Oddly enough, she’s never complained about his tomato plants not actually being tomato plants.
Personally, I think it’s some kind of weird foreplay, and these two are secretly vibing each other. And one day they’ll lay down their guns and admit their true feelings for one another. But until then, they seem set on performing this weird, argumentative mating dance.
“Boundary lines are boundary lines, Sheriff. They’re not open to interpretation. You need to arrest her. She’s stealing two inches of my property!”
Sheriff O’Connor gives him a pointed look. “You really want me to come out and check out the boundary lines, Harold? How are those tomato plants coming along?”
Before Harold can reply, the door opens and a rush of arrogant energy rushes into the room in the form of a man in an expensive suit.
My body tenses.
Hello, Vince.
“Where is the sheriff?” he demands.
Sheriff Willard looks over at him. “I’m right here, sir. Just take a moment and I will be right with you.”
“I don’t have a moment. My fiancée has been kidnapped.”
I look away and begin to busy myself checking through the mail in my hand so I don’t catch his attention.
Not that I need to worry. Vince is clearly only aware of himself and his needs. He pushes himself in front of Harold.
“Someone broke into the Mirror Lake Lodge and kidnapped my fiancée.”
“When?”
“Around midnight last night.”
Willard looks at his watch.
“Your fiancée was kidnapped ten hours ago and you’re only reporting it now? Why didn’t you report this last night?”
“We thought it was just her getting cold feet.”
“But now you think otherwise?”
“She was seen leaving with a man. We think he either took her against her will, or he assisted her in disappearing.”
The sheriff scratched his beard. “You think she might have faked the kidnapping? A bit over the top, don’t you think?”
“She’s an over-the-top kind of woman. Rich. Spoiled. You know the type. Anything is possible with a woman like her.”
The way Vince speaks about Lauren makes me want to take him by the throat and rip his tongue from his mouth.
“Have you tried calling her phone?” Willard asks.
Vince looks irritated. “Of course, I tried calling her phone. But she didn’t take it with her when she was busy being kidnapped.”
“What makes you so sure she was actually kidnapped?”
“Thirty minutes ago, we received a phone call demanding twenty-five million for her return.”
My head jerks up.
What the fuck?
My eyes narrow in on Vince. He’s agitated. He is losing his patience.
“Do you know who I am? Let me save you the trouble of wasting both our time any further and answer it for you. I’m Vince Preston. And my fiancée is Lauren Carmichael. And in five fucking hours, we’re due to be married at the Mirror Lake Lodge. Now, for heaven’s sake, will you pull your small-minded head out of your small-town ass and help me?”
While Vince continues his rant, I pull down my cap and leave. The sooner we get out of town, the better. But on my way back to the car, I spy two men walking toward the convenience store.
They’re so out of their element here…pure city. Custom suits. Expensive jewelry. Completely out of place in Mirror Lake.
I follow them into the store. They don’t notice me because they’re so wrapped up in themselves.
And wearing so much cologne they should come with a radiation warning.
Inside the store they go one way, and I go the other, but make sure I stay close enough so I can hear them.
“You have any theories,” says the guy who is wearing a Rolex.
The second one picks up a Vogue magazine while his friend scopes the antacid products.
“Probably found out he spent last night with that hot bridesmaid, what was her name? Sharon? Shawna?”
“Shanna.”
“Yeah, Shannnnaaaa. Nice tits.”
“Can’t blame him, it being his last night of freedom and all.”
“Being married isn’t going to stop him. Vince can’t help himself when it comes to a hot piece of ass. Especially that hot piece of ass.” Mr. Vogue scoffs. “Not that the wedding was ever going to take place anyway.”
“True,” the other man agreed.
My eyes dart to them.
Vince never intended on marrying Lauren?
What, was he going to leave her at the . . .
The penny drops.
Mother. Fucker.
I leave the convenience store without any supplies and head for my Jeep. Lauren is already inside, watching me as I cross the street and run across the road. She straightens when she realizes I am hurrying.
“Everything okay?” she asks as I climb in.
I hand her a Yankees cap from the back seat. “Put this on?”
“Why, what’s going on?”
Before I can reply, Vince steps out of the post office and pauses on the porch to light a cigarette. Lauren sees him and my breath catches in my chest. She could open the door and run toward her fiancé, and this could all end… right here, right now.
I start the Jeep and glance over at her. I can see her pulse pounding against her throat as she watches him. She is weighing her options. To run toward him. Or to run away from him.
Slowly, she turns to look at me. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get out of here.”
Pulling quietly away from the curb, I steer my Jeep toward my cabin, my mind abuzz with all the pieces falling into place.
Chapter Fifteen
LAUREN
I feel sick. Seeing Vince has shaken me. Instead of wanting to run toward him, I wanted to get as far away from him as possible. Now I’m at war with myself about what that means. All I know is that I’m where I’m meant to be when I’m with Axel.
I look over at him.
Something clearly happened. His reaction isn’t just about Vince showing up. No, his reaction is because he’s seen or heard something.
“Tell me what happened.”
He glances at me. “Let me just get us back to the cabin and I’ll explain everything.”
He checks the rearview mirror. And when he does it again a few seconds later, I realize Vince hadn’t been alone in town.
“He brought men with him, didn’t he?” I say.
“Yes.”
Another check of the rearview mirror.
“Let me guess—two suits, one who looks like he stepped out of the Playboy mansion, and another who smells like he fell into a vat of cologne.”
“You know them?”
I turn to look out the window. “Unfortunately.”
The one who smells like the perfume counter at Macy’s got drunk and tried copping a feel of my boobs at the New Year’s Eve gala my father threw at the Wintergarden Hotel last December. And the one who looked like he’d sell his own grandmother’s soul for a new Maserati and a bag of coke, once told me that if I ever grew bored of Vince that I should definitely give him a call.
Did I tell Vince about either of them?
No.
Why?
Because at the time I told myself it was to avoid driving a wedge between Vince and his best friends. Because I didn’t want to be that girl. Or even look like that girl. The spoiled brat who comes between her boyfriend and his frat brothers.