Page 19 of Accidental Groom

The penthouse suite feels cavernous without him in it.

I pace between the floor-to-ceiling windows and the white marble kitchen island, my bare feet silent against the cold stone, my most comfortable sundress swishing around my calves. Harry’s downstairs handling some kind of business call — he’d said something about a property manager in Milan, if I’d heard him correctly. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m trespassing in someone else’s life.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I snatch it up like a lifeline.

Ross:

So sorry I wasn’t able to make it yesterday. Got called to work. How was it? Are you okay?

I stare at the text, reliefalmostflooding me. At least I know my best friend isn’t dead.

Me:

Wish you’d been here. It was a disaster.

Ross:

Oh no. That bad? What happened?

Me:

George no-showed.

Ross:

WHAT??

Wait. Isn’t that a positive? You didn’t want to marry him anyway.

Me:

Would’ve been if I hadn’t had to marry his father instead.

Three dots appear, dancing along the bottom of the screen, then disappear. Over and over, I watch them dance, knowing damn well Ross is losing his mind on the other side of the screen.

Ross:

Please tell me you’re joking.

I snort and send through a photo my sister had taken during the ceremony. The dots do their dance again, and I tap my nails on the counter, waiting for a response that will hopefully make me laugh, make me feel better about this absurd situation?—

Ross:

Jesus, Elena. Are you okay?

Well. That’s not what I was expecting.

Me:

I honestly don’t know.

Before I can type anything else, my phone screen fills with a photo of Sarah, the ringtone I’d selected specifically for her blaring out. I hesitate, wanting to keep talking to Ross in whatever time he has right now, but Sarah wins. She always wins with me.

“Hey—”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I’ve been thinking about this since the lobby earlier and it’s driving me insane,” she says, leaving no room for the standard pleasantries, her voice slightly breathless like she’s been running laps of her room. “I have to ask. Did you actually consummate your marriage last night? Dad was talking about it all quiet with Mom when I got up. Is that seriously in the contract? Did you do it? I need answers.”

Heat floods my face. “Sarah?—”