A future that could be pretty damn great if she was on board.
I’m not in love with her—I’m not that delusional. But I could grow to care about her. Eventually fall in love with her.
Right?
The cat hops off my lap and runs to greet her owner with a welcoming meow.
“Doja! Such a pretty kitty.” Charlotte’s eyes are sparkling as she glances over at me, and she does a double take, pausing in the foyer.
“Oh. You’re home.” She states the obvious.
“I am.” I clutch the glass I’m still holding extra tight. “Where were you?”
She rarely goes anywhere, especially at night.
“I, uh, had a fitting for my wedding dress today,” she answers.
“This late?”
“A few hours ago.” She lifts one shoulder, acting way too mysterious.
As if she has something to hide?
“How did it go?”
“How did what go?” She frowns.
“The fitting.” Is she purposely playing dumb? Do I intimidate her so badly that she can’t think straight?
We need to get over this awkwardness between us, and I haven’t helped with the situation by ignoring her. We’re about to put on the biggest show of our lives, and if we continue to have lame-ass conversations such as this one and constantly avoid each other, we’re never going to be able to pull it off. We are two people with a common problem, and we need to be in sync. Support each other.
It’s the only way we’ll be able to survive this.
“Oh yes. The fitting was successful. I can’t give you too many details since the groom shouldn’t know anything about the dress,” she says, her expression coy. “That’s what your mother told me.”
“My mother was there?”
Charlotte nods. “And your sister.”
“Tins?”
“Yes.” Her entire expression softens. “I adore her. I hope she feels the same way about me. I think she does.”
At least someone from my family likes her. Not a single soul from her family likes me—well, maybe her mother, but not in a way that I’d consider appropriate. Oh and her youngest brother, Crew. He was cool to me, but we didn’t really get a chance to talk. “That’s nice.”
“We had a wonderful time. We went to a late lunch afterward.”
“All four of you?”
“Yes! I might’ve drunk a little too much.” Her smile is small. Even a little sneaky.
“You’re only twenty,” I remind her.
“I’m almost twenty-one. They didn’t even card me.” Another one of those shoulder lifts. A halfhearted little shrug, as if she can’t be bothered to make conversation with me anymore.
“Sounds like a nice little party,” I say sarcastically, telling myself to calm the fuck down.
I should be glad she bonded with my sister and mother.
“I really like your sister,” she says.
“You’re close in age to her.”
“I know. She said you’re her favorite brother.” She offers that tidbit in a whisper, as if she’s sharing a secret.
“She’s my favorite, too.” I pause. “Don’t tell my brothers. They think they are.”
Charlotte laughs, the sound curling through me like smoke, settling everywhere. She doesn’t do that often enough. “I should go take a shower.”
My mind is immediately filled with images of a naked Charlotte standing under a hot spray of water. Soaping up her body. Running her hands over her lush curves.
My dick twitches again, the traitor.
“Is Jasper here?” she asks, knocking me from my dirty thoughts.
I shake my head. “I think he already retired for the evening.”
Or her father offed the poor dude. I wouldn’t doubt he’d pull something like that.
Should I tell Charlotte her father stopped by and said such awful things about her?
Nah. Why ruin her good mood?
“Oh. Well, then. Good night.”
“Good night,” I say as she walks past me, her scent lingering like a tease.
I remain on the couch, stewing over what her father said to me. His crudeness.
His cruelty.
That asshole had a lot of nerve, coming over here and basically threatening me.
He really thinks he can take Charlotte away from me?
Guess he hasn’t truly gone head-to-head with a Constantine, then, has he?
Chapter Eighteen
Charlotte
I arrive at the hotel by myself, climbing out of the car Mother sent over, making sure to thank and tip the driver as he assists me. I stop on the sidewalk, staring at the towering hotel before me, the flags that hang above the entry rippling and snapping with the wind.
Our wedding rehearsal is to start soon. I left the apartment early to ensure I’d arrive on time. Traffic is horrific this time of day, and I didn’t want to be late. Especially since my lone arrival is a show of trust on my parents’ part. Mother admitted as much when I spoke to her yesterday.
Your father wants me to accompany you because he’s afraid you’ll run away, but I trust you, Charlotte. Don’t disappoint me.
I’m facing my fate. And I don’t plan on disappointing my mother.
Holding my head up high, I enter the hotel lobby, greeted with the gentle sounds of a tinkling piano and water trickling from a fountain. An older gentleman in a black suit with silver hair nods at me, his mouth formed into a faint smile.
I nod at him in return, my gaze searching, hoping to find a familiar face.
Perry informed me via text he would meet us at the hotel coming straight from the office, and I wish he was already here. Despite our tenuous connection, in these situations where we’re pretending to be the loving couple, he always grounds me.
It’s scary, having to go this alone and play the excited bride-to-be.
I make my way to the ballroom where our reception will be held tomorrow. Caroline Constantine put up a big fit, wanting the wedding to be held at her home in Bishop’s Landing, but my parents put their foot down. This is a Lancaster wedding, and my father wasn’t about to have my wedding happen in Constantine territory.
Despite the fact that he’s literally giving me away to them, I suppose he does have a few standards.
Once I find the ballroom, I’m instantly greeted by the wedding planner my mother hired after we became engaged.
“Charlotte, my God you’re positively glowing!” Miranda says, her eyes comically wide as she grabs my hands and gives them a quick squeeze. “Getting married is such a good look for you.”
I don’t bother telling her I went to a spa a few days ago and had a facial and was scrubbed to within an inch of my life. I’ve been waxed and plucked too, like I’m a freaking chicken.
But I do have to agree with her that my skin has never looked better. And that wild-eyed flushed expression probably has more to do with nerves than anything else.
“Thank you.” I smile.
She scans my attire, approval glowing in her eyes. “That dress is a masterpiece. You look as sweet as a wedding cake.”
I’ve worn more dresses these last six weeks since becoming engaged than I have in the last year, I swear. Tonight’s mini dress is nude in color, the fabric covered with tiny pink appliqued flowers and trimmed with pink lace, with a wide band wrapped around just beneath my breasts. The skirt is constructed of tiered tulle, drenched with more pink appliqued petals, as are the long, sheer sleeves. Nude patent leather stilettos with tiny straps around my ankles complete the look, and I grip the pale pink clutch Mother gave me tightly in my right hand.