The servers come around with more coffee and I lean into Grace’s ear to ask if she’d like more, but her breathing is deep and even. She fell asleep.

I scoop her up in my arms, say goodbye to my mother and aunts as I pass, and then get her in the car before she ever wakes up.

“What’s happening?” she asks as I pull the seatbelt across her lap.

“Time for bed, princess.” I shut her door and walk around to my side and get in.

“But I never said thank you.”

“You don’t have to, Grace.” I stroke my hand down her cheek and she closes her eyes automatically. “It’s Thanksgiving. Everyone is thankful.”

She falls back asleep before we make it out of the driveway and when we get home, it is my pleasure to strip off all her clothes and tuck her into bed next to me.

She stirs a little when I pull her close so she can rest her head on my chest. “You know what I’m really thankful for, Asher?”

God, I love when she calls me Asher these days. I used to think she said it to be mean, but that’s not why. She calls me Asher because she can. No one else, anywhere, calls me Asher. To my face, at least. Only Grace knows me well enough to use that moniker.

“Me, of course.” I play with her.

“Yes, you,” she says in her I’m-almost-asleep voice. “And I’m thankful for second chances.”

“Yeah.” I laugh under my breath. “I’ve certainly needed my share of those.”

She sits up a little and she’s more awake now. “I’ve learned something very important since all this crazy stuff happened.”

“What’s that, babe?”

“You don’t always get it right the first time.”

I stare at her eyes as they pool with tears and my heart feels like it might crack in half, that’s how much it hurts me to see her sadness. So many things went wrong this year for her. The kidnapping. The miscarriage. The media discovering her alias. Which one is she thinking of now?

I scoot down under the covers with her and hold her closer. “If I had known he would take you that night, Grace—”

“That’s not it, Vaughn. I actually think that do-over was… cathartic. In a way,” she adds hastily. “I mean, I don’t want to ever repeat it again. But it helped me confront so many things that I was hiding from all these years. No, the do-over I need is our marriage.”

I stop breathing. What does that mean? She stays quiet, like I’m expected to say something. I think it through for a few moments and then give it my best shot. “I can’t tell you what happened, Grace.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t. I explained the other night. It was perfect. It can’t be explained with words. Maybe if we had a video, but not with words.”

“But you still want to get married again?”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

I huff out some air because I want to be truthful with her. But how will she take it? “I wouldn’t mind a party, like my father offered. That would be nice. And I was thinking that a new ceremony would be nice. Make it a huge affair. With hundreds of guests and a new dress. The works. But I’ve changed my mind.” I look over at her and she’s stunned. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is open. “I’m sorry, sweets. I don’t want a new ceremony. It was perfect the first time and I’m sorry you missed it.”

Chapter Sixteen

#ANewHope

WHEN I wake up I’m still reeling from Vaughn’s admission last night. He does not want to marry me again. He has not even given me a ring. After all these months, I have no ring. What does this mean?

I roll over, ready to wake his ass up so I can ask him, but the bed is empty.

I sit up. “Vaughn?”

“In here, babe.” He comes out of his closet buttoning up his shirtsleeves.

“Where are you going?”

He walks over and leans down to kiss my cheek. “Work. We have a few scenes to get done today. We’re behind schedule, so we have to make it up. But after today, I’m all yours for two days.” He grins at me like this is acceptable.

“But it’s a holiday.”

“Yeah, Black Friday doesn’t really count, sweets. I’ll probably be very late, so don’t wait up.”

And then he grabs his watch and wallet off his dresser and walks out.

Black Friday is the day of the Black Bash. And he said don’t wait up? He’s never said that to me before. I wait until I hear his Porsche roar to life in the garage and then get up and run down the hallway to check and make sure he’s gone.

I open the door that leads to the garage and peek in.

Yup. Gone. Just like that I’m left at home alone all day.

I slam the door closed. Asshole. I should get my credit card and go shopping on Rodeo Drive, that’s what I should do. Spend all his money.

I walk back to the living room and spy the door to Asher’s office cracked open with the light on. I push it open all the way and realize he was in here this morning. What time did he get up? I didn’t even hear him, I was dead-ass tired.

I walk around to his desk and take a seat, then flick the mouse until the monitor comes on.

His calendar. Hmm. Attached to a Gmail account I don’t recognize. Double hmmm.

I knew that account with five messages from Larry was not his real email. But why is he hiding this one?

Grace, the gracious inner-me scolds. Since when does he have to declare email accounts? I mean, I have several email accounts. That’s just what happens as you grow up. You make one, then another, then another. And pretty soon, you’ve got a collection of them.

This one references his years as the Disney sitcom star.

Triple hmmmm. In fact, red flags are going up all over the place. I scroll through the from column and it does not take me long to realize this email is pretty much a private one he only shares with Valencia. His co-star from back in the day and his co-star right now for IM3.

I open up the most recent one.

“Your wish is my command,” is all it says. There’s two attachments. One is a picture of the two of them as teenagers dressed up as genies for… something. Halloween? A special show? I have no idea.

But the other one is a forwarded message. Subject line: Invitation Plus One Black Bash

She got them tickets to the Black Bash. The very party he said he’d never attend just yesterday. And the ‘your wish is my command’ makes it painfully obvious that he was the one who approached her about attending.