Page 113 of Marrying the Billionaire Single Dad

She raises a shoulder. "Okay, maybe a little. You’ve got to admit, the situation is slightly humorous."

"Not from where I am," I purse my lips.

"Tell me what happened. Why don’t you start at the top, hmm?" She drops her voice to a soothing tone and I give her a dirty look.

"What?" She throws up her hands, "I am only trying to help."

I drain my glass. "You can help by topping up my wine."

She reaches for the carton of wine, then turns it upside down. "Sorry, that was the last of it, babe."

"You’d think Amelie would have stocked up better, considering she was in the middle of a rollercoaster of a relationship with the doctor," I grumble.

"Maybe that’s why there isn’t enough wine here," Isla offers. "She probably drank it all as she came to terms with being hitched to an alphahole for life."

As I soon will be.

My heart begins to thud, sweat beads my palms, the wine glass slips from my grasp, and crashes onto the floor. Good thing it’s plastic, huh?

I pick it up, then walk over to the garbage can and dump it in. I straighten, then stare out of the window. "Jesus, what a mess!"

"You should have thought of that before associating with one of the Seven."

"Hey, not fair." I pivot to frown at her, "You’re the one who encouraged me to go for him."

"I meant that you shag him, not propose to him."

"Yeah." I hunch my shoulders. "Why the hell did I do that? More to the point, why the hell did he accept? Especially after he'd told me that he wasn't going to marry anytime soon!"

"He said that to you?"

"Yeah."

"And yet, when you proposed, he agreed?" She frowns.

"He did."

"Maybe he changed his mind?"

"Ha, that's not something Damian does. That man... Once he makes up his mind, nothing can sway him."

"Maybe this is different...?" she suggests.

"And maybe this is all a dream?" I wrap the strands of my hair around my hand and tug; the pain squiggles down my neck. Okay, so this isn't all a figment of my imagination. This is really happening. "Help me," I implore her.

"Maybe you could take it back?" She tilts her head, "Tell him it was all a mistake?"

"What was a mistake?" A new voice sounds from the doorway and I scream. So does Isla.

"It’s me, girls." Karina holds up both of her hands. "Just me. Sorry, I guess I should have knocked."

"Or something." I frown. "How did you get in?"

She stares at me.

"Right. You did the security for this place, so you have all of the passwords."

She walks over and places a bottle of champagne—expensive by its label, no cheap almost-vinegar type plonks for Madam, here.