“What? How did you people even get a key?” I asked.
“You do not want to know,” George said.
Mom rounded the bed and reached for Chloe’s hand. “You know the rule, Bennett: groom can’t see the bride the day of the wedding. And we are exactly five minutes from that.” She leaned close to me, whispering, “I texted you earlier to warn you we’d be sneaking in and stealing her.”
“Mom!” I yelled, losing patience. “I don’t have time to read five hundred text messages a day about Dad’s pants and the A/C in your room and your favorite dish at the restaurant downstairs!”
“Does anyone care what I think?” Chloe asked.
“No,” George and Mina said in unison.
“Fine,” she said, tightening her robe. “You’re all lucky I’m exhausted and got some earlier or I’d kick every one of your asses. Just get me to a bed. I don’t even care whose. It can be yours for all I care,” she said, pointing to George.
“Not a chance in hell, princess.”
Had the world gone completely insane?
“Sara,” I said, spinning to face her, pleading. “How did they talk you into this? You’re supposed to be the nice one. They will drag you down with them, Dillon—run.”
She shrugged. “This is actually kind of fun. I mean, with your newfound chastity we expected to find you crocheting or playing Scrabble or something. This is way better.”
“You’re all nuts,” I said. “All of you. Even my mother.”
“Two minutes!” George called out. The room broke into a flurry of activity: drawers were opened and rummaged through; the armoire was searched for anything that might be needed tomorrow. The bathroom was ransacked and pilfered of every single one of Chloe’s things.
“Oh stop being such a tight-ass, Bennett. It’s tradition, and tomorrow when you see her walk down the aisle it will all be worth it. Do we have everything?” Mom called.
Several different voices confirmed that indeed, everything was in order for the kidnapping of my fiancée, and after a mad flurry of activity in the main room, Chloe was hustled out without so much as a lingering kiss on my lips, and the suite fell deadly quiet.
It took me hours to finally fall asleep. The room was too quiet, the bed too empty, and I hadn’t gotten laid. Again. My hand was starting to feel like a pity fuck.
Waking up alone sucked. One would think I’d be accustomed to it by now—with our busy schedules one of us was always coming or going and we each spent our fair share of nights in an empty bed—but now that I’d grown accustomed to waking with Chloe warm and pliable and right there, it felt wrong, like a vital part of me was missing.
It was still dark; early enough that a damp chill hung in the air and the birds were relatively quiet. With the stillness outside, the ocean seemed louder than ever. I was hard and alone, and Chloe was somewhere nearby, but too fucking far away to touch. My stomach twisted and I closed my eyes, reaching for a pillow to block it all out.
This was going to be a long day.
I forced myself up, moved to the bathroom to take care of business, shower, and dress. We were getting married today. Married. And the mental list in my head of everything that needed to be done was about as long as the hours remaining in the day.
There were too many clocks here, I’d decided. There was the one I wore, which Chloe got me the day we opened the New York office of RMG. An ornate clock over the wet bar, one on the TV, another on the docking station by the bed. I could tell from almost any point in the suite exactly how many hours until Chloe would be awake, until I got to see her again, until she was my wife.