“Generally, I ignore whatever she says, but this is Athena I’m talking about. Even I can’t discount her. It’s freaky how right she is all the time.”
“And what did Athena say that bothered you?”
“She said he’s coming for me.”
Blinking, I glanced back for good measure.
There was no fucking way! How in the hell?
Nope. Never mind. I wasn’t going there.
It was just a coincidence.
That’s all.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Devlyn, have you talked to him? I mean really talked to him?”
“Not since the last time I saw him.”
“So he doesn’t know.”
She shook her head.
“Have you told anyone?”
“No.”
Sighing, I advised, “You can’t shoulder this by yourself, Devlyn. He’s going to find out, eventually, and better from you than someone else.”
“I know.” She groaned, looking away. “How could I be so stupid? I’m always so careful.”
“Accidents happen all the time, Dev. And sometimes, those accidents are the best accidents in the world. You may hate the man, but I know for a fact that he still thinks about you. Maybe give the man a chance to make things right.”
“I think he’s already done enough,” she clipped, then looked back at me and frowned. “Why are you out this late? I thought you were off galivanting with Cameron and the kids?”
Rolling my eyes, I groaned. “And that is a story for another day. I’m heading to the lodge to see Josephine. I need to speak with her about something. Can I give you a ride home?”
Devlyn nodded, and I walked her to my vehicle.
Chapter Twenty-One
Josie
I stepped out of the shower as the steam swirled around me and all I could think about was my comfy sweatpants and a really good book. After the wedding-related craziness, Emily’s thinly veiled threats (which, let’s be honest, was nothing more than a woman scorned act), the mountain of paperwork, and last-minute reservations, I was toast. Utterly, completely, and irrevocably toast.
I received a text from Granny when the plane landed about an hour ago, giving me a reprieve for the night, which I greatly welcomed.
Keeping the twins for the night. You,ahem,enjoy yourself.
Granny’s “ahem” implied a level of impending doom that I was too damn tired to decipher. Tomorrow, the countdown to Rosewood’s most extravagant, potentially disastrous wedding ever officially began. Invitations had gone out, and preparations were in full swing—full swing meaning a frantic, caffeinated frenzy involving enough tulle to clothe a small army of pageant-crazed debutantes and enough floral arrangements to fill the Rose Bowl Parade.
My dad, bless his cotton socks, had somehow managed to snag LeeAnn, the Bridezilla of all Southern Bridezillas, after Mr. Munson’s untimely demise. God rest his soul.
I firmly believed the poor man ducked out at the right time.
LeeAnn, who had been planning this wedding since the Reagan administration, hadn’t missed a beat. She’d justswapped grooms. Like the changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace after a respectable twenty-four-hour grace period, of course.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I found George sprawled on my bed. The poor man looked rode hard and put up wet.
