Good Girl (Love Unexpectedly 2)

I nod.

“And that guy…the other Preston?”

“My friend. Edward Vaughn.”

She lets out a little laugh. “That’s your friend from prep school.”

I can only nod.

She glances at Yvonne, who has finally quieted down, although she looks highly peeved now that she’s no longer the star of the show.

“And you’re engaged,” Jenny says, looking back at me. “I’ve been sleeping with an engaged guy.”

“No,” I say, stepping toward her and reaching out a hand. “The rest of it’s true, and I’m a shit and a liar. But I’m not engaged. I ended it with Yvonne.”

“Then why do I have a wedding invitation in my purse?” Yvonne taunts.

“Because you’re a fucking psycho!” I shout before turning my attention back to Jenny, feeling a little desperate now. “Please, Jenny. Hate me for the rest of it, but believe that I was single when we…hooked up.”

But Jenny’s not listening to my shitty apology. She’s too busy looking around the room.

Because everyone else in the room is looking at her.

Too late, I realize why.

Jenny’s wig has slipped, revealing the unmistakable spill of her blond hair over her forehead and down over one slim shoulder.

“Oh my God, is that Jenny Dawson?” someone whispers.

Everywhere I look, idiot gawkers are pulling out their cellphones and taking pictures of a frozen Jenny.

Run, I want to scream at her.

Even more than that, I want to shield her with my body, scoop her into my arms and kiss her, not just to protect her like I did that day in the home center, but to show her that I…

My thought scatters before it can form as Jenny slowly lifts a trembling hand and pulls the wig all the way off.

Her chin is high. There’s no sign of tears.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe she did it again,” an old biddy sitting on my left says, loud enough for Jenny to hear. “That’s his fiancée.”

I see Jenny stiffen, and I frown in confusion, getting the distinct suspicion I’m missing something.

Then Jenny looks at me, her eyes utterly broken and desperate, and I realize the magnitude of what’s happening here.

Jenny came to Louisiana to escape. To hide from the paparazzi and the fickle public that turned on her the second she ceased to be their perfect angel and became a perceived home wrecker.

Perceived, because she didn’t sleep with that shithead Shawn Bates before.

But she did sleep with me—she all but announced it.

And judging from the whispers around us, it’s all the confirmation these assholes need.

Jenny fixes a brilliant, bright smile on her face before giving a low dramatic curtsy, as though thanking them all for the chance to perform, before turning that broken smile on me. “Goodbye, Preston.”

“Jenny—”

She picks up her purse and walks toward the front of the restaurant, not looking to either side, and definitely not looking back.