Page 1 of The Growly Outcast’s Promise

chapter

one

Annabelle

I’ve been trying for weeks now to not turn into Bridezilla. Especially since very little about this wedding is what I want in the first place.

There are three things you should probably know. First, I’m normally very low maintenance. Don’t even wear make-up all that often. Second, I’m not your normal bride. And third, this is strictly a marriage of convenience.

I finally got the “bride’s” room of the famous luxury hotel, The Montgomery, to myself with the help of my sister, Lizzie. Less than an hour now and I’ll become Mrs. Devon McCall.

I shake my hands out to try and alleviate some of my jitters. My nerves are all over the place today. Understandably since it is my wedding day. Even if this isn’t how I envisioned it when I was a little girl.

Back then it was all frilly Sunday dresses paired with a pillowcase clipped to my hair to act as my veil. The colors varied. I’d carry a hand-pulled bouquet of wildflowers and weeds. Then I’d walk down a makeshift aisle to my sweet and perfect groom. Back then it was always Greyson Hendricks.

We’re still friends today, but our lives are separate since my grandparents made me and Lizzie move from Saddle Creek to the higher society life of Houston, Texas.

The wedding I’m about to experience is different from those childhood fantasies in every way. Instead of marrying my childhood crush, Grayson, I’m about to wed my adult friend, Devon. (Side note: Devon is gayer than a Broadway chorus line.) Instead of marrying for love, I’m marrying for money, because my grandparents are control freaks who think women can’t make decisions without a man’s help.

Yep, my grandmother is a piece of work. Basically, if I don’t marry by the time I’m twenty-six, the inheritance my father left my sister and I, goes to someone else. It’s stupid and absurd, but there it is. You wanna guess whose birthday is next week?

Yep. Mine.

If I’m not married in four days, I get nothing.

And if it was just me, I’d take it on the chin. I can make my own way in the world. But half of that money should have gone to my sister. And she’s a single mom, doing her damnedest to keep a bunch of balls in the air.

It’s the principal of the matter. My grandparents shouldn’t be able to disinherit either of us just because they don’t like our life choices. Once I’m married and the money is mine, I can give as much of it to my sister as I want.

So last month, my gay bestie, Devon, and I hatched a plan to get married. But then my grandmother got involved in planning it, and it became a whole thing.

Now, here we are: at the most luxurious hotel on the Texas coast, having a destination wedding, with dozens of guests flown in from all over Texas, all paid for by my grandparents. Don’t get the wrong idea. This isn’t generosity on their part. They just want to make sure that everyone knows at least one of their descendants has her shit together.

They wanted a big wedding with lots of witnesses. Fine.

So here we are. I’m ready to walk down the aisle like a sacrificial lamb, all so that next week, when I turn twenty-six, I’ll be someone’s wife. And with a big, strong man by my side, I can officially access my inheritance.

Despite all my planning, I can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong. As if on cue, my phone pings from the dressing table where an entire Sephora store’s make-up is spread around. I grab it, ignoring the image of myself in the mirror.

DEVON: I can’t do it, babe. I thought I could, but I just can’t.

DEVON: I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad. I’m already halfway to Houston.

DEVON: Let’s do drinks when you get back.

I stare at the phone in disbelief. Is he serious right now?

“No, no, no. This cannot be happening,” I mutter to myself.

“What’s going on?” Lizzie asks, stepping back into the room.

I just hold the phone out to her.

“Mother fucker!”

“You kiss your kids with that mouth?” I ask, dryly.

“You know I do.” She smirks at me.