More Than Hate You (More Than Words)

“Is he even capable of caring about anyone besides himself?”

“Don’t let his swagger fool you. He’s cocky, I admit. And his balls can be bigger than his brains. But he’s never—not once—blurred the lines between business and pleasure. Until you.”

“I need a minute.” Sloan’s voice shakes. “Can you point me to the restroom?”

“Sure, sweetie. Down the hall, first door on the left. Take your time.”

“Thanks.”

After a chair scrapes against the tile floor and a door shuts in the distance, I hear Nia rise.

Shit, if she comes into the kitchen, she’ll see me standing here, eavesdropping. But I’m never going to get out the door undetected.

Before I can decide what to do, Nia strolls around the corner. “I thought I heard one of you come in, and Evan wouldn’t have listened this long.”

“Sorry. I came in for beers”—I hold up the empty bottles I’m still clutching—“and I couldn’t help myself.”

She shrugs. “Did I read the situation wrong? Did I misconstrue anything?”

Nia is asking if I’m falling for Sloan. I don’t know why when she seemingly knows the answer. “No. You’re completely right. How did you know?”

Her face softens. “Because you would never have gone behind Evan’s back for power, prestige, or money. Only love could make you do something stupid. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

“I don’t.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess my very real fear that Sloan could chew me up and spit me out emotionally. I’ve opened my heart enough for her to do that. But if I can barely contemplate that, it’s too horrifying to speak the possibility aloud.

“You need to figure it out before the wedding. Do you have a date yet?”

I blow out a breath. “Tomorrow.”

Nia freezes. “I’d ask if you’re insane, but… Have you called Keeley to see if her beach is available? Britta to find what she can throw together last minute? Harlow and Bethany to ask what they might be able to contribute?”

“No. I should get on that after dinner.”

“There’s no time to wait. Let me. When the timer goes off, grab the roast out of the oven. I’ll be back.” She runs halfway down the hall. “Oh, any idea what kind of wedding y’all want?”

I haven’t given it a single thought. “Um…”

“I should have known. I’ll ask Sloan, and we’ll work on this together. It might take all night, but we’ll have a hell of a celebration by tomorrow.”

If anyone can make it happen, it’s Nia. “Thanks. I owe you.”

“You’re welcome, Shaw. If it’s any consolation, I’m rooting for you two.” She grins. “Then again, I’m rooting for anyone who can put you in your place, and my money is on her.”

April 21

It’s our wedding day. I’m ready, but Sloan has had less than twenty-four hours to mentally brace for the fact that, today, she’ll become my wife. I have no idea how—or if—this is going to work.

Keeley and Maxon have another wedding scheduled at noon, so the arched trellis draped with flowing white silk and flowers was already in place. So were the rows of guest chairs decorated with pristine white bows. Bisecting them, a flowing white runner leads straight to the trellis—and the killer ocean view beyond.

Sunrise paints the sky pink, orange, and yellow as I stand beside Evan, my best man, in a charcoal suit with a pale gray necktie that suddenly feels too tight.

“You okay?” Evan asks.

“Fine.”

He sends me a dubious stare. “If you’re nervous, that should tell you something.”

I lean closer so the handful of last-minute guests don’t see me sweat. “Yeah, that I’m worried Sloan will back out.”