Chapter Two

      A moment of cold dread was quickly erased by the angry understanding that followed. She should have trusted her instincts. It wasn’t the pomp and circumstance of the evening that made her break out in stress hives. It was the idea of marrying Kyle.

      When another thump against the wall made her jump, Samantha went to investigate. The door on her side that could be opened to turn the neighboring rooms into one large suite was unlocked and slightly ajar—as was the connecting door into the next room.

      She’d like to go back to that whole television-or podcast-watching theory. But Samantha knew better as she pushed the second door open and entered the room that mirrored her own. Though still hushed, she could distinguish the voices and giggles and breathy moans now. She turned past the desk to the closet door, wishing her hearing was as lousy as her myopic vision.

      A woman laughed from inside the closet. “Stop shushing me. You said no one could hear us in here.”

      Oh, how she wished she didn’t recognize that voice.

      “Just do it, baby. Do it now.” Betrayal drove a stake through her heart at Kyle’s gasping reply. “Stop talking and...”

      Samantha whipped the door open to see Kyle leaning against the closet wall and her stepsister, Taylor, kneeling in front of his unzipped pants.

      Oh, hell. Oh, double hell.

      Kyle swore.

      Samantha watched her stepsister tumble onto her bottom as Kyle pushed off the wall. She backed away, shaking her head.

      Taylor’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Samantha? Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I never meant to—”

      “Screw my boyfriend?” Seriously? Were those tears? “Or just get caught doing it?”

      Kyle made a token effort to button his shirt as he stepped out of the closet. “I can explain.”

      “So can I.” Fortunately, he was in a condition that made it difficult for him to hurry after her as Samantha headed to the connecting doors. “Apparently, you lost track of the time. And which sister you’re proposing to.”

      Kyle grabbed her wrist and tugged her around to face him. “Baby, you know I’m committed to you.” He captured her by the shoulders, his handsome blue eyes searching hers. Hadn’t he just called Taylor baby? Real special endearment, jackass. “To us. I will see this thing through to the end. I just needed to get this out of my system before we settle down.”

      “This? You mean having sex with my sister?” Samantha twisted in his grasp, and his hold on her tightened painfully.

      Taylor scrambled to her feet to follow them, tugging her dress down to her knees. “Out of your system? What does that mean? You said—”

      “Shut. Up.”

      When Kyle turned to dismiss her stepsister, Samantha finally put those three-inch heels to good use and stomped on his stockinged foot, freeing herself. He cursed her and the pain, and stumbled into Taylor. While he teetered off balance, Samantha shoved him back inside the closet, knocking Taylor in with him. The two traitors were falling to the floor, pulling coats and hangers down with them, as she hurled the ring box at them and slammed the door. Tuning out both demands and apologies, she wedged the desk chair beneath the doorknob. Blind with rage and hurt and even a little self-loathing that she hadn’t seen this coming, Samantha marched back to her own room and locked the connecting door behind her. She just wanted to escape. If she’d needed a reprieve from the social event downstairs, then dealing with this kind of humiliation demanded nothing less than utter and lengthy solitude.

      But she wasn’t going to find that here. She spared a moment to pull the luggage rack with her suitcase in front of the door to block the exit, further trapping the two on the other side before grabbing her purse and pulling her checkered trench coat from her own closet.

      The argument from the next room continued, mixed with knocks against the walls and periodic swearing. “You said you were with the wrong sister. That you wanted me. Was that just a line to get me to—?”

      “Shut up, Taylor.” The doorknob rattled. He pounded on the wall between them. “Samantha, open this door. We need to talk. You’re being a child.”

       And you’re being a bastard.

      “I love you,” he insisted, in the most rote, carefully practiced and insincere tone she could imagine. “I’ve told you that countless times.”

      “If only you meant it any one of those times,” she muttered before slipping into her black-and-white coat and exiting into the hallway.

      She barely noticed Brandon springing to his feet. She hated that her eyes were gritty with tears, hated that she cared enough to hurt like this. But her brain seemed to function, even when her emotions couldn’t get their act together. Although Kyle couldn’t get to her through the room they’d shared, he’d be able to reach her through Taylor’s door. No sense risking that he’d be able to break out of the closet and chase after her. She knocked over the side table, spilling it and the silk fern in front of Taylor’s door.

      “Um, trouble in Happy Couple Land?” Brandon dodged to one side as she dragged the leather chair in front of the door, building a bigger barricade. “Your mother asked me to remind you—”

      “Stepmother, Brandon. Joyce is my stepmother. My real mother died.” And apparently, so had any chance at a relationship. After swiping at the tears that clouded her glasses, Samantha booked it down the hallway toward the elevators, leaving the banging and swearing and shouting behind. “Tell Joyce and Dad something came up. I’m leaving.”

      Brandon stayed right with her. “What did that lowlife do? Is he cheating on you again?”

      Samantha stopped in her tracks. “Again? You knew he...? This isn’t the first...?” So much for protecting her. She tore her gaze away from the bodyguard’s pitying brown eyes and punched the elevator button. Be angry, not hurt. “I knew something wasn’t right between us. I was trying so hard to make it work. I’m such an idiot.”

      “Where are you going? I can’t let you leave on your own. Especially when you’re like this.”

      “Like what? Awake to reality? Standing up for myself? Saving what little dignity I have left?” The strain of the evening intensified the rash on her torso. Ignoring the habitual urge to scratch, she dug into her purse. “Fine. Then you’re coming with me. Here are my keys.” She stepped into the elevator, handing them to the confused bodyguard. “Bring my car around back by the kitchen entrance. I’ll meet you there. I’m not walking through that lobby and facing all those people again.”

      “Pellegrino will want to know your destination. He doesn’t like changing plans when security is already in place. The rain is pouring—”

      “I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t care if I get wet. I just have to get out of here.” She jerked at the crash of splintering wood from down the hallway and punched the first-floor button. “Now.”

      Brandon grabbed the door to stop the elevator from closing. “What do I tell Pellegrino and your father?”

      “Tell them I’m not feeling well. Tell them I’m flying to the moon. I don’t care.”

      “Samantha!” Kyle’s shout reached her through the makeshift barriers she’d put up. The closet door was down.

      Brandon pulled back his jacket, resting his hand on the gun holstered