Prologue -
Shana
“Can you believe I’m really married?” Kimbra asks, leaning as close to me as she can with her long white wedding dress filling the space between us.
“I’m so happy for you!” And I am. It seems like not that long ago we were roommates making our way through the big city of New York, the two of us against the world.
“If it can happen to me, I know your time is coming.”
I don’t want to burst her romantic bubble, especially on her wedding day, but if my time is in the next decade, the way my love life is going, I’ll need some divine intervention. First, I’m not dating anyone, which is usually a prerequisite for marriage. And second, I’m now daydreaming about the man across the dance floor talking with his date.
Don’t jump to conclusions. There’s a lot more to that story.
My current obsession—or attraction—is new, exciting, and absolutely crazy. It began last night with an innocent drink near a fire pit, a few wrong decisions that included shots of Fireball, and continued into this morning, waking in the bed of said man.
No, I’m not into three-ways, and no, his date isn’t real.
It isn’t like she’s a blow-up doll either, but she’s a pretend date. She’s even engaged to his other friend. The reasons behind his charade are not complicated. My best friend’s new husband is Trevor’s brother, Duncan. Before meeting my best friend, Duncan’s history with women was, well, legendary. For that reason of sibling rivalry, Trevor said he couldn’t attend Duncan and Kimbra’s wedding solo.
Anyway, that’s the story he told me and the one I want to believe.
“Let’s concentrate on your big day,” I say. “And your big night!”
Kimbra laughs. “I may be wearing white, but…” She looks out to find her new husband across the room. “I’m pretty sure that when it comes to tonight, I know all about what’s coming.”
“It’d better be you!” I say just before we both start laughing, sounding more like teenagers than adults. When we both settle, I admit to my best friend. “I may be a little jealous.”
“Well, you can’t have Duncan.”
“I don’t want Duncan. I just would like to…”
“I know,” she says excitedly, reaching beneath the long table and lifting a gift bag. “You can have the gift from Grandma Helen.”
I giggle into my own glass of bubbly. In the bag she’s holding is a brand-new vibrator, color-coordinated to match Kimbra’s wedding. “I don’t know if that’s sweet or gross or both. I’m sure it would be the most action I’ve seen in ages. But still, I’ll pass.”
As my best friend keeps talking, my mind goes back to this morning, waking in Trevor’s bed, his broad chest and wide shoulders beside me and the warmth of his body against mine. Yes, we’d slept together. No, we didn’t do more. It’s a long story, but the most important part is that we both agreed not to tell Kimbra or Duncan what happened. We agreed to keep it our one secret night.
My lip disappears behind my teeth as I imagine Trevor shirtless, his morning beard covering his chin, and his hair all messed from sleeping.
“If you change your mind,” Kimbra says with a grin, obviously misconstruing my concentration.
I lift my hand to wave her train of thought away. It may be hard to believe that the vibrator in question came from Kimbra’s grandmother. But it did. Yes, you read that right. She’s somewhere between seventy and one hundred years old, and as Kimbra says, her filter is broken and the warranty is expired. That means that you never know exactly what will come out of her mouth.
A few minutes ago, her grandma came parading to the head table and handed Kimbra and her husband Duncan a gift. I’ve heard stories of her doing the same to other family members. It seems that sometimes the gifts aren’t wrapped. Thankfully, Kimbra’s was in a gift bag. Even so, her grandma wanted the new couple to open it on the spot. The way Kimbra’s cheeks filled with pink, I didn’t have to ask what was inside.
It was then that Grandma Helen promised Duncan an entire package of batteries for the honeymoon. Their conversation makes me smile. “Besides, I don’t think your new husband would approve. He sounded pretty excited about the entire package of batteries.”
Kimbra shakes her head. “It’s not like you don’t have one.”
“A husband?”
“No, silly. We were roommates for years.” Her brows waggle. “As my grandma would say, you weren’t brushing your teeth at midnight.”
“How do you know? I happen to believe in diligent oral hygiene.” When Kimbra looks at me with that all-knowing grin, I go on, “Keep your gift. You’re right. I have it covered.” Yes, I have my own battery-operated boyfriend, but taking another glance into the crowd and seeing Trevor talking to his date, for the first time in a long time, I wish for the real live kind of boyfriend.
A few hours later back at the hotel, I’ve officially declared defeat, losing the fight I was having with myself. I guess that also means I won. Maybe I should declare victory. No matter the conclusion, my internal debate is still raging.
Don’t do it.
Then again, I’m almost there.
At a little after midnight, instead of heading toward my own suite, I’m sneaking down the carpeted hotel hallway on my way to his suite.
I’m not sure if that makes me curious, attracted, or pathetic.
I don’t want to overanalyze. All I know is that I’m attracted and yes, curious. (The jury is still out on pathetic.)
The way I see it, this is not 1960. A woman can initiate a conversation—especially with the man she woke beside—as well as a man.
Why should I wait for him to make a move?
Although my little pep talk is doing little to calm my erratically beating heart, I don’t allow myself to stop moving toward my destination. Closer and closer with each step, I make my way to the suite of the man I can’t get out of my head—the man whose deep voice and kisses woke me this morning. As I pass each door and the numbers grow closer to his, I’m contemplating my motive for this late-night walk.
Why am I really doing this?
It doesn’t matter that I’m still wearing a long mint dress and crystal-studded high heels from the wedding or that my hair is plastered in place by a full can of hair spray guaranteed to open a hole in the ozone—or at least cause me to be most certainly flammable. I don’t even care that my makeup is so thick that I could possibly get a gig at the local gentlemen’s club.
All I can think about are the stunning green eyes that seemed omnipresent during Kimbra’s wedding. Or how at the reception, each time I’d turn, our gazes would meet, and my pulse would race.
I wanted to go to him, to talk, to dance...but as the maid of honor, my role was beside my best friend. As the brother of the groom, his place was with his family.
Now, our designated roles are complete.
My best friend and her husband are off somewhere, and I don’t even want to give them or her grandma’s gift more thought.
So what do I want to find when I reach Trevor’s room?
I don’t know.
That isn’t true.
I know.
I want to find Trevor Willis alone. I want to confirm that Cynthia, his date at the wedding, is as he said, a friend—a friend with a fiancé of her own, a friend whose fiancé is also Trevor’s friend, a friend who helped him by being his pretend date and nothing more.
I want to confirm what my heart thinks it knows, to verify that the handsome, sexy, and honorable man I met last night is sincere and honest. I want to know that just because his last name is Willis doesn’t mean he has kept par with his brother’s reputation—per the rumors associated with Duncan before he began dating my best friend.
It wasn’t so much that they began dating as they began pretending.
With each step closer to Trevor’s suite, I hope that maybe, just maybe, tonight at the wedding of my best friend to his brother, we did the opposite of pretending to be together.
If there’s a chance for anything more to materialize between Trevor and me, then maybe one day we can say it all began when we pretended not to be interested in one another at a wedding.
The idea makes my insides flutter as anticipation builds. I want that. I want this wedding weekend to be the beginning of a relationship with a future.
A relationship.
My mind tells me that a future is impossible. After all, I live in London and he’s working in Washington State.
That scenario doesn’t sound like the best setup for any kind of future, but after what happened last night, I want to try.
My heart wants what it wants.
Mind be damned.
As I turn the corner toward Trevor’s room, he steps into the hallway, his suit from earlier replaced by chic casual attire. I’m stilled by the sight of him in nicely fitted jeans and a soft T-shirt. The cotton pulls tightly around his bulging biceps and wide shoulders while hanging looser at his waist. I bite my lip as I watch him. Closing the door, Trevor turns my way.
The other doors lining the hallway disappear as our gazes meet. Just like during the wedding, my pulse kicks up as my heart thumps loudly in my ears.
“Shana?”