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“Look, babe, it was good while it lasted, but I’m not interested in the article, and I’m not interested in marrying…” Henry’s words trail off, met with my silence. “One day, you’ll thank me for this, I promise,” he adds.

“Your promises mean nothing to me.” The phone falls from my hand, landing quietly on the puddle of satin fabric at my feet, right next to my broken heart.

Now I’m left crying in my wedding dress. Scratch that—a wedding dress. A wedding dress I don’t even love after getting dumped by a man that I thought I did.

Chapter 2

Lucy

Exhale. Stepping into the grand lobby of the majestic Wisteria, I try not to let the crushing weight of reality ruin my first time staying at the beautiful historic hotel nestled among the ancient oaks and cobblestone streets of downtown Savannah.

As I approach the elegant check-in desk, a quick glance at my phone tells me it’s still a couple of minutes before my check-in time. Hopefully, the room is ready. I need to be alone to process everything that has happened and figure out what I am going to do about tomorrow.

“Reservation for Landers,” I say, hoping my voice sounds more confident than I feel.

“Good afternoon, Miss Landers. Welcome to the Wisteria. Is this your first time joining us?” the sweet older gentleman working the desk asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, we’re delighted to have you. I see we have your reservation right here,” he remarks after a few clicks on his keyboard. “And it would seem you’ve been upgraded to one of our premier suites. Do you happen to have the card that was used to book the room?” His smile reaches his kind blue eyes, instantly making me think of my dad. A pang of guilt hits me. Instead of calling to let him know I made it, I sent a quick text that I’d be home tomorrow. He’s like a bloodhound that can sniff out trouble a mile away. I know he’ll hear it in my voice, and I don’t have the heart to explain what I’m still figuring out.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry.” I blink.

“I just need to swipe the card.” The moment I realize what he’s asking, my heart sinks because with my flight and the wedding deposits I’ve already had to pay with such short notice, both my personal and business cards are close to being maxed out. I refuse to ask my dad for help. I know things are tight since he took a second mortgage to cover my mom’s hospital bills, and between my student loan and the farm, he doesn’t have any extra funds.

Just another reason I was counting on the magazine article, the potential business and income it could bring.

“The booking wasn’t made with my personal card. It was my fian—friend’s card.” I respond, my hands fidgeting.

“That’s okay. You can use any card, and then when he or she arrives, you can come back down and change it out.”

“He’s not coming,” I blurt out and blink back tears because saying it out loud echoes internally.

“No problem, miss.” He lowers his voice. “The card only needs to be swiped for incidentals; it won’t be charged. The room was already prepaid at booking, as well as a $250 food and beverage voucher good for room service or any of the cafés or bars on the property.”

“Thank you.” I dig in my bag in search of my wallet.

“Might I recommend the Oak Room on the seventh floor if you’re looking for the best filet in town. And for breakfast or brunch, the Peachtree just across the lobby has delicious shrimp and grits. If you prefer to leave for dining, might I recommend Vic’s on the River just around the corner for their famous Southern seafood bouillabaisse,” he informs me, and my stomach growls in response.

I guess I haven’t really eaten today. Between my early flight and getting dumped, eating wasn’t really high on my list of things to do today. There were still fabric samples I needed for a winter wedding I was planning, flower girl dresses to discuss, and emails to respond to. Briar tried to get me to eat, but all I could stomach was an iced caramel latte from the café next door. After hugging my cousins goodbye, I climbed into the Uber and came here.

“That all sounds delicious.” It truly does. I appreciate his genuine Southern hospitality, but the last thing I feel like doing tonight is sitting in public and eating alone.

“Also, there is a patio with a pool and sauna on the garden level, a state-of-the-art gym on the third level, and since you’re in one of our premier suites, we have a lovely rooftop terrace with a private lap pool that overlooks Forsyth Park,” he adds with a wide smile while I continue the treasure hunt for my missing wallet.

“Let me just find my card.” I internally panic. I know my wristlet is in here somewhere because I had it on my Uber ride over. Notebook, pens, an empty water bottle, deodorant, makeup bag, pretty much everything except… Aha! Here it is! I yank the skinny leather strap of the wristlet, but something is caught on it. “Sorry, I have it. I just need to—” With a determined yank, I pull it free, only to watch in horror as the other object—a piece of black lace lingerie—launches in the air and lands at the polished shoes of the person next to me.

Dropping to my knees, mortified, I reach toward the stranger’s feet, hoping to retrieve my sexy unmentionables before anyone is the wiser. But before I can, he leans down, picking up my panties with one finger and offering them with a hint of amusement in his deep voice.

“I believe these belong to you.”

I can’t even look the stranger in his face, my cheeks burn with so much embarrassment.

I manage not to die from humiliation and mumble, “Thank you,” followed by an apology before snatching them back. But not before I’m hit with the most delicious scent of spicy amber.

My God!