Page 2 of The Growly Outcast’s Promise

“What am I going to do?”

“You should just cancel the wedding. You don’t really want to do this anyway. I don’t need you to save me.”

“I’m not going to cancel. I’ve come this far. I’m committed.”

“You’re ridiculous is what you are. You don’t even want to get married. You’re only doing this for me.”

“And me too. Not to mention Bennet and Lydia. I refuse to let that woman punish us.”

“We can live without the money,” Lizzie says. “We don’t need to be rich.”

I grab her hands and squeeze them. “This isn’t about getting rich. This is about getting what our father left to us and making sure your kids have anything and everything they need.”

“But you have to sacrifice everything to do that. Annabelle, having Devon walk away has to be a sign.”

“Absolutely. A sign that I should never have asked my dear friend to pretend to be straight and marry me so I can secure our inheritance. I mean he could have told me a little sooner.” I shake the voluminous fabric of my skirt.

A knock sounds on the door. “Why is this locked? Annabelle?” Our grandmother’s voice comes from the other side of the door.

“Shit,” I whisper. “Can you go deal with her? Just keep her away and don’t tell her about Devon. I’m gonna try to fix this.”

“How? You have no groom!”

“I’ll figure something out. Just go deal with the dragon lady.”

Lizzie gives me one more look, then goes to the door. She deftly leaves the room while not allowing the other woman to enter.

“Grandmother! I think I saw Houston’s first lady,” Lizzie says, “are she and the mayor really here?”

“Oh! I can’t imagine they’d drive all the way to Corpus Christie, but if they did, I must greet them.”

I blow out a breath and look back down at my phone. Then I send a text I’ve been trying to avoid.

ME: Are you here?

GREYSON: Yeah, darlin’, I’m sitting here waiting to see how pretty you look in your dress.

ME: I’m calling in our pact.

ME: I’ll explain later.

The three dots appear, then disappear, then reappear. Yep, he’s probably freaking out.

GREYSON: Bella, are you asking what I think you’re asking?

ME: ???

GREYSON: Where are you right now?

ME: A small room behind the restaurant. I believe they hung a white flower wreath on the door.

GREYSON: Stay put.

Where else am I going to go? I can’t even sit very comfortably in this dress. I pace a little until there’s a knock on the door.

My heart pounds restlessly in my chest. I haven’t seen Grey face-to-face in a few years. We’ve kept in touch with emails and texts, and a phone call every now and then, but he’s had his life in Saddle Creek, and I’ve pretended to have one in Houston.

When my grandmother insisted on a massive society wedding, I panicked. I managed to convince her that a small, intimate, but sophisticated and exclusive, ceremony in a romantic setting was a better option. She loved the optics of that idea. After all, nothing truly matters if no one sees you do it.