MEEKA'S POV::
No, no, no!
Not the perfume I literally bought just three days ago.
And don't you dare tell me I'm dramatic. That perfume cost more than my dignity last night.
Okay, maybe I'm being a little too dramatic.
But my favorite perfume just shattered on the damn floor. Tell me why I shouldn't scream.
Fuck!
Now I have to get a new one? Do you know how much that perfume costs?
I sigh, dragging myself off the floor, checking to see what must have caused it to fall and shattered like. But I can't see anything.
Shaking my head, I place my palm on my forehead and stumble into the bathroom, snatching up my toothbrush like It's a weapon. God, my head is still pounding so loud I can practically hear its drum solo.
There are three things I hate most in this world.
Okay. Hate is a strong word. Let's say "tolerate with great difficulty."
Number one: waking up with a hangover.
Number two: losing my favorite things.
And number three.... God, my brother, Jeremy Clemson.
I shuffle down the hallway, rubbing my eyes, because honestly, it feels like I fought in a war last night instead of sleeping. And judging by the racket coming from the kitchen.... pots clattering, something sizzling far too aggressively, apparently the war followed me home.
Oh God. Don't tell me Jeremy is cooking. I've had enough this morning already, please.
I pause at the doorway and peek in, and to my greatest disappointment, Jeremy is at the stove, cooking.
Let me repeat that slowly in case you didn't hear me quite well. Jeremy. Is. Cooking.
Heavens! What is he cooking this time?
I lean against the doorframe and cross my arms. "Do I need to call the fire department preemptively, or are you actually trying to make food this time?"
Jeremy glances over his shoulder with that cocky grin I've hated since birth.
"Good morning to you too, Blink-Blink."
Ugh! Not that name again.
Someone tell this guy to stop calling me Blink-Blink.
See why he's among the things I can't stand? He knows I hate the name, but he'll take it to the grave.
"I'll have you know, I'm making pancakes." he says
"Pancakes?" I raise a brow. "You mean charcoal circles of death, right? Because the last time you cooked, I had to renovate my kitchen. Remember that?"
Jeremy flips the spatula dramatically. "That was one time. And technically, the toaster caught fire, not me."
I laugh, sliding into a chair at the counter. "The toaster caught fire because you were toasting the cord instead of bread."
"Details, details," he mutters, but he's grinning. He actually looks proud of himself, like he's auditioning for Top Chef: Arson Edition.
My phone buzzes on the counter just when I'm about to continue roasting him. I glance at the screen, and it's Nathaniel.
Of course.
My heart does this teenage little skip, the same skip it's been doing since I was sixteen and hopelessly in love with him. It's been years, and yet every time I see his name flash on my phone, I feel like that girl again. Desperate, breathless, and willing to do anything just to be his.
Honestly, when my family announced that I was getting married to Nathaniel DeWitt, the very man I've loved secretly for as long as I can remember, I was over the moon.
In all the novels I've devoured (yes, I'm a total addict), the heroines usually throw a fit when told they'll be marrying the son of some wealthy family. They kick, scream, and swear they'll never marry him.
But my story? It's different. For me, this feels like a dream come true, even though I know deep down Nathaniel doesn't.... well, really love me. Maybe love is too much to even mention.
Still, I can't help but hope. Hope that one day he'll truly, really see me.
And you know what they say: sometimes love comes after marriage.
So yeah.... I have this gut feeling that once I become his wife, Nathaniel will finally love me back.
I swipe open the message, and read through.
*Nathaniel: I'll pick you up in an hour. We're going to see my parents.
My stomach tightens at the mention of his parents.
I haven't seen them in years, and even then, it wasn't quite warm. I don't know his mother quite well, I can remember just a little about her. And his father is the kind of man who makes silence feel like judgment.
And did I forget to mention that today is my engagement party? Because apparently my hangover isn't enough punishment for one morning.
"Fiance texting you?" Jeremy asks in a sing-song, leaning his hip against the counter. "What's he saying, Mrs. DeWitt?"
I groan. "Don't call me that."
"Why not? It's true." He smirks. "Better start practicing your signature now. M. DeWitt. Or maybe just Meeka DeWitt. Has a nice billionaire ring to it."
I throw a napkin at him. "Stop making me hate you more."
"I love you more, too." he replies instead, with a chuckle.
I shake my head, smiling despite being a little pissed. But deep down, there's a flutter in my chest.... the one that's been there my whole life, whispering that this is what I'm meant to be.
Nathaniel's.
Jeremy flips another pancake, and the smoke alarm stays silent, which counts as divine intervention. But my head is already spinning ahead with many things. Especially the nagging voice in the back of my head whispering that no matter how perfect this looks, something's.... missing.
Before I can spiral too far, the doorbell rings, breaking the silence.
Jeremy lifts a brow. "Expecting someone?"
"No." I push back from the counter, dragging myself toward the door, half-expecting it to be a package.
But it's not.
The second I open the door, Nora, my crazy, insufferable best friend barrels in like a Category Five hurricane, arms loaded with shopping bags.
My eyes widen, mouth slightly open in shock. What's with the bags?
"Meeks!" she exclaims, her eyes immediately narrowing at my messy hair and bare face. "Heavens, Meeka, you're not ready? Do you want me to have a heart attack before noon?"
I blink, still hungover and barefoot. "Uh, good morning to you too?"
She ignores me, charging straight into the living room.
"We don't have time. You're trying on dresses. Now."
God. She behaves exactly like my Mom.
"Nora...."
"No excuses. So be quiet." She grabs my hand and drags me straight to my room like I'm a stubborn kid refusing to obey her Mom's instructions.
The moment we get into my room, she starts pulling gowns from the bags like a magician revealing doves.
"Option one is gorgeous and classic, very 'future Mrs. DeWiit.' Option two is flirty, romantic, screams of 'American's sweetheart.' You're welcome."
From the moment Nora heard I'm marrying Nathaniel, I haven't had a moment of peace. She practically appointed herself as my maid of honor. Not like I have anyone else for that anyway.
"Nora—"
"Shut up, Meeks!" Nora cuts me off again and I'm this close to sticking her mouth with a glue to shut her the fuck up. "Some of us are saving you from being a fashion disaster on the biggest night of your life.
It's not even my wedding night!
I groan, dragging a hand down my face. "You know, I was kind of hoping for a quiet mental breakdown before all this, but sure, let's play dress-up."
"Exactly." Nora claps her hands dramatically, like the drama queen that she actually is. "Now march to your bathroom. Shower, then we'll do your hair and makeup."
I scoff, roll my eyes, and march into the bathroom like she ordered me to.
But I'm barely a foot inside when her question freezes me in place, like my feet just got glued to the tiles.
"By the way," Nora calls out casually, like she's not about to complete the ruination of my entire morning. "Why did you disappear on us last night after going to the restroom? Where the hell did you go afterwards?"
Oh, crap!
Last night again.