Chapter 36

 

Sammi

4:37 PM SATURDAY

 

I slump down the hall, breathing out a huge huff of air like I’m about to blow wind against Becky’s sails.

The first thing that happens as I do is my phone rings. I check the caller ID—Eggs.

I don’t fucking answer it, because if I do, I’m going to say something that I’ll regret. There’s too much anger there. Too much resentment.

When I talk to Eggs again, I’m going to be calm. I’m going to be cool.

And I’m going to say something that’s going to fucking destroy him, because that’s what he deserves.

The second thing that happens as I approach the door to the suite is that I see it: a fucking pile-up.

Three Thai delivery boys bearing gifts with Mysti May, Becky, and Liam all wearing the world’s most self-satisfied grins on their faces.

“Okay,” Becky says. “So, here’s the deal. This order…”

She waves Delivery Boy #1 over and pinches his cheek in a way that makes him blush. He’s carrying a bouquet of lilies—my favorite—with a card attached.

Which I reach for, and Becky promptly plucks away just before my fingers close around it.

“This order,” she begins again, looking so smug I wanna smack her, “was placed the day you announced your engagement to Eggsy—the shithead.”

“Who from?” I ask.

Becky clears her throat, then reads from the card: “Sammi—You’re marrying a wanker who doesn’t deserve you, but you’ll be a smokin’ hot bride. If you need anyone to object last minute while you stand at the altar, I’ll be there. Yours, Lock.”

Delivery Boy #1 hands me the lilies and Becky deposits the card on top. She’s lucky that the lilies leave my hands full…

Or else I’d be tempted to actually smack her.

“Typical Lock,” I say, shaking my head. “He sent me flowers as an excuse to be disapproving about my choice in men.”

“Which turned out to be right,” Liam reminds me. “Show her what’s behind door number two, love.”

Impossibly, Becky’s smile gets even more smug as she beckons forward Delivery Boy #2.

“This order,” she announces, “was placed at seven last night. Presumably at the beginning of Lock’s meeting with Eggs at that ladyboy bar.”

Delivery Boy #2 stacks a second massive bouquet of flowers atop the first. Black roses—oh, this should be rich.

Once again, Becky does the honors, grabbing the card before I can see it.

“Sammi—If you haven’t talked to me yet today, do. And if you’re still marrying that shithead, don’t. It’s important. Yours, Lock.”

“Drama queen,” I say, but even I’m a little touched by this.

These flowers weren’t gloating.

These flowers were a contingency plan.

“He was going to tell you, Sams.” Becky looks suddenly sincere. “He didn’t want you to marry Eggs without knowing.”

“Okay, okay,” I relent. “So what’s behind door number three?”

Becky’s big smug smile returns, and I immediately regret asking.

“This one’s my favorite,” she says, beckoning forward Delivery Boy #3.

“Card?”

“No card,” Becky says.

Delivery Boy #3 is holding only a little blue box.

“Open it, darlin’,” Mysti May urges.

I shift the flowers over to Myst and take the box in my hands.

My fingers are trembling.

I know what must be inside.

“When did—”

“Early this morning,” Becky says with a little nod.

Now it feels like my whole body is shaking.

It was never about the flowers. I have to admit that now. It was never about having a ring on my finger, either.

It was never about anything other than being too fucking afraid to accept what I’m always too drunk to remember.

I’m in love with Lock.

I might have been in love with Lock for a very long time.

But I’m an idiot, and I’m an asshole. Faced with something so slippery and intangible as love, I wanted to hold out until I had something solid. Evidence or data or a fucking checklist with all the boxes ticked off.

And now, being presented with all that shit…

Fuck.

I’m in love with my husband.

God fucking dammit.

My fingers slip as I fumble with the box, trying to open it.

I’m terrified to discover what’s inside…

And I’m excited, too.

I pry the box open slowly, holding my breath…

“Uh, guys?”

Percy’s voice carries down the hallway, and I pause, grateful for one more moment before the full reality of my life comes crashing down on me.

“Kinda having a moment right now, Perce!” Becky yells back at her.

“Yeah, that’s like, cool and stuff. It’s just…”

Percy’s bubblegum pink head pokes out into the hall.

Shit.

She actually looks fucking concerned.

“Three big black cars just pulled up outside, and a bunch of dudes with guns just got out of it. So, uh.”

My heart drops into my stomach.

I grab Becky by the arm.

“We need to move away from the door.”

So, Becky, Liam, Mysti May, a dozen white lilies, two dozen black roses, three delivery boys and I rush down the hall to join Percy, Ladyboy Celine Dion, and a joint-smoking monkey in the living room…

Just in time to narrowly avoid the Bangkok mafia kicking down the door.

Men with guns pour into the room, and for once, it’s not my dumb ass on the line for a change.

Instead, we all move protectively around Percy, whose pink hair is starting to look less like a big dumb mistake and more like a half-assed attempt to conceal her identity…

Or a target.

Because if she thought changing her hair color would change the heart of the mafia don…

It didn’t fucking work.

I open my mouth to tell him, You know what? Fuck off. Forcing his way into a private hotel room with all these gun-wielding mafiosos might be how things work in his world, but we’re Americans, dammit. Even if he did successfully kidnap, murder or—god forbid—marry Percy—we have one of the most rabid, sensationalized medias in the goddamn world.

He might not care about dealing with the police or the legal system or the government, but the second a major news organization gets hold of this particular story, his ass is grass—and not the kind that the monkey dangling from the chandelier is smoking, either.

At the same time, he opens his mouth. Probably to continue his monologue from earlier—that if he can’t have Percy, no one can. Lots of guns, much shoot, yadda yadda, et cetera, marry me or else.

It’s so fucking predictable that not even the fear of being riddled with bullets is gonna stop me from rolling my eyes at it all right now.

But before either of us says anything, something funny happens.

The monkey—this damn fucking monkey upon whom I’ve low-key been placing the blame for all my fucking problems—the Weed Monkey makes the strangest happy little chattering noise and swings down from the chandelier…

Right into the mafia don’s arms.

And into the mafia don’s open mouth…

The monkey places its joint.

So, we’re staring at the mafia don with baited breath, feeling pretty what the fuck and wondering what the hell he’s going to do next.

And the mafia don is staring back at us…with pretty much the same expression on his face.

At some point, one of the mafiosos has the bright idea to whip out a lighter and set the joint aflame…

And just like that, the tension dissipates.

“You found my monkey!” the mafia don exclaims.

And damned if he doesn’t take that fucking monkey into his arms and hug the little bastard tight.

I’ll be honest…at that point, I’m out.

I head out to the balcony—the same balcony where Lock and I fucked last night. The last twenty-four hours have been so fucking insane that I’m having trouble taking it all in.

It’s insane the way that twenty-four hours can change your entire fucking life. That you can lose the man who’s supposed to be the love of our life…and meet your soul mate, all within the course of one day.

That you can squirt on the face of a mafia don, be kidnapped by his men, get rescued by said soul mate, and then—some-fucking-how—reunite him with his long-lost, card-counting, weed-stealing monkey companion, narrowly avoiding a villanous monologue—a fate worse than death…

“Hey,” Becky says, coming out on the balcony and standing next to me. She leans on the rail at my side and nudges me gently with her elbow.

When I follow her gaze, I realize something insane.

The little blue box Lock sent me is still unopened in my hands.

And—shit. Lock. Last time I saw him, I pushed him into the Chao Phraya…another fate worse than death.

“You gonna open it?” Becky asks.

My shoulders rise and fall as I take a big breath and release it again.

“Yeah,” I admit. “I have to…even though I already know what’s inside.”

“You don’t know specifics, though,” Becky says with a sly little grin. “Maybe he’s surprised you.”

“Maybe,” I say, smiling back at her.

For once, I don’t even want to slap her for it.

I run my thumb over the edge of the box, thinking it over. But first…

“We need to talk to that monkey,” I say, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her back in.

Inside, the Bangkok mafia seems to be partaking heavily in Ladyboy Celine Dion’s weed…and Ladyboy Celine Dion as well, for that matter. She’s giggling as she’s passed around from one gangster to the next, being felt up and kissed on to her heart’s content.

Mysti May looks pretty let down, but honestly…Mysti May needs to stop falling in love with everyone she hooks up with when she’s drunk.

I approach the mafia don with a little fire burning in my chest. I know what I have to do next—with Lock and the little blue box and my life and everything. But before that happens…

I bow to the monkey.

“I’ve figured it out,” I inform the little primate bastard. “I’ve remembered everything. And…” I groan. “I’m in love with Lock Williams. Okay? I’m admitting it. So…can I please have my award back?”

The monkey sits back on the mafia don’s shoulder, looking pleased with himself. The mafia don, on the other hand, looks confused as fuck—and I give the dude a tired shrug.

You and me both, sister.

Appeased, the monkey nods his head and points his finger. I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe the first of the last sighs of relief I’ll have to breathe today.

That is, until I see where the monkey’s finger is pointing.

“Oh, god, no,” I sob.

Because over there in the corner, just beneath that sticky, smelly pile of ping-pong balls… I see the faintest glimmer of the award I received last night.

“I’d let it go if I was you, babe,” Becky says, patting me on the shoulder sympathetically.

“Yeah…I-I’m good. Can you guys hold down the fort here?”

I look at the faces of my BFFs, and they all smile and nod.

Fucking good. For the first time in the last twenty-four hours, it looks like everything might finally be alright.

I tuck the little blue box in the pocket of my skirt and run out the door.

He might hate me. He might fucking despise me. And I’d put good money on him not smelling too great…

But I’m in love with Lock Williams.

And a woman never gives up on her husband.