Page 8 of Marrying Mr. Wentworth (Austen Hunks #3)

Thursday evening — Christopher

O ur suite was insane. Of course it was.

Three sprawling bedrooms, three marble-and-gold bathrooms, a living room big enough to host a medium-sized wedding, and a view of the Vegas Strip so bright it felt like you could get a tan just by looking out the window.

There was a stocked bar that looked like a mob front in a Martin Scorsese film, and enough plush furniture to stage a catalog shoot.

Dashwood claimed the biggest bedroom within thirty seconds of arrival.

Not that I cared. I’d slept in the back of vans, on tour bus benches, and once used a guitar case as a pillow during a layover.

A bed was a bed. I tossed my duffel onto the second-largest bed, kicked off my boots, and headed back into the main room, where Liam was already cracking open a beer.

He was perched on the arm of the massive sectional, one foot on the coffee table, remote in hand like a king surveying his domain. But his eyes flicked up the second I walked in, and I knew that look. That quiet curiosity wrapped in brotherly concern.

“You gonna tell us what happened?” he asked. Too casual to be casual.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Nick—Holt—frantically waving his hands behind me like he was trying to land a plane. Don’t ask. Don’t ask . He might as well have had cue cards.

Too late. I was already unraveling.

“What happened?” I echoed, heading straight for the bar. I dropped my aviators onto the counter with a clatter and poured a generous bourbon. “I fucked up. That’s what happened.”

Liam blinked. That easy grin of his faltered.

I took a long sip and dropped into one of the velvet armchairs that looked like they belonged to a 1920s speakeasy.

“Ariana and I—we were the real thing. Or I thought we were. We’d been together since high school. All through college. Until I dropped out senior year to give music everything I had. She still supported me. She was incredible that way.”

The Vegas lights shimmered through the glass behind me. All that glitz. All that flash. When I was nineteen, this suite would’ve been my definition of success.

Now it just looked like a reminder of everything I’d lost.

Dash—Liam—spoke up again. “But?”

I exhaled hard. “But two years after I dropped out, I was still waiting tables at night and playing to empty bars. Meanwhile, Ari was heading to law school like she was strapped to a rocket. I couldn’t keep asking her to hitch herself to my disaster. I didn’t belong in her world anymore.”

“Bullshit,” Holt muttered, flopping onto the couch.

I shot him a look but didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” I said. “Letting her go. Giving her room to find someone stable. Someone who could give her the future she deserved.”

“And you’ve regretted it ever since,” Holt said, not unkindly.

“Every goddamn day.”

Dash tapped his bottle against the table. “So tell her that. Hell, tell her now. You’re not some broke nobody anymore. You’re Christopher freaking Wentworth. You’re rich. Famous. You could offer her the world.”

I laughed, sharp and humorless. “You don’t get it. Ari doesn’t care about all that. She never did. She didn’t want the spotlight. She wanted me. And I gave her the boot. Now she hates me. I mean, full-on, scorched-earth hatred. She’s not mad. She’s nuclear.”

Nick looked thoughtful. “You sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Just… She looked at you a couple times. When she thought no one was watching.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Probably to wish I would spontaneously combust.”

“Nope,” Dash said. “That wasn’t anger. That was the kind of look you give someone when you’re trying really hard not to remember what it felt like to love them.”

The room went quiet for a beat.

“You think I still have a shot?” I asked finally, my voice rougher than I meant.

Nick stood, grabbing a beer from the mini fridge. “You’ve got a weekend. If that’s not a shot, I don’t know what is.”

I shook my head. “I’d give anything to make it right.”

Dash dipped his beer bottle toward me. “Then maybe it’s time to stop regretting and start doing.”

I stared down at the carpet. Thought about all the songs I’d written about her. All the times I’d imagined what I’d say if I saw her again. The apologies I never gave. The ones she probably didn’t even want anymore.

“I still love her,” I said. Quiet. Simple. Like it wasn’t the truest thing I’d said in years.

Dash leaned back with a sigh. “Then what the hell are you waiting for?”

Good question.

Nick lifted his beer bottle in the air. “The way I see it, this weekend may just be your last chance, Wentworth.”

Damn. Maybe he was right. Maybe Vegas wasn’t just the end of the line.

Maybe it was my last chance to start something again.

And this time? I wouldn’t run.

This time, I’d fight for her.