Page 118 of Kiss Slay Replay

“Wyatt, can you please take this hopeful slut’s bags to our cabin?” Evan asks, tipping his sunglasses down to give his husband puppy eyes.

“No, that’s okay.”

Evan shushes me and swipes the fob out of my hands, tosses it to Wyatt.

“I’m happy to,” Wyatt says, catching the key.

“He is,” Ev says. “Any opportunity to show off his brute strength.”

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it. Suitcase is in the trunk. I’m sorry in advance—it’s stupid heavy.”

Wyatt gets my suitcase and heads off along the path, carrying it so easily he makes it seem like a lunch box.

“This way,” Evan says, leading me down to the Adirondack chairs facing the lake. I drink in the view. Despite everything that’s happened here, I still find the place beautiful. If I had to be trapped anywhere, here is not so bad.

Could be Stockholm syndrome. I drowned in that pretty, shimmery lake.

I eye the woods to the left. Somewhere in there is my best hope for tomorrow.

“Sit,” Evan says, settling in one of the chairs. “I was hoping for a moment alone with you before the festivities begin. How are you?”

I squeeze in beside him. He groans but lets it happen.

I forget what I said to him that first day. Probably something mopey.

I’m torn between attempting to repeat myself and answering honestly as my current self, as who I am now. Because I’m different. It’s only been a week, but it’s been a week.

“I’m all right. I’m tired. I’m figuring it out. I’ve been feeling…I don’t know. Lost.”

“Understandable. But the good thing about being lost is it’s a hell of a lot of fun to find yourself again.”

“Is it?”

“Probably,” he says, smirking.

I laugh. “Oh, Evan. I’m just glad to be here with you.”

“Me, too,” he says. “Which reminds me. You know who else is coming? Who else is going to be here for this occasion?”

“Vicky Moldando.”

“Vicky Moldando. Why did Steph and Jace think it was a good idea to invite her to their wedding?”

“To spite you, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he says, pulling a face. “Anyway. I just wanted to check in on you. Make sure you weren’t going to self-immolate during the ceremony tonight.”

“I won’t. I’ve actually been burned alive before and it’s not my favorite.”

“Sure.” He lifts a hip and uses the arm of the chair to push himself to stand, then extends a hand to help me up.

“Such a prince,” I say, taking his hand.

“Come, wench. Let me show you to your quarters.”

“Wench? My first instinct is to be offended, but you know what, that’s fair.”

“I thought so,” he says.