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“Good morning! Happy almost wedding day.”
The knock on the door jars me out of sleep, but Annie’s cheerful voice has me groaning.
According to the clock it’s almost noon.
I might still be drunk.
I shift out of bed to find Barney at the door, his tail wagging. Harrison must have taken him out earlier, or he would have been on me hours ago.
Harrison.
Dammit.
Last night was messy. Fun until the guys showed up, my fiancé leading the way like a storm cloud in a custom suit.
Did I overreact?
Maybe. But I handled myself before I met him. I don’t need him going over my head.
Still, I feel a little bad for ditching security.
I’ll try to keep it together today.
I stagger to the door and pull it open. Annie passes a coffee through, her own eyes puffy. “One more day until you’re a married woman.”
Elle is on her heels. “You still have twenty-four hours to make a break for it. In the meantime, we come bearing gifts.”
She nods to a shoe-box-sized package on the carpet. “From the concierge.”
The hiking boots I ordered Harrison. They’ve been backordered, and they were finally delivered.
I pick up the package, setting it inside the front hall closet unopened.
The thing is, I missed him. Since he returned from his work trip, we haven’t had time alone.
I miss the way he makes me coffee in the morning and frowns if it’s not exactly the way I like it. How when I drop in front of him on one of the lounge chairs on our private sundeck when he’s on a call, he pulls me back against his front so his voice rumbles through our clothes. I miss him showing me photos of Natalia’s garden in Ibiza, seeing how excited he is and how proud of the place that’s more a home than London ever was. I miss how he talks to Barney as if he’s human.
The elevator dings, and a rack of garment bags appears.
“You brought clothes?" I ask, then I remember. "The fitting.” My dress and the bridesmaids’. The guys aren’t scheduled to try their tuxes until later.
Annie’s lips part. “Seriously? Are you okay?”
“Totally. Just need to wake up.” I take a sip of the coffee and gesture back into the penthouse for everyone to follow.
“We also brought this,” Elle volunteers, lifting a flat rectangular box.
“Are those…” I perk up, lifting the top and groaning at the half dozen donuts inside. Even the smell is heavenly. “Thank you.” I grab a Boston cream and bite into it.
The sweet cake makes me sigh. If this doesn’t soak up the alcohol, I’m not sure what will.
A gasp has us all turning.
The designer stares from where she’s fussing over the bags on the rack. “Miss Madani, you can’t eat that.”
The sugar melts on my tongue, and I close my eyes to savor it. “Do you want one?”
“No! You can’t eat desserts the day before your wedding.”
