Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 66

“Raelynn!” Nova reprimanded.

“What?” She looked at Nova like she was the crazy one. “We’re her maids of honor. We wouldn’t be doing our jobs if we didn’t ask her to run.”

“Fine. Vera, you know I’m always in if you want to run,” she said, the perfect supportive friend. Then she focused her pinched brows back at Raelynn. “But still.”

Raelynn shrugged and turned back to me, searching my face for any signs I wanted to run. “Are you hesitating? Because I’m serious. We can run. Platonic, all-girl, love island, here we come!”

She added a shimmy, looking stunning in her pale rose dress.

I laughed, wondering if maybe an all-girl island was better than the current situation.

I looked in the mirror. The veil slightly blocking my view of a woman in all white. The lacy top cutting into a deep v that met at the fitted waist of my dress before flowing out into soft, heavy silk. I hadn’t been sure about the more revealing top, but Raelynn promised it was classy-sexy.

Meeting the dark eyes of the woman looking back, clutching her all-white peony bouquet, she looked so familiar, yet like I’d never seen her before in my life.

Standing taller, I lifted my chin, portraying the defiant courage stirring in the chocolate depths. I may not recognize every inch of the bride in the mirror, but the strength filled me just the same. I was no longer the docile, obedient woman who waited for her future to be chosen because everyone told her it was the right thing.

No. I was Verana Mariano.

And although she looked like a stranger, she was me. She was just a newer version I hadn’t realized had been lying dormant all these years.

“I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

With one last deep breath, I headed to face my future.

To Nicholas Rush.

With each step closer, I thought over the last week after I’d embarrassingly thrown myself at him.

I’d expected to find him gloating the next morning. Instead, I’d woken up to a water bottle and ibuprofen on the nightstand. In fact, we never spoke of it beyond a glare across the kitchen island—he’d sat greasy bacon in front of me when I’d finally found the courage to leave the bedroom, and it pissed me off that he was making it so hard to be mad at him.

Work consumed our days, leaving no room for alone time to face the consequences of my drunk actions. At least, until we both crawled into bed at night. I’d get ready in the guest bathroom to avoid running into him showering. That had happened once, and I’d immediately closed my eyes, running in the other direction like a prude, his laugh following behind.

I considered trying to hide in the guest room, but the petty joy of taking his side of the bed always brought me back to the master bedroom, where I crawled in bed and clung to the edge.

Each night, I’d turn the lights out and feign sleep, but he knew better. He’d repeat the same arrogant chuckle and ask me if I wanted to offer myself up on a silver platter.

“I’d gladly eat you up, Verana. I remember how sweet you tasted on my tongue.”

“Well, hold tight to that memory because it will never happen again.”

“Oh, I do. I hold it tight in my fist every morning—usually in the shower. You could have seen if you’d stayed.”

I’d swallowed my moan, reminding myself that he was a disrespecting man whore. Yet, despite my best efforts, there were times I still woke up in the middle of the night in his arms. Despite hating him and refusing him, I never pulled away, instead, staying put, only to wake up alone in the morning.

Nico got up early to hit the gym before holing up in his office for meetings to prepare for the two-week honeymoon he’d planned.

He’d been so busy that he’d actually given me a job beyond the usual menial tasks. Gasp. I’d gloated when I’d crushed the job, and the client said my ideas were unique and had the potential to reach new heights. It’d forced him to acknowledge my awesomeness. I’d met his dark glare across the conference table with a winning smile. But then his lips twitched to a semblance of a smile, something like pride flashing across his face before he quickly moved the meeting on.

Remembering that moment made me smile all over again, even picking up the pace to get into position.

He may be a dick, but something brewed beneath the surface that intrigued me to go further. No, I didn’t need to run away. Even better—I didn’t want to.

I was ready.

“What the hell, Nico?” Raelynn screeched, stiff-arming me from walking around the corner. Nova scrambled to keep my dress from tripping me up before joining Raelynn to create a bridesmaid barrier—arms out and all. “You can’t see her before the wedding.”

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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