Chapter 6: No Fake

By seven the next morning Chloe's post had two hundred thousand likes.

I read the comments sitting on the edge of the hotel bed with the half-open dress still hanging off my shoulders.

Poor girl. What kind of bride humiliates a man in front of his family? She's a cold calculating witch. Pray for Dillon.

My name was in forty of them.

My mother had called twice. I had not picked up.

On the sofa, a blanket slid to the floor.

Vaughn sat up with his hair flat on one side and his shirt open at the collar.

"You didn't sleep," he said.

"No."

"Give me the phone."

I handed it over.

He read three comments and gave it back.

"They don't know you," he said.

"They know a boot and a crying blonde."

"Gillian."

"I watched it happen for six months, and I'm the villain."

"Come here."

"No." I stood up. The dress slid another inch and I let it. "You said tomorrow with the lights on and nobody's number on my phone."

I switched off the phone and dropped it on the pillow.

I crossed the room and stopped in front of the sofa.

"It's tomorrow," I said.

He looked up at me.

For a long second he didn't move.

"Real or nothing," he said. His voice had dropped. "You know that."

"I know that."

"Then tell me what you want."

"I want you to stop being careful."

He stood.

He was a head taller than me, and I had to look up.

"Whose consolation prize are you this morning?" he said quietly.

"Nobody's. Yours."

"Say it again."

"Yours."

His hand came up to my jaw, and then his mouth was on mine, and it was not slow anymore.

I dragged his shirt up over his head.

Keep reading free with an account. Start He Left Our Wedding for a Sprained Ankle, So I Married My Ex-Boss from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.