“Hello,” I say, smiling again. “You left a message with my boss, Chase Winston, that you found me a room? I’m here for the key.”
“Right, yes. We’re very sorry about the mix-up. I hope it didn’t cause too much trouble for you.” She hands me a key. “It's conveniently located right next to your boss’s room. You’ve even got an interconnecting door.”
“Fantastic,” I say, plastering a smile on my face.
Something I definitely don’t plan on using.I take the key and head back upstairs, praying to God that I don't run into him. I need time to think, and I can't do that with him in my face. I let myself into my room, locking the door behind me. I can faintly hear voices on the other side of the wall, near the bed. My heart races as I walk over there. Am I really about to listen through a wall to try and overhear the conversation between my boss and his brother?
God, what would Peyton say if she could see me now? Okay, so she would probably be cheering me on, but that's beside the point. It's not like I can hear anything anyway. I give up and lie down on the bed, closing my eyes. Maybe if I fall asleep, I might wake up and discover that this is all a bad dream.I roll over and open my eyes, jumping up about a meter in the air when I see Chase sitting on the bed next to me. He smirks at me. I blink back at him. At least my headache is gone.
“Hey sleepyhead,” he says.
I sit up, resting back against the pillows. I frown at him.
“How did you get in here?”
“I went down to reception and they told me you collected the other room key,” he says with a shrug. “They mentioned it was an interconnecting room and they asked if we wanted they key for that too. I said yes,” he explains. I glare at him. “Sorry, I guess I should've asked you first if that was okay. I won’t come in here if you don't want me to,” he adds, frowning.
“Why are we here, Chase?” I ask him.
He looks at me, bewildered. Then something clicks in his eyes, and I know that he knows that I know. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly.
“We’re here for my brother's wedding,” he says quietly.
“What?” I say. I laugh at how ridiculous that sounds. “Why would you tell me this is a business trip? Hell, why did you even bring me at all?”
He stands up and walks over to the fridge, bending down to examine the contents. He pulls out a tiny bottle of scotch and twists the cap off, necking it down, then he walks back over the bed and sits down.
“Sorry, I needed something to be able to get this out.”
“Get what out?” I ask impatiently. “What could you possibly say that makes this—”
“My brother is marrying my ex-wife,” he says, cutting me off.
I stare at him, shocked. “He’s what?” I gasp.
He nods, looking down at his hands. I sit forward and wait for him to continue, in the hope he might answer the million questions whirling around in my head.
“I was married to Casey for five years,” he begins. “We started having problems pretty early on, and by the end of our first year together, I think we both knew that things were over.”
“So, what happened?” I ask. “I mean how did you get from that to her marrying your brother?” I close my eyes, struggling to get my head around this.
“I guess we’d pretty much separated by that point.” he says. He doesn’t sound that certain, but I let him continue. “She didn't really have anyone else she could turn to, so she turned to him. Apparently, that's where it started. The next thing I know they’re a couple and he's calling me to let me know that he's marrying her.”
“Wow, that's pretty full on.” I mutter. I feel sorry for him, and I’m at a loss at what to say. “And you’re okay with that?” I ask. He shrugs and finally looks at me.
“I want them to be happy, so I'm fine with it,” he says. “I guess that's why I'm here, to show that I'm okay with it.”
“Okay. But why am I here?” I ask softly.
He flushes. “Because I didn't want to be the guy who turned up at his brother’s and ex-wife’s wedding alone?”
“And that's it?” I say with a frown. “No more surprises? Because I still feel like there's something you’re not telling me. I mean, how do people know about me?” I ask.
“Who knows about you?” he asks, looking worried.
Worried I’m going to find something out, maybe?
“I overheard a group of people talking about you guys in the coffee shop and they mentioned me,” I explain.