With so much going on? “I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”
He waved a hand. “We have the girls in the magazine do it all the time. If she wants to have a chance to marry me, she’ll fast.”
There was so much about that statement that bothered her. One thing in particular stuck out, though. “You haven’t decided which one you’re going to marry yet, Vader?”
The sound he made was derisive. “Does it matter?”
Well, she imagined it mattered quite a bit to the girls. “I think it does. Do you love them?”
He gave her a dismissive look. “As long as they’re not fucking that asshole best man, I don’t care what they do.”
Asshole best man? Asher? “You don’t like Asher? I don’t understand. Did you two have a falling out?”
“We never had a falling in.” He frowned at a proof and picked up a magnifying glass, leaning over the picture. Then, he offered it to Greer. “Do you think her labia should be photoshopped?”
Like she cared? “Why is Asher your best man if you hate him?”
Her father nudged the picture at her again. “This is important, Greer. What do you think of this woman’s genitals?”
She wasn’t going to get an answer until she gave him what he wanted, was she? She looked down at the picture. “She’s fine.”
“I think I’ll have them photoshopped anyhow, just to be safe.”
“Asher?”
Stijn turned another page.
“Asher?” Greer repeated. “Why is he your best man?”
Stijn glanced up at her briefly, then went back to the pictures. “It was part of our deal.”
“Your . . . deal? What deal?” What on earth was going on?
He put down the magnifying glass and gave her an exasperated look. “Greer, I’m very busy right now.”
She slapped a hand over the pictures, covering them. “Tell me what deal you had right now, or I’m walking out that door and not coming back.”
Stijn gave her a cold look and pried her fingers off the glossy page. “No need to be dramatic. We made a business deal, he and I. He is going to give Dutchman magazine an influx of cash and in exchange, I’m going to allow him to be my best man.”
That was . . . the most nonsensical thing she’d ever heard. “Why does he want to be your best man?”
“Ask him. The wedding was his idea.”
Alarm bells sounded somewhere in the back of her mind. “Wait . . . what? You didn’t want to get married?”
“If I didn’t want to marry your mother, why would I want to marry one of those interchangeable idiots?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” she stammered. “And they’re not—”
“Look. Greer.” Her father took on the patient tone that she’d heard him use when business dealings weren’t going his way. “Sutton offered me the money if I would put on a fake wedding for him. It’s been a great idea and we both get what we want.”
“And what is it you both want?” She wanted to hear him say it, to see if it sounded as terrible aloud as it did in her mind.
Stijn sat back in his chair. “I wanted to save Dutchman. It’s very difficult being a paper magazine in these digital times, Greer. I needed the money to make new investments, but I don’t even know if those will be necessary. The wedding with the girls has brought new attention to the company. As for what he wanted?” Her father shrugged. “I suppose he wanted to put on this ridiculous wedding so he’d have a chance to be close to you.”
It had been what she suspected, but hearing it said aloud somehow made it ten times worse.
Her father had zero respect for any of the three girls he was lining up to marry. Nor had he bothered to tell Greer that the wedding was a sham, and that she’d be working her ass off for nothing. Not for nothing, a cynical voice said in her mind. You gave Asher exactly what he wanted.
She had. She’d eagerly jumped into his bed and now he was trying to get his hooks in her baby. And she was an idiot, because being around him for a few weeks and being romanced? She’d fallen for all of it.
The betrayal hurt, and it hurt worse than the time in the gardens because she’d let her guard down again. She’d known he’d hurt her in the past and she was still willing to give him another shot. To let him be the man she’d always wanted him to be. To prove to her that he could love her, because she wanted it so desperately.
Hot damn, I love you, Greer. He’d whispered that to her just last night.
How could she trust anything he said? The lies were just cascading around her left and right. She got to her feet, feeling shaky.
“Tell Bunni I want her fasting starting now.” He picked up his magnifying glass and peered at the photo proofs again.
Greer stared down at her father. Did he not care that she’d been manipulated? That she’d been working night and day on the wedding that was nothing but a stunt? And no one had bothered to tell her it was a stunt?
Did he even care about her at all?
“You tell her,” Greer said softly. “I quit.”
“You can’t quit.” He didn’t look up from the proofs.
“I just did. You lied to me. I’m very upset, Vader.” Her voice was calm, but her hands were clenched at her sides to stop them from shaking. She was so upset she . . . well, she wanted to cry. And throw things. And maybe throw up. “I’m quitting. You can finish planning your wedding yourself, since it’s all fake.”
Stijn looked up, real panic on his face. “You can’t quit, Greer. We’ve two days before the wedding.”
She paused. He really did look upset. But she had to ask. “Are you upset because I’m unhappy? Or are you upset because I’m quitting?”
He hesitated.
That little hesitation was all it took. “Fuck you. Fuck you for not respecting me or my time, and fuck you for not respecting those three girls you’re dangling the marriage carrot in front of. They’re people, Vader. They’re people and they deserve to be treated like people. So fuck you. I’m done here.”
She turned and stormed out of his office. Stormed up the stairs. Stormed into her room. Threw her clothes into her suitcase and shoved all of her things into it as quickly as she could. She was leaving. Leaving Vegas, leaving Asher and his games behind, leaving Kiki and Bunni and Tiffi and her father to do whatever the hell they wanted. If they wanted to get married still, she wanted no part in any of it.
She felt so . . . used. Like less than a person. Completely unimportant.
Greer had realized, staring into her father’s face, that he didn’t care about her. To him, she was like one of the triplets. Disposable and convenient. It didn’t matter that she was his only daughter and that he should have loved her. He didn’t know how to love anyone. But she’d known all her life that Stijn was, at heart, an asshole. To have it confirmed hurt, but it wasn’t surprising.
Asher’s betrayals had gutted her, though. She didn’t know why he’d choose to manipulate and use her, but she guessed it had to do with the baby. Aching hurt blossomed through her chest, and she wheeled her suitcase down the steps, letting it thump on the hardwood. Every thump was like a fuck you to the world.
Fuck you to her father.
Fuck you to the wedding.
Fuck you to Asher.
Fuck you, Asher.
Fuck you.
By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs, someone had come out of the kitchen to see what was going on. Marta stood there, wiping her hands, concern on her lined face. “Mija, what’s wrong? Why are you leaving?”
Greer tried to think of a nice, calm answer. She stood in the hallway and thought and thought, and her lower lip pushed out and trembled, and then she was crying.
“My poor mamacita.” Marta enfolded Greer in her arms and led her to the kitchen, rubbing her back. “You come sit with me and tell me all about it.”
<
br /> ***
Something was wrong.
Asher had texted Greer all night, only to get no response. He’d known she was busy, but she normally made time for his texts, taking a few moments here and there to send him sweet, funny notes throughout the day.
Today had been nothing but silence, and it worried him. Was she sick? Was the baby okay? As long as Greer was okay, he could handle anything, even if she’d miscarried. It would destroy him, but he loved her too much to let her go. His hands clenched on the steering wheel as he drove up to the Dutchman castle. Just let Greer be all right. Nothing else matters.
Greer’s practical little rental wasn’t in the driveway. That wasn’t surprising, but it sent a shiver down his spine anyhow. He went to the front door and banged on it a few times. He could hear voices inside, and chaos. Someone was sobbing. Someone else sounded as if they were screaming. It made his heart feel as if it were encased with ice.
Something was really wrong.
When no one opened the fucking front door, he jiggled the lock until it opened and let himself in. “Hello?” he called out, storming into the house. There were boxes everywhere, and folding tables lined the foyer and every inch of wall space. The crying was coming from the dining room where Greer normally held her meetings, and he headed that way. Just let Greer be all right.
Inside the dining hall, he saw the triplets and a few other people he didn’t recognize. The long table they normally sat at was trashed, every inch of it covered in papers and what looked like the remains of a bridesmaid’s gown. An older woman in an apron stood hugging one of the girls as she sobbed into her shoulder.
Asher stared at the chaos. “Where’s Greer? Is she all right?”
Someone started crying harder again. The others were silent.
“Where is she?” He clenched the back of the chair in front of him to keep from flinging it at someone’s head. “Tell me she’s all right.”
“She quit,” one of the blonde triplets sobbed. “She quit and we’re getting married in two days!”
“And my bridesmaids’ gowns are ugly!” wailed another. “How can they go down the aisle looking like big purple idiots!” She ripped at one of the sleeves on the dress spread on the table. “And I don’t know who to call to fix it!”
“She quit?” he repeated. Please, God, let that be the only problem. Let her be safe and healthy. “She’s all right?”
“She left,” the woman in the apron spoke up. She gave Asher a judgmental look. “She packed her things and went home to New York this afternoon.”
“What? Why?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Because you lied to her.”
***
Greer went off the grid for the next few days.
No television. No Internet. No email. She’d left instructions at the front desk of her building that no one was to be let in to see her. Her phone was turned to silent and her texts were muted. She didn’t want to hear a thing about the wedding. She didn’t want to know if it was canceled, or if it had gone off. She didn’t want to know which of the triplets he’d married. She didn’t want to hear a single solitary thing about her father or his best man.
Instead, she went to the corner store, bought all the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream and potato chips they had, and sat on her couch and watched Netflix. She watched every episode of Outlander. She watched all six seasons of Breaking Bad. She ate all the chips and most of the ice cream. She might have also puked all the chips and most of the ice cream, but it didn’t matter.
What did it matter when no one in the world loved you? She slept on her sofa and cried herself to sleep each night, feeling unloved, alone, and miserable. Asher had lied to her and was using her to get to the baby. He didn’t love her. He didn’t want her. All those sweet things he’d whispered? All the times he’d touched her? Lies. All of them.
The day after the wedding, she ran out of food. She splashed cold water on her face, ran a comb through her snarled hair, and changed out of her ratty “depression” pajamas and into her favorite jeans and T-shirt . . . and then grew even more depressed when they were too tight. Her body was changing, and the reminder of it was a good thing, she supposed.
It was time to get her head out of the sand and time to move on. The first order of business? She looked around her small apartment, now messy with empty ice cream containers, discarded chip bags, and a nest of blankets on her couch. She needed a new place. Someplace with enough room for a baby. Maybe she’d call Hunter and have him set up arrangements with one of his real estate agents to help her search. Maybe near the park. She liked the park.
Greer picked up her phone. The screen rolled with dozens of text messages. She deliberately ignored them, swiping right without reading a single one. She didn’t want to know. Didn’t care.
She started to dial Gretchen’s number . . . and then hung up. Maybe Chelsea, or Taylor, her other friends in the city . . . but she hung up on those before the call could go through. If she talked to them, they’d want to know what was going on with the wedding. By now they would have heard that either the wedding had gone off or it hadn’t, and Greer didn’t want to explain why she didn’t know anything about it and why she’d left.
Maybe she’d go to the park and walk instead. Clear her head. She grabbed her keys and her purse and headed out the door.
In the lobby of the building, she smiled at the front doorman, Clark. He nodded over at one of the couches in the waiting area, and she looked over.
A blonde was there, her legs curled under her body, a bright blue workout bag clutched in her lap. Tears streaked the makeup on her face and she sniffed loudly.
Oh no. Greer stared. That blue bag . . . Blue was Kiki. But Kiki was the sensible one, wasn’t she? “Kiki?”
The blonde’s head whipped around and she lit up at the sight of Greer. “You’re here!” Then she burst into new tears, grabbing tissue out of the box on the table. “Hi,” she said, and then began to bawl even louder.
Oh, crap. Greer delicately sat down on the lobby sofa next to Kiki. “What are you doing here? You’re not in Vegas?”
Kiki shook her head, her shoulders moving with suppressed sobs.
Poor Kiki. If she was here then . . . “Which sister was it? Tiffi or Bunni?” She reached out and touched Kiki’s knee sympathetically. All of the triplets were sweet, if flighty, but she’d liked Kiki the best.
“I don’t know,” Kiki wailed. “I left, too! And I d-don’t have anywhere t-to g-goooo.” Her bawling reached new heights, and she mashed the tissue against her eyes. “So I c-came here b-but they wouldn’t let me s-see you and I’ve been here for hours and hours—”
Greer bit her lip and cast a sympathetic look at the front desk. He gave her an aggrieved nod as if to say, yup, hours and hours. “You want to come upstairs and have some tea, Kiki? We can talk there.”
The crying woman nodded, and got to her feet, clutching her bag to her chest. Greer led her to the elevator and then back up to the apartment she’d so recently escaped from.
“I’m sorry it’s a bit of a mess,” Greer said. “I’ve been having a hard time, too.”
Kiki nodded, wiping her nose with a ball of Kleenex. “I’m glad you did. When you left, I realized that I could, too.” She gave Greer a miserable look. “I felt . . . trapped. I didn’t know how to get out, so I just ran. I was worried he was going to pick me, you know? And then I was worried he wouldn’t.” She swiped at new tears.
Greer picked up her blankets from the couch and moved them aside, then handed Kiki her box of Kleenex. She’d needed her fair share the last few days, herself. Curling up next to her on the sofa, Greer gave Kiki a sympathetic look. “Did you want to marry Stijn?”
Kiki exhaled slowly, and then shook her head. “I think . . . he was fun to date at first, you know? All that money and power. But he’s kind of nasty when he’s mad at someone, and he wou
ld get mad all the time for no reason. I just couldn’t be married to that. I don’t want to be a trophy wife, you know? The other day in bed, I asked him what his plans were for his wife, whichever one of us he picked. And he said he didn’t see why things had to change at all.” Her face crumpled and she started wiping at her cheeks again. “That’s when I knew he wasn’t taking things seriously. That it wasn’t going to end up being a real relationship. He doesn’t want a wife or a partner. He wants someone he can occasionally fuck, hand fifty dollars, and tell her to go buy herself something pretty.” She shook her head. “I don’t want that.”
“What about your sisters?”
A small, watery laugh escaped Kiki. “On that, we disagree. My sisters would be perfectly fine with just a fat wallet and a husband that doesn’t care what they do. I want the fairy tale, you know?”
Oh, did Greer ever know. She’d wanted it, too.
“I want what you and Asher have,” Kiki continued. “You guys just look so in love.”
“It’s a lie,” Greer said flatly. “He’s just a really good pretender. He told me what I wanted to hear and I believed it.”
Kiki looked up from her tissue, surprised. “Really? He seemed to adore you.”
“Seemed being the operative word.” A sad knot formed in Greer’s throat. “He was just faking it.”
“I don’t know. I’ve seen guys fake being interested. Your father, for one.” She grew pensive. “Asher just always seemed . . . so into you. Even when you hated him. I caught him looking at you with this soft look on his face, and I thought, gosh, I wish someone would look at me like that.” She sighed. “I’m sorry if I’m dropping my problems into your lap.”
“It’s okay.” Greer reached out and squeezed Kiki’s hand. Oddly enough, hearing Kiki’s problems had made hers seem . . . less significant and more confusing. She’d been wallowing and moping, terrified that Asher didn’t love her. But hearing Kiki’s confessions and knowing Stijn Janssen like she did, she realized that Kiki was right. There was a difference between pretending to care for someone and genuinely trying to please them.
And Asher? Greer was naïve, but she didn’t think he’d go to such lengths for her if he didn’t care on some level. Which just made everything that much more confusing.
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