched her pick at her breakfast, her brow furrowed in concentration, I could tell something was wrong. She was normally excited about anything involving food, especially cake. Yet here she was, pushing a piece of toast around her plate as if it might bite her.
"Not hungry?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
She shook her head, frowning at the toast like it had offended her. "I don't know. Everything just smells weird."
"Weird how?" I set my coffee down and studied her. She looked pale, and there was a slight crease between her brows, a sign that she was in discomfort.
"Like… fish. I swear everything smells like fish." She wrinkled her nose in disgust and pushed her plate away. "And why does your cologne smell so strong today? Did you put on extra?"
I blinked, thrown by the sudden shift. "It's the same as always, Gwen."
She sighed and rubbed her temples. "Maybe it's just me. I don't know what's going on. The whole penthouse smells off too. And this décor, what was I thinking? It’s all wrong. I can’t stand looking at it."
I frowned. Gwen had meticulously chosen every single item in this penthouse, down to the last throw pillow. She’d been proud of her choices, confident in her style. To hear her suddenly despise it was… unusual. More than that, it was alarming.
