Chapter 32

Sammi

4:10 PM SATURDAY

I’m the kind of woman who makes plans and sticks to them. Lists, flow charts, calendar entries—the lot.

That’s me. That’s the Sammi Brighton way. My five-year plan is a five-decade plan, and my schedule is usually booked down to the fucking minute.

So, if you opened up my day planner right now, it would tell you that at 4:00 p.m. on Saturday, I was meant to have my hair done by one of Bangkok’s premier stylists. Simple braid, according to my entry in my wedding plan binder. Crown of lilies, no veil.

I ought to call the stylist and tell her that the appointment is off. Scratch that—the entire wedding is off.

But I just don’t have the heart.

What I do have is the bottle of tequila. I take a long, hard swig of it before I pass it to Percy.

“I just don’t know where I went wrong,” I say, blinking. I feel fucking shell-shocked. This is the kind of shit that happens to Becky. Or Percy. Or Mysti May. Not to me. “I planned everything. It was calculated, dammit!”

“It’s feelings, Sammi,” Liam says, taking the bottle from Percy. He has his arm around Becky and passes her the bottle next after taking his own swig. “You can count cards and stars and data sets—but not love.”

“Maybe it’ll end up okay,” Becky says, ever fucking chipper. “It did for us, anyway.”

I roll my eyes. “I’d call that an anomaly at best, Becks.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs, then turns to Liam and nuzzles him, nose tip to nose tip. “But there are like, a trillion people in the world, Sams. And people meet the loves of their lives every day, anyways. It’s like the anomalies are stacked in our favor.”

“They’re stacked against mine,” I groan. “I was supposed to be getting married in a few hours. Now, I’m not getting married at all.”

Percy hiccups as the bottle gets back to her. “That’s not totally true,” she corrects me. “You probably got married last night. To sexier Chris Hemsworth. Remember?”

“Not yet, I don’t.” I shake my head and take another swig of tequila. At this point, I’m not sure if I’m drinking to remember…or drinking to further forget. “Lock and I don’t even belong together, Perce. We’re like gunpowder…and more gunpowder.”

“And when the sparks fly between you, you both explode?” Percy winks.

Becky makes a drunken little explosion noise, and Liam looks at his wife like he wants to put a baby in her.

Christ. They’re way too much right now.

Instead, I reach out and smooth a lock of Percy’s bubblegum pink hair behind her ear. “You’re one to talk. Why don’t you just let Silver Fox wife you already?”

“Warner?” Percy laughs, trying to grab the bottle back. I have to make a quick pass to Liam just to avoid her greedy little fists. “Silver Fox is a different story entirely. I’m not like you and Becks—when I settle down, it’s all fucking over for me. No more international sugar daddies. No more wild weekends or crazy fun.”

Becky shrugs. “I dunno, Perce. I feel like I’ve had even more fun since I got married.”

Liam hands her the bottle and grins. “That’s because we’re made for each other, love.”

They look like they’re going to make out again, which makes me groan. Liam shoots me a sympathetic look.

“Sammi, don’t be fucking ridiculous,” he says. “You’re hung up over a man who spent a critical portion of last night calling you boring and taking cock up his ass. Meanwhile, there’s been a perfectly good bloke chasing you all over the city today like a lovesick puppydog. He’s in love with you. It’s obvious. And from what we remember from last night…”

“I’m in love with him too,” I grumble. “I know, I know. But I don’t want to be, dammit! I want my calculated, synergized, artfully planned life back!”

“Yeah, well, I want my hair to stop looking like I’m a main character in a Japanese cartoon show.” Percy reclaims the bottle and shoves it into my chest. “Sober Sammi gets whatever hand Drunk Sammi dealt her. It’s time to nut up and just fucking roll with it, babe.”

“Worked for us,” Becky coos. Her eyelashes flutter up at Liam so hard I think I get motion sickness just watching them.

“Sometimes the decisions you make when you’re pissed are just the ones you’re too afraid to make when you’re sober,” Liam agrees.

Then the suite door swings open, and we hear the sound of two sets of stiletto heels clomping down the hall.

“Hey, y’all!” Mysti May calls out. “Guess who I found waiting for me down at the bar!”

A group-wide eye roll commences.

“Unless you’re Mysti May,” Percy stipulates beneath her breath.

“Silly bird could use a few sober decisions to balance the scales a bit,” Liam agrees.

“I think she missed me,” Mysti May coos, trekking in with her arm around Ladyboy Celine Dion.

But Ladyboy Celine Dion is looking a little worse for wear right now. In fact, Ladyboy Celine Dion doesn’t seem to be having a very good time at all.

“I left my drugs here,” Ladyboy Celine Dion tells us all, looking somewhat apologetic.

“Check the bathroom,” I suggest, and she clomps off to search for whatever illicit substances she decided to stash in our toilet or beneath our sink last night.

“Isn’t she great?” Mysti May coos, watching Ladyboy Celine Dion leave.

We all share a look.

“Myst, we’ve gotta talk about your love life, hun.”

“This isn’t healthy,” Percy agrees.

“We just want what’s best for you,” Becky says sweetly.

“And you might need to stop falling in love with any tart who asks to see your tits,” Liam adds. Like he’s trying to crack an eggshell with a jackhammer.

“You…fuck you, guys.” Mysti May blinks…then scowls. “All y’all get to make drunken decisions, and they turn out fucking perfectly, then all mine end up being trash? This ain’t fair!”

It looks like I’m not the only one on the verge of a breakdown. It’s only just hitting me now…but this trip has been pretty fucking awful for Mysti May, too. Becky and Liam might just need a tetanus shot or two, and Percy definitely needs a hairdresser…but I really do feel for Mysti May.

Or at least, I’m starting to, when I hear a sharp, shrill yelp come from the bathroom. A shaggy brown blur comes flying out through the bathroom door and hits the wall, then takes off running through the hotel suite.

It takes me a second to sort out what’s going on.

Percy gets there first.

“The monkey’s got the drugs!” she yells, diving across the floor at the renegade primate.

It kicks her in the face before leaping onto Liam’s head. Becky sees a quick solution there, grabbing her purse and swinging it at the furry little face-hugger…but a moment too late.

Instead, she just ends up hitting Liam in the face with her Louis Vuitton while the monkey scrambles into the kitchen with a massive bag of weed, Mysti May in hot pursuit.

It’s fucking chaos, is what it is. I don’t even bother dealing with it—instead, I just tip the bottle of tequila back against my lips and finish off what’s left of it. Might as well, right? I’ve already ruined my life this weekend—can one more drink really hurt?

And that’s when it happens.

That’s when I remember marrying Lachlan fucking Williams.