“What the hell?” I demanded the minute the elevator doors closed.
His fingers flew over the keyboard of his phone. “I’m texting the driver,” he said without looking up.
I stared daggers into him. “Two years?”
His shoulders sagged as he met my eye. “I’m sorry. I was gonna tell you.”
“When?”
“I meant to tell you this week, but I knew you’d react like this.”
I fought back tears. “As I have every right to!”
“You know my mom, she’s a steamroller. I didn’t have any part in it—”
“But you didn’t stop it.”
“I said I’m sorry!” He rubbed his temples. “My head is pounding. Can we please just skip the yelling and get to the part where you understand this is for the best?” he implored.
It made my blood boil that he was right: my pattern was to blow a gasket, then, in the interest of preserving the peace, roll over and apologize. But this was too important—and I’d had too much Dom—to preserve the peace tonight.
“You realize she’s only doing this to drive us apart,” I pressed.
“Clearly it’s working,” he muttered.
“Because you’re letting her have her way!”
“She’s my mother, Sveta. She’s not some monster. And she’s paying for it.”
“Which is totally unnecessary,” I pointed out. “We can pay for it. Hell, I’ll get married at city hall if you don’t want to spend money on a wedding. I’d rather that, actually. You know I only agreed to this fancy wedding because it’s what she wants. And now she’s throwing it back in my face.”
The elevator doors opened into the chic, clublike lobby, empty save the doorman, and Chase strode purposefully across the terrazzo tile toward the double glass doors. I scurried after him out into the snow, where our Suburban idled at the curb.
The driver held the car door open for us and we dove into the back. “She’s picked the venue, she’s picked the date—next thing I know she’ll be choosing my dress,” I whispered urgently. “Then she’ll be naming our children and deciding which schools they attend.”
“Sveta.” He shot me a warning glance as the chauffeur climbed into the driver’s seat. But to hell with decorum, there was no way I was shutting up this time.
“This is our wedding,” I continued. “Not hers.”
He cut his eyes to the driver, the corner of his mouth down-turned.
“I don’t give a damn,” I snapped, surprised by my own audacity. The train had left the station and there didn’t seem to be any slowing it. “We have to talk about this.”
“Can you at least stop cursing,” he hissed.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I groaned.
He set his mouth in a hard line and breathed deeply through his nose. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” I retorted. But that was a lie. I took a deep breath, suppressing my outrage. “Fine, you’re right. I drank too much trying to be comfortable around those people.” I sighed. He nodded.
I took his hand. “Can’t we just elope?” I asked more gently. “Go somewhere romantic, just the two of us? Or we can get married in Vegas for all I care. I feel like this wedding is tearing us apart. I just want to be us again.”
He shifted his gaze to me, his eyes tired. “My family is my family,” he said quietly. “It’s never going to be just us.” He rubbed his temples and looked out the window again. We were on the bridge now, steel supports blurring as we sped past. “I just wish you could get along with them.”
“I really am trying,” I said, indignant. “I agreed to the church, when you know it’s not what I wanted.” The anger I’d dampened flared. “Not to mention, I gave up my career when we got engaged because your mom didn’t approve—”
“Your modeling career was going to be over soon anyway, and we agreed I make so much money it didn’t make sense for you to go back to pounding the pavement for castings.” He popped his knuckles. “I’m trying to give you a great life. Can’t you see that?”
“Trying to give me?” I blinked at him. “I thought we were building a great life together.”
“Jesus, semantics! Why does this have to be so hard?”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. “You mean why can’t I just fall in line and become the person your family wishes I were?”
“You’re right, okay?” He threw his hands up. “My family said you weren’t marriage material. But I proposed anyway. I didn’t listen. I’m not the bad guy here. I’m just trying to make everybody happy, and it’s killing me.”
My throat constricted, holding in the sobs I couldn’t let out in front of him. Blinking back tears, I stared at the gorgeous diamond on my finger, wondering how it had done so much damage to our relationship.
“Do you still love me?” I asked.
“Of course,” he muttered. But he was looking out the window again.
Not exactly the profession of undying love I was hoping for. “Do you still want to marry me?” I pressed.
He met my gaze, his eyes unreadable in the dark. “Do you still want to marry me?”
Did I? I’d been so giddy when he’d dropped to his knee on the beach in Hawaii back in May, but now our impending nuptials just filled me with dread. And what about after? Did I really think his family would welcome me with open arms once we’d said “I do”?
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice barely audible. “I think we could use some space to figure things out.”
It felt like hours passed before he nodded. “If that’s what you want. I can go to my parents’, I guess.”
That was the last thing I wanted. “No,” I said. “I’ll go.”
I wiped my eyes and tried to still my breath, feeling as though I’d just jumped off a bridge with no idea what was beneath. I had to get out of the car. “Driver, can you pull over here, please?”
“Where are you going?” Chase asked as the Suburban rolled to a stop at the curb.
“I don’t know,” I said, grabbing the Veuve from beneath the seat. I had a feeling I was going to need it. “Happy New Year.”
And with that, I flung open the door and stumbled out into the falling snow.