Hitched Volume 1 (Imperfect Love Book #1)

Olivia

I’m at my family’s summer cottage on Nantucket Island, motionless while Camryn puts the finishing touches on my eye makeup. This bedroom is still decorated according to my tastes in my high school days-which apparently involved a lot of tie-dye, mandala posters, and framed rain forest photos. Heh . . . I’d forgotten I had a hippie phase. At its small whitewashed desk, where I sit now, I did my summer homework and wrote in my diary.

Thank God for Camryn. She drove over early to lend a hand before the ceremony. As far as primping goes, I didn’t really need her help. I’m not doing anything special with my hair or makeup. My only concession to the special occasion is a cream-colored dress, and even that is pretty plain: just a knee-length wrap with a little lace at the bust. I look more like the mother of a bride than the bride herself. What I did need-desperately-was my best friend’s moral support. Her calm, matter-of-fact presence soothes my frazzled nerves.Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

I don’t even know why I’m wound so tight. Our “wedding” is just Noah and me meeting with a justice of the peace to sign the paperwork, while Dad and a few other family members and close friends stand by. No tuxedo and gown, no vows, no reception party. As short and simple as humanly possible. This marriage isn’t even real . . . and yet I have a textbook case of cold feet.

“And boom,” Camryn announces proudly. “Eyes are all done. Take a look.”

I open my eyes and blink at myself in the mirror. Wow, I look . . . hot. My usual makeup style is pretty minimalistic, since I rarely go anywhere besides the office, but Camryn has given me a subtle smokiness that’s sensual while still being demure enough for a daytime event.

“This looks great. Thank you.”

“Am I good or what?” Camryn grins. “Do you want anything to eat? Now’s your last chance before I do your lips.”

The kitchen counters and breakfast bar are piled with casseroles and salads and finger sandwiches from the catering company Dad hired. I told him I didn’t want a reception with a fancy meal afterward. But he insisted that our guests, as few as they are, still need to eat before heading back home. So this was our compromise, self-serve casual fare on paper plates.

I shake my head. “No, thanks. My stomach is flip-flopping like crazy.”

“That bad?” Camryn asks, her tone rising in sympathy.

I let out a deep sigh. “Honestly? I’m not sure how I feel.”

I really do believe that Noah and I can work as a couple. But I’m still on the verge of panic. Marriage is such a huge commitment. Thinking about taking that step-oh God, and in less than an hour too-makes me break out in a cold sweat.

If Camryn hadn’t been here to steady my nerves, I might have seriously considered bolting. Especially when Dad handed over a copy of the contract at breakfast-all looming and official with its sixteen numbered pages. I still haven’t been able to bring myself to look at it. But I already know what it says, anyway. What’s the point of stressing myself out even more? I’ll just sign it when the time comes, quick and easy, like ripping off a bandage.

“Poor thing.” Camryn sighs. “Let me get you a drink. You need a little something to take the edge off.”

She bustles out of the bedroom to visit the kitchen and comes back with two glasses of merlot. My best friend knows me well enough to forgo the bottle of chilled champagne nestled in its ice bucket on the kitchen counter. Champagne is much too celebratory for the mood I’m in.

I accept the pleasantly chilled glass and take a deep swig. The small dose of alcohol subtly warms and loosens my muscles, and I let out a quiet sigh. She was right; I did need this.

“I really think this will be okay,” Camryn says. “From what I’ve seen, it seems like Noah’s been pretty sweet and attentive toward you.”

“Yeah, I do think he’s really trying.” I take another sip of my wine. “Even if his ultimate goal is just to get into my pants.”

“And that would be the worst thing in the world, why?” She raises her eyebrows at me with a devilish grin. She’s continuously griping about the state of my nonexistent love life.

I snort, smiling back despite myself. “I have about as much interest in riding his knob as I do in jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.”

Except when the jerk does something sexy and all the blood in my brain suddenly flies south for the winter. Which seems to be happening more and more often lately.

“Ladies . . .” Sterling pokes his head around the door frame, smirking like he heard every word. “Knob riding will commence after dinner.” Then he tips his chin toward us and leaves.

Fuck. The last thing I need is Noah thinking that tonight will feature any wedding-night hanky-panky. Frustrated, I growl and slam my eyes closed.

“We need something stronger than wine.” Camryn charges back into the kitchen before I can stop her. I can hear clattering as she searches through cabinets. Soon she returns, holding out a bottle of vodka. “Here we go.”

“No, that’s okay.” I wave her off. “I don’t really want to get too tipsy right now.”

She sets down the vodka on the desk. “Good point. We should wait until after the ceremony.”

“Actually . . .” I sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ll be in the mood to socialize tonight. I need some time alone to figure stuff out.” Or bury my head in work like an ostrich and avoid my situation entirely. “Thank you for coming all the way out here.”

She nods. “Of course I came, Olivia. I can head back to the city early, no problem. It’s a long trip back anyway.” Her gaze wanders over toward the deck where Noah and Sterling sit with their backs to us, looking out over the beach. “Then again, Sterling’s pretty fucking hot. I could probably busy myself with him tonight.” She grins wickedly.

“Knock yourself out,” I say with a shrug. Someone around here should have fun, after all. “In fact, go ahead and get him now. I can do my lipstick by myself.”

We share one last reassuring hug before she leaves me alone in my childhood bedroom, taking her drink with her.

I push up the window and inhale the saltiness of the humid ocean breeze. The afternoon is warm, and mist rises from the blue harbor. For a minute, I watch a handful of distant sailboats, dim white dots bobbing on the horizon. I try not to obsess about the ceremony that will be starting in just half an hour. Letting the peaceful view fill my mind, I feel my tension start to melt away.

But the blessed silence shatters when my phone rings. Grumbling, wondering who the hell would call me right now, I dig it out of my purse.

I frown at the screen. Since I don’t know this number off the top of my head, I answer with a brisk, “Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Olivia.”

My stomach contracts into a tight, painful ball. That voice . . . For a moment I can’t speak.

“You really should check your e-mail more often,” Brad says.