He could finally touch his girl all he wanted, and it was fucking heaven. A proud smile curved his mouth, and he pictured her, in bed, waiting for him, roller skates on her feet. God, she was sexy.
“One of the women is dropping from the bridal party, and my wife-to-be is extremely upset. Gretchen has been frantic all day, and I told her I’d take care of it.”
“Guilty as charged,” Asher said. “I’m fucking Greer, and I’m not going to stop. And no, it’s none of your business.” He adjusted his cufflinks, and then added, “I’ll talk to her. I didn’t know she was threatening to drop out of the wedding.”
“Greer’s not the one threatening to drop,” Hunter said drily. “Though now I see we have another problem. Chelsea is the one wanting to leave the wedding.”
“What?” Sebastian stiffened, his body becoming alert. His cold expression flicked with surprise. “Chelsea?”
“Et tu, Brute?” Hunter said, voice gruff. “Both of you, either make those women happy or break it off cleanly so Gretchen’s plans aren’t spoiled. Understand?”
That had to be wrong. Had to be. Why would Chelsea ditch the wedding? She was already making plans for rose-scented soaps. It didn’t make sense. And why wouldn’t she answer her damn phone? “If you’ll excuse me, I have to make a phone call,” Sebastian said, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. He gave Hunter a stiff nod and disappeared out of the room.
In the hallway, he called Chelsea.
It went straight to voice mail, which meant she was screening his calls, and she specifically did not want to talk to him. What the hell? It wasn’t like Chelsea—happy, brave Chelsea—to be passive aggressive and pick a fight. Something else had to be wrong, and worry made his heart pound. When it came to Chelsea, he felt incredibly protective. Was Rufus with her?
He immediately called the bodyguard. “Where is my wife?”
“She is at home, sir.”
“Is something wrong? She’s not answering her phone.”
“I didn’t ask. Should I ask?”
“No. I’ll be home shortly. It’s fine.” Sebastian hung up and didn’t care if it was rude or not. He just needed to get to Chelsea as soon as possible.
He all but sprinted out to his waiting car.
*
When Sebastian got home, the house was silent. “Chelsea?” he bellowed, then raced up the stairs to the bedroom.
She was there, packing, her movements wooden as she folded a T-shirt and then stuffed it into her bag.
“What’s going on? What are you doing?” Sebastian wanted to grab her and shake her—or pull her against him—but he didn’t want to trigger bad memories for her. “Chelsea? What’s wrong?”
She looked up at him, her eyes curiously dead. The sparkle of fun and vivacity was completely gone. “I think it’s time we called things off, Sebastian.”
His chest felt tight. “Called what off?” Just this morning, she’d slipped into her uniform and woken him up with a blow job and giggled the entire time. He’d thought about that all day. What had gone so wrong between now and then? “Us?”
She nodded. “Our marriage. It’s not working. It was supposed to end up being beneficial for both of us, and when it stopped, we said we’d stop it, right? So I’m bailing out.”
“Why?” He moved forward, touched her cheek. It was wet and flushed, as if she’d been crying. His heart felt as if it was being ripped out of his chest. “Fuck, Chelsea, talk to me. Whatever it is, we can work through it.”
Her lip quivered, but her expression remained strangely dead. She shook her head and pulled away from him. “No, we really can’t.”
“This doesn’t make any sense—”