I kind of hope to run into Brock and Mark downstairs. Or just Brock. I wouldn’t mind another kiss. If we were convincing before, I can just imagine how much more we’ll be now.

The thought of it makes me smile, biting my lip in anticipation of what might happen. I don’t want to believe this could ever go further than it already has, but my heart’s already miles ahead of my brain. Nobody can make love the way he made love to me without feeling something, can they?

I’m so busy recalling what just happened upstairs and wondering what else we might do later, maybe after the wedding, that I don’t notice Charlotte until she’s practically standing on top of me.

And she’s still in full-on Bridezilla mode. I’m surprised there aren’t flames shooting from her eyes as she glares at me. “What are you doing down here by yourself?” she demands, like she’s accusing me of a crime.

I look at her closely. She really has some balls. There’s no remorse at all for what she did to me last night. Well, I won’t give her the satisfaction of knowing I suffered last night. Let her think her plan didn’t have any success. “What do you mean?” I ask with a friendly smile.

She rolls her eyes. “I mean, it isn’t like Brock to let his woman wander around on her own.”

“You make him sound like a caveman.” I chuckle. What I really want to do is slap the smug look off her face, but a catfight in the middle of the lobby probably wouldn’t bode well for the rest of the weekend. And something tells me nothing would make her happier than seeing me break down and lose my cool.

“Well? Isn’t he? I mean, if he’s serious about you, I would imagine he’s got you on a pretty short leash.” She eyes me up and down with a smirk, not even trying to fake niceness any more.

Truly, I like it this way. I always prefer to know exactly where I stand with a person. “Maybe he just trusts me,” I suggest with a shrug.

Her eyes darken and narrow into thin slits. Yeah, that got her. But she’s not just giving up and going away, she’s just warming up. She leans in. “Or maybe he doesn’t care enough to get jealous.”

I’m quaking inside. She’s right. He doesn’t really care about me, and it’s obvious to her because she knows him really. Even though I’m here to make her believe he loves me, I’ve fallen short. She’s seen right through our lie. And it is still a lie. No amount of mind-blowing sex will change that. Darn her for doing this to me.

She folds her tanned, toned arms and smiles in smug triumph. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“He’s still in love with me, but he’s just too proud to admit it. That’s why he came here this weekend. Because he can’t stand knowing I’m marrying another man without being here to see it for himself. I wonder if he’ll even be able to get through the ceremony without objecting.”

I gaze at her in wonder. “You’re deluded.”

“We’ll see,” she whispers with a triumphant smile. Then she turns on her heel and walks away.

I wish I could sink into the floor and never come back. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this level of humiliation. No amount of money is worth this. I can’t believe I ever agreed to leave myself open to this.

After all, who in their right mind would believe Brock would actually want me? I’m nothing compared to Charlotte. Maybe I’m smarter, and I’m a decent person, but what difference does that make in this cruel world? If he went for a girl like her, she’s the kind of girl he really wants. Sexy, flashy, sophisticated. I was crazy to ever think a few hot kisses and an afternoon in bed can make any difference.

I stand in the middle of the foyer. I was going to the spa, wasn’t I?

It all seems pointless now. Why would I bother looking as good as I can tonight when Brock doesn’t really want me and Charlotte knows it? Then I straighten my shoulders. I took on this job and I will do it to the best of my ability. Brock will never be able to accuse me of doing half the job. Only sheer willpower keeps my feet moving in the right direction. I may have done a very, very stupid thing to get emotionally involved with Brock, but it doesn’t mean I have to go to the wedding not looking my best.

I still have my pride.

* * *

“You seem rather tense this afternoon.” The stylist frowns at me in the mirror, where I can gauge the progress she’s making on my hair. It hangs in long curls, fresh out of the rollers she just removed.

“Oh, I’m fine,” I lie through my teeth.

“Maybe you should spend a little time with the masseuse,” she suggests. “If you clench your teeth any harder, you’ll break them.”

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, my shoulders slumping. A complete and total stranger sees how depressed I am right now. I’m sure Brock will be able to see it too, and that just makes me feel worse.

“I’m afraid it is,” she confirms cheerfully.

Of course, she might just be trying to sell a massage. What do the masseuses do? Tell their clients they have split ends? It’s a relief when my phone buzzes. Saved by the text.

And what a text. From Brock.

Where are you? Get up here now. We need to talk ASAP.

Oh, wonderful. I’m halfway through my appointment and he needs to talk. No, he demands to talk. Where does he get off demanding anything from me?

Oh, right. He’s the person giving me a quarter of a million bucks for being here with him. I guess I could make something out of the way my hair currently looks. “I’m going to have to cut this short,” I explain, removing my cape. At least, I don’t have to answer any more questions about what’s wrong with me.

Anyway, he needs to know about my little altercation with Charlotte. He should know that we didn’t fool her. She might act like her bitchy, smug self when we see each other after the wedding and it will go better if he can anticipate what she thinks she knows. Or what she’s absolutely right about.

That he’s still in love with her.

God, why was I stupid enough to forget that part? I should’ve put a stop to what happened today. Still, I can’t pretend I didn’t want it just as much as he seemed to.

“Brock?” I call out when I open the door to the suite and find that he’s not waiting for me. I expected to see him standing in living room, hands clasped behind his back, demanding to know why it took me so long to get upstairs. Instead, the suite is quiet.

“Hello?” I walk to his closed bedroom door and tap gently on it. What if this is the opposite of what I’m thinking? What if he brought me up here for Round Two? And what do I do if that’s the case? I open the door. “Brock? You in here?”

He’s not.

Charlotte is.