Page 8 of The Route to You

What the hell?

Before Sloan could argue, Felicity looked sharply at Sloan and smiled. “Marvelous. I’m going to go ahead and take Evan into the atrium since all the groomsmen are in there. My assistant will start gathering the bridesmaids and send them out here to you with your dad. Need anything? Champagne? Wine?”

“Wait—”

“Why don’t you have someone grab us both some water?” He gave Sloan a practiced smile and squeezed her wrist. “You don’t want to risk not looking sober before dinner.”

Sloan was suddenly parched—but it had nothing to do with thirst.

“I’ll have Kelly send someone to bring it to you.” Felicity winked at her. “Take some deep breaths. You look gorgeous. And soon, this will all be over with, and we can go upstairs and have the most incredible dinner ever.”

She whisked Evan through the door. As the door closed, Sloan heard him say, “But seriously, what are the chances of changing the shave⁠—”

Sloan blinked at the door, feeling a little like she’d just walked out of a windstorm.

A white marble bench was beside the doors to the atrium, and her heels clacked against the stone floor as she went toward it, then sank against it. A few of her friends had suggested she elope when she’d gotten engaged, and she understood why.

But if she were honest, she’d probably always be destined to feel like a supporting character in her own wedding. Evan’s mom, Bernice, had planned most of it—sending the bills to Sloan’s father like clockwork—and Sloan had told herself it was good that Evan’s mom was so invested because, after all, this was something mothers should do with their daughters.

Bernice had only had sons, and Sloan’s mom had died back when she was a freshman in college, so Sloan had hoped she could bond with Bernice over the experience. But with Felicity in the mix, that hadn’t exactly gone the way Sloan had imagined, either. Mostly, she’d been politely managed by Felicity and Bernice.

If she were honest, it wasn’t anything like the wedding she’d once imagined. She and her mom never talked about her perfect wedding day together, but Sloan knew that if her mom was still alive, things would have been simpler. And more fun.

It’s moments like these that I miss Mom the most. I was too young to lose her.

But it’s just a day . . . right? The marriage itself is the most important thing. At least, that was what she was hoping.

“Sloan Carrington?” a woman’s voice sounded softly down the corridor.

She looked up. “Oh, do you have my water?”

The woman, in a hotel uniform, came closer and held out a white envelope that looked like a card. “This is for you.”

Sloan frowned, taking it from her. Her name was printed on the envelope. Probably a wedding present, but it felt thicker. Maybe someone had stuffed it with cash.

She ran her finger under the envelope seal, then peeked inside. Rather than cash, several pieces of folded printer paper caught her eye. She tugged them out and unfolded them . . . and she nearly dropped the paper.

A printed text exchange. With a photo.

Her chest squeezed, and she gripped the paper tighter, the room spinning around her.

Not just any photo. A graphic one . . . sent by Evan to someone named “Tasha.”

This was no present.

It’s evidence.

Of my cheating shit of a fiancé.

4

SLOAN

“May I?” The server hovered near Sloan’s table. She blinked at him, trying to make sense of the words that had come out of his mouth. He gestured toward the filet mignon with crab imperial in front of her. She hadn’t touched it. At some point, she’d nudged it to the side like it might bite.

She only blinked at him again, then gave a slight nod, and he whisked the plate away.

Around her, the party continued to buzz, the room filled with buoyant energy that a rehearsal dinner was supposed to have—slightly drunken and politely awkward. People who would never voluntarily choose each other’s company all smiled as if they’d rehearsed it. Even family could feel like that. God knew Sloan wouldn’t be friends with her sister, Penny, if they weren’t related. They didn’t share a single interest.