Page 28 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)

Saturday afternoon — Ariana

“ O kay, Team Bachelor/Bachelorette,” Meg said, clapping her hands as we all milled around in the lobby of the Neon Museum. “Time for the ultimate test of who-knows-who-best.”

The museum staff was clearly flustered, trying not to gawk at the actual celebrities in their midst. One teen in a neon windbreaker whispered, “That’s Christopher Wentworth,” like it was a sacred revelation.

“Should’ve just called it The Newlywed Game ,” Liam muttered, stretching his arms behind his head.

“We did!” Meg grinned. “But certain people got weird about it.”

Certain people meaning me . Not that she’d said my name. She didn’t have to.

Jeremy slung an arm around her shoulders. “We tweaked it. Now it’s Team Bride versus Team Groom. Bragging rights and free drinks for the winners.”

To make it fair, Meg had sent around a get-to-know-you quiz the week before, one of those ridiculous group bonding things with questions like “What was your childhood nickname?” and “What’s your favorite hangover food?

” Everyone had filled it out—some more seriously than others—and now the answers were being used as part of the game.

Which meant even the people who barely knew each other could play like they did. Instant intimacy, Vegas-style.

“Oh good,” I said, dry as desert sand. “Nothing like high stakes to bring out our best behavior.”

The staff ushered us into another VIP section—because apparently even museums had those. Hanging out with rock stars meant discovering new luxuries daily.

They’d gone all out: two long tables, buzzers, prizes—the full game show treatment.

It was supposed to be harmless. Fun. A group trivia game where we’d all answer questions about each other. Except, of course, Meg had insisted on randomized pairings.

Guess who I got paired with.

Courtney, the human spray tan, squealed, practically bouncing in her wedge sandals. “I got paired with Nick! This is going to be so fun.”

And then—because the universe hates me—she turned to Christopher. “But I wouldn’t have minded being paired with you. I have a feeling you’re full of…surprises.”

Her hand lingered on his arm.

I felt an unholy urge to stab her with a curly straw. One of those obnoxious ones shaped like a butterfly. Right through her perfectly contoured cheek.

I wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to feel this… territorial . But watching her paw at him, all glitter and giggles, made something sharp twist in my gut.

Christopher’s gaze flicked to me. Just once. His mouth didn’t smile, but his eyes did.

Smug bastard.

Haley sidled up to me. “So…what’s it like waking up as Mrs. Wentworth? TMZ says it was super romantic.”

I gave her a look that could freeze fire. “ TMZ also once claimed Bigfoot was dating a Real Housewife. So.”

She turned away and Christopher was right behind her. “Guess we’re stuck together, Remington.” He said it like an inside joke.

I adjusted my sunglasses atop my head. “Try to contain your disappointment.”

“Never,” he murmured.

Before I could come up with a scathing retort, Meg called us into place. The museum had set up a cute little quiz area, complete with clipboards and markers, beneath a towering vintage Stardust sign.

“First question!” Meg announced, grinning. “What’s your partner’s most irrational fear?”

I didn’t even have to think.

“Easy,” Christopher said. “She’s convinced cheese curds are secretly alive.”

“They squeak ,” I said flatly. “That’s not irrational. That’s suspicious.”

Laughter rippled through the group, but when our answers matched perfectly, Christopher’s grin turned softer. Almost…proud.

We kept going. Favorite movie? The Princess Bride . Worst high school job? Hot dog vendor at Miller Park . Secret talent? Mostly fluent in Spanish, thanks to a summer internship in Panama.

The answers came easy. Too easy. Eleven years apart hadn’t erased a thing.

We weren’t supposed to be good at this.

But we were.

When Meg tallied up the points at the end, she whooped. “And the winners—by a landslide—Team Bride’s very own Ariana and Christopher!”

Everyone clapped. Jeremy whistled. Courtney pouted.

I wanted to throw up.

The trophy was a ridiculous sash that said “Vegas Royalty.” Jeremy shoved it into my hands with a grin. “You earned it, Ari.”

But all I could feel was the weight of Christopher’s gaze.

I needed out.

“Okay, I’m done. Time to head back to the hotel,” I said, handing the sash to Ellie like it was radioactive.

Meg frowned. “But we were going to?—”

“Have fun. Really. I’m just…dehydrated. Probably. Definitely. See you later.”

No one argued.

I turned to leave, heart hammering.

And then Christopher’s voice—low, unreadable—followed me like a hook catching on the hem of my dress.

“You still know me, Ari. Whether you want to or not.”

I didn’t look back.

Because I didn’t trust myself not to turn around.