Page 173 of High Reward

Victor chooses that moment to step into the room.

“Who has a giant bag of dildos? Do I even want to know what you’re talking about?”

He steps closer to both of us for a tender kiss.

“Just planning to get your fiance into some innocent trouble before she’s officially a married woman.”

“In front of your sister,” Grace mutters.

Victor laughs. “She’s the biggest trouble maker of the whole lot, butterfly. You have nothing to worry about. Go have fun.”

Grace raises a skeptical eyebrow. “No lectures about alcohol consumption and male strippers?”

Victor shrugs. “No need. I’ve got people keeping an eye on you all night. And don’t even try to argue. They won’t interfere unless you’re in danger. Doesn’t mean they won’t be reporting on your behavior to me though,” he teases.

At least I think he’s teasing.

The revelation doesn’t faze Grace. She has come to accept his overprotective streak, and only says something when it cramps her style. Like when he tried to put two armed guards outside the bookstore.

Now the security from the High Card periodically patrols the store, and she has a direct silent alarm to alert them if she needs help.

It’s their version of compromise apparently.

The limo waiting out front is already stocked with an absurd amount of champagne, a speaker blasting something upbeat, and, propped against the far window, the infamous bag.

“I want it on record that this was entirely Jeanie’s idea,” Bellamy says, climbing in after us and pointing an accusingfinger at the woman already sprawled across the back seat with a bottle of champagne in each hand.

“I stand by it completely.” Jeanie grins, unrepentant. “A woman only gets one bachelorette party. Statistically. Unless Grace is planning on a second husband, which, given the company she keeps, wouldn’t shock me.”

Grace laughs so hard she nearly spills her drink, and whatever nerves she walked out of the house with start to melt away.

Victor’s sister turns out to be nothing like the imposing figure Grace built up in her head. Camila Serrano climbs in last, all sharp eyeliner and an even sharper laugh, and takes one look at Grace before pulling her into a hug like they’ve known each other for years.

“So you’re the one who finally got my brother to smile with his whole face,” Camila says, holding Grace at arm’s length to inspect her. “I approve. Also I already love you, so please don’t make this weird by being intimidated.”

“Too late,” Grace admits, and Camila cackles.

By the second club, the bag makes its debut, and true to Jeanie’s promise, several of its contents end up thrown from the sunroof at a group of very confused bachelor party attendees on the sidewalk, to Grace’s mortified delight.

It’s well past midnight by the time we make it back to the hotel suite the girls booked for the night, Camila and Bellamy peeling off toward their own room down the hall, still laughing about something Jeanie said in the elevator.

Grace collapses back against the door the second it shuts, kicking off her heels with a groan. “I can’t believe I have a sister-in-law who’s cooler than me.”

“Everyone’s cooler than you when you’re this nervous, lover.” I cross the room and pull her up by both hands. “Come here.”

She comes easily, sliding her arms around my neck, and I take a second to just look at her. My girl. Getting married in a matter of weeks to a man neither of us can imagine living without.

“You alright?” she asks, reading whatever’s on my face that I didn’t mean to put there.

“I’m perfect.” And I mean it. “I just want you to know something before tomorrow gets any closer.”

“Should I be worried?”

“No.” I press my forehead to hers. “I need you to know I’m not jealous. Not of the ring, not of the wedding, not of any of it. I’ve turned it over in my head a hundred times since Victor told me his plans, and every time I land in the same place. I don’t want what you’re getting. I want what I already have.”

Grace’s eyes go glassy. “Lili.”

“Let me finish.” I brush a thumb along her cheekbone. “I’m never going to stand in front of anyone and sign a piece of paper again. That part of me died in a courthouse with Phineas’s name still attached to mine, and I’m not interested in resurrecting it, not even for Victor. But I’m his. I’m yours. I’ll take his pain and wear his marks and sit beside him at that club for the rest of my life if he’ll have me, and none of that needs a ring to be real.”