Page 43 of The Wrong Husband (The Davenports #6)

Phoenix

I always imagined my wedding as some distant, dreamy event. The only certainty? I’d marry someone who loved and respected me. Connor may not love me—yet—but he respects me, deeply. And he feels for me.

When I suggested we elope, he didn’t blink. Just pulled me in for a kiss, then reached for his phone to make arrangements. We stopped at my place for my passport—he wouldn’t let me pack. “I’ll get you everything,” he said.

I already had my wedding dress with me.

Now, on a private jet he summoned with a single call, I wonder if he hoped I’d suggest this. He was ready. Waiting.

Maybe, I’ve unleashed something I can’t rein in. Because beneath his charm and care, Connor is a predator—a man who claims what he wants. And now, that’s me.

Maybe, this is the coward’s way out, but I didn’t want a London wedding. I don’t want my family—or Drew—there. If he found out before I could speak to him, it would only make things worse.

I’ll tell him. Just not yet. I pull out my phone and message him.

Me: Will be away a couple of days. Something urgent came up.

I send it off, but it stays unread. A few more minutes pass without any change in status. Guess he must be busy?

I start to message my mom, then stop. Because if I message her, she’ll call. And once she calls, I’ll have to explain everything—how I met Connor, why I agreed to marry someone I barely know.

She’ll worry.

Of course, that’s a bit late to consider now… I’m already on the flight.

I should’ve told her when I first started thinking about it. Or maybe, years ago, when I met Drew.

Better yet, I should’ve called her more often after I left home.

I remember being close to her when I was younger.

But after I hit puberty, she became stricter, less forgiving. One set of expectations for my brothers… And another for me.

So, I left for a life that didn’t require her permission or approval.

But deep down, under all that defiance… I’m still reaching for her approval.

Because if I can just pull this off—if I can fix something, save something, protect something that matters—maybe then, I’ll finally be enough.

Now, the distance between us feels like too much to surmount.

Instead of my mum, I message James and let him know that I'm eloping with Connor. I tell him not to be pissed off, that this was my decision, and that I'm happy.

Then, I message my friends’ group chat.

Me: I’m on a plane. To Gibraltar.

Instantly, the dots jump around.

Harper: Gibraltar? What’s in Gibraltar?

Grace: Read the room Harp. Why does one go to Vegas? Hint: it’s not for the gambling.

Harper: Wh-a-a-a-t? No way Phe! Is that why you’re headed to Gibraltar?

Zoey: Are you sure?

It’s my turn to pause. My thoughts run pell-mell through my mind, then I type out:

Me: I’m not. But also, I kind of am. It’s complicated.

Zoey: Considering the off-the-charts chemistry I saw between you two… Can I just ask—are you marrying Connor?

Me: No, I met someone else.

I watch in amusement as the dots on my screen flash, then disappear, as if everyone is trying to figure out how to respond.

Harper:

Grace:

Zoey:

Deciding to put them out of their misery, I type another message.

Me: Of course it’s Connor. Who else could it be?

Zoey: As long as this is what you want?

Me: I think it IS. I’m so sorry I’m eloping. Can you forgive me for doing this?

Harper: Woman please. We’re just happy that you’re happy. You deserve it.

I bite my lower lip. Harper’s response gives me the courage to ask the question I’ve been wondering about.

Me: You don’t think it’s too soon?

Harper: Of course not. When you know, you know.

Harper’s a romantic. She thinks Connor and I fell in love very quickly and decided to get married. She doesn’t know the main reason why. And I’ll tell them, once the ER is safe.

Grace: Listen bish it’s called eloping because you don’t tell anyone about it and just go ahead and do it. Personally I think it’s the fastest most efficient way to do it.

I chuckle. I bet Grace is thinking it’s the only way she could get married without missing her morning show. I’m doing it this way because I’m a coward. Because I don’t want to explain myself to anyone.

Why can’t I simply be open to my friends and my family?

Why do I have this awful worry that I’ll be judged by everyone for my actions?

Why can’t I stop worrying about what others think about me and simply allow myself to be?

External locus of evaluation: Basing self-worth on others’ opinions rather than internal validation.

Or in this case, it’s one person’s opinion. My mother. I’ll face her when I’m back.

Zoey: I’m guessing, the sex is phenomenal. You do realize you don’t have to marry him for that, right?

Uh, am I going to tell them I haven’t slept with him? Not in the strictest sense, anyway. Probably not.

Me: That’s not the reason I’m marrying him. Not only

Harper: Spill the tea woman! Let me at least live vicariously.

Me: When I’m back.

Grace: Take pics. Lots of pics.

Zoey: As long as this makes you happy go for it.

It does make me happy. I’m so glad I shared this with my friends. I’ll tell Drew when I return. He’s not going to be happy, but perhaps, it’ll be the sign he needs to move on.

My phone vibrates again. As if thoughts of him have conjured him up, there’s a message from him.

Drew: I wish you’d change your mind, Phe. You know I still love you. I’ll always love you. We belong together.

My stomach twists. My chest pulls tight, like a rubber band stretched to snapping.

The jet hits an air pocket—sudden, jarring. I lurch in my seat as the phone slips from my hand and lands on the carpet with a dull thud, skidding to a stop beside Connor’s feet.

Before I can reach for it, he bends down, picks it up, and— Shit. He glances at the screen before handing it back to me. I take it from him, fingers stiff. The message from Drew is still there.

A flush creeps up my neck. Did he see it? Did he read enough to know? Maybe, this is it—the moment the secret cracks open and I finally get to tell him. Maybe, I don’t have to hide anymore.

But when I glance at him, he’s already looking down at his own phone. Calm. Blank-faced. Like nothing happened.

No reaction. No sign he noticed anything. Guess he didn’t see it. Or if he did, he’s not letting on. Either way, the moment passes.

The band around my chest cinches tighter. There’s no easy way out of this, is there? God, I hate that I’m still holding something back from him. And worse—how much that makes me hate myself.

I slip the phone back in my bag, which I’ve placed in the space between my seat and the window.

The pilot’s voice comes on over the loudspeaker. "Sorry folks. That was a brief patch of bad weather. But we’re through it now. The rest of the journey should be smooth."

"Hey, you look serious." Connor touches my shoulder.

I startle out of the reverie I’d fallen into and turn to him. "Just feeling apprehensive." I try to smile, but my lips feel frozen. "My stress hormones are running a marathon, I’m afraid."

His lip quirks slightly, enough to reveal that slight dent in his cheek, which instantly puts me a little more at ease.

“Having second thoughts?” he murmurs, weaving his fingers through mine. “Say the word, and I’ll turn the jet around. We don’t have to go to Gibraltar today. We’ll wait until you’re ready.”

“You’d really do that?” I whisper, stunned.

“Of course.” There’s no hesitation on his features. Just steady, quiet certainty.

“But…what about the officials? The appointments you’ve arranged?” I falter, clinging to the excuse even as I test him.

He raises a shoulder, the arrogance on his face the hallmark of someone used to being obeyed. "It’s their job."

I lock my fingers in my lap. "You’d lose the money involved in chartering the flight and?—"

"The plane belongs to the Davenports.”

I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. "And before you bring it up, we donate to environmental charities to offset our carbon footprint, and the jet is used only in times of emergency, which is what this is."

"Oh.”

He called this an emergency. I told him I wanted to elope—and he chartered a jet. Scheduled officials. Pulled strings I don’t even understand, all at what must be a staggering cost to him.

And now… He’d scrap it all in a heartbeat. Just because I looked uncertain.

The weight of that hits me like a punch to the chest.

He’s not just doing this for show. He’s doing it for me. And I’m completely, utterly undone.

He leans in then and peers into my eyes, so all I can see is the sea of frozen blue, the silver sparks in them like flares have been set off from deep within. The dark pupils, a black layered with resolve.

"You come first. Your needs take precedence.

I want you to be comfortable with what we're doing. I want you to feel you have the agency to stop it. We will not do anything that makes you feel helpless. You’re my wife-to-be.

My partner-to-be. The one I chose. You have the power in this relationship.

You hold the claim on me. The reign over my life.

The chokehold on my senses. Never forget that. "

My brain cells feel like they are fried .

He’s committed to this relationship. While I?

I’m still afraid he'll reject me if I share my past with him. I’m a terrible person.

I’m more flawed than I realized. But maybe I can make up for my mistakes by showing him that I, too, care…

in my own way. Even if I’m unable to profess it in words?

"You have no idea how much what you said means to me."

He tilts his head.

"In fact, I’m going to show you how much it means to me." I unhook my seat belt, glad that the carpet is thick enough to cushion the impact as I slide to my knees in front of him.