Page 20 of Desperate Measures

Real good.

The man who was now my husband was just so much hotter than I remembered.

He had to be six foot-four at least. Muscles corded around his large frame, making his shoulders seem even wider in his tailored suit. I was practically drooling.

Ridiculous.

I felt chubby and frumpy standing there with my wide hips and belly rolls beneath the shapewear I had on.

Margaret turned to me then. My one time savior was the first to pull me in for a hug, offering her congratulations.

Sure, she’d checked in on me over the years, reminding me of our promise to one another. She’d keep that incident to herself, and I would owe her one. I always knew I would have to pay her back for her help one day.

I just hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t known she would ask me to marry her brother.

The man I’d secretly crushed on for years.

Not so secret now, thank you very much, Shelly.

“I can’t believe you’re married,” my bestie cried, hugging me tight. “Your family is gonna flip, Micky. But remember, they love you. We all love you. Okay?”

“I know. And I will.”

“I wish I knew why you did this,” she whispered.

“It’s gonna be fine,” I told her, wishing I believed it.

After hugging Shelly goodbye one more time, I promised her I’d call her in a few days.

I knew she was angry, confused, maybe a little hurt, but what could I say? It wasn’t like I was a great liar. But she believed I’d been keeping my relationship with Liam a secret.

What fucking relationship?

But it wasn’t like I could admit that. And she was right about another thing. My family was going to flip the fuck out. Which was why I wasn’t telling them right now.

First, I needed to have a discussion with my husband. Set some ground rules. Then we could go from there.

“You ready?” Liam asked, appearing at my side as I glanced down at my phone.

I’d just received a text from my little sister, Leanna. She was still in high school and was currently experiencing boy drama of her own. I made a note to call her later this week, too.

“For?”

“To go home,” he replied slowly. Like I was dumb.

“Oh, um, I live on Central Park West,” I replied.

“Not anymore.Welive on Barclay Street.”

“Barclay Street?” I parroted, not quite understanding.

“That’s right,” he said, taking my hand and dragging me to the front door.

“I don’t understand.”

“What’s not to understand?” he asked, but I had a feeling it wasn’t really a question.

The November wind bit through my dress and I realized I forgot my coat inside.