Page 45 of How to Ruin a Wedding

He reaches for my hand, bringing it over to hold it in his lap. “You make perfect sense.”

Anders keeps his hand wrapped around mine, his thumb tracing small, hot circles into my skin, until my initial nerves settle and my heartbeat slows.

My eyes flutter, and my head becomes too heavy for my neck, so it rests on Anders’s shoulder.

Neither of us complains, or moves, or speaks—as if any disruption to the peace will ruin this delicate, confusing comfort between us.

We stay like that for hours.

12.

“Well, well,” Taina says into my ear, “look who finally decided to give attention to her worried, restless sister.”

I pat my finishing powder into my face, speaking loud enough that my phone—buried under makeup brushes on the bathroom counter—picks up on it. “I have texted you over five times each day.”

“Texting isn’t the same; anyone can text. What if some freak stole your phone and was messaging me the whole time? How would I know it’s you?”

“How do you know I don’t have a gun to my head and my kidnapper isn’t forcing me to speak with you right now?” I counter.

She pauses, then says, “I’ve already contacted the authorities. You’ll never get away.”

I snort. “My hero.”

“Speaking of heroes,” Taina says—and I can visualize the exact smirk on her pretty, nosy little face—“how’s the sexy boy toy wandering around the house? Has he made any moves?”

“Now, Taina, why would the man paying me to ruin his sister’s wedding make a move on me?”

“Because you’re equally as sexy, and you’re smart, and fun, and have a perky ass.”

“It is very nice.”

“Do you want to sleep with him?”

I shut my compact and start gathering all my stray items, shoving them into my makeup bag. “Sleep with who?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“Then I’m better off staying with my kidnapper.” I take her off speaker and bring the phone to my cheek. “I’m not sleeping with Anders.”

“Why?” she asks. “He’s right there.”

“I’ll get too emotionally attached.” I look over my shoulder, making sure the door is shut. “If I could sleep with him and be done, then I would—God, he is so beautiful.”

“I knew it! You slut; you sexy little slut,” she says, delighted. “What’s wrong with getting emotionally attached? From what you’ve said, it’s not like he’s a bad person.”

“Right,” I say, looking in the full-length mirror, adjusting my hair’s middle part. “But we live in entirely different states. He’s technically my client, so if I sleep with him, that’s way too messy. And once this is all over, realistically, what’s going to happen? We’re going to live happily ever after when his family finds out what I did?”

“Lucy, look at me right now.”

“We’re on the phone.”

“Look at me in my soul eyes. I know you can feel me staring at you,” she says. “Honestly, who cares? I think you’ve earned the right to be a little selfish. If you want to have sex with a man—regardless of the consequences or mess—then that’s your God-given right as a woman. If God didn’t want you to hook up with hot men, he wouldn’t have made you so beautiful. You’re actually going against your duty here.”

“I can feel Dad getting upset with your blasphemous use of God’s name right now.”

“If he has a problem, why doesn’t he put those dusty little bones together and come fight me, then?”

“Taina!”