“I’ll explain soon enough.” Hunter’s expression was grave. Then again, he was usually somber.

Sebastian shrugged and checked his phone, looking for a missed text from Chelsea. She normally answered fast. Nothing again. Huh.

The men waited in tense, uncomfortable silence as Hunter continued to work on his computer. A few minutes later, though, Magnus entered, a big, strapping man with an equally perplexed expression on his face. “Hello, boys. Surprised to see you all here.”

Sebastian shot him a curious look, but glanced back down at his phone again. So did no one know what was going on? And why wasn’t Chelsea answering him?

“Good. You’re here.” Hunter’s gravelly voice distracted Sebastian away from his too-silent phone. “I asked you all to come here today because you are all good friends and business associates of mine. I’ve asked you to be in my wedding. I trust all of you. And you know that Gretchen is the woman I love and intend to marry, and she has her heart set on a big wedding with lots of pomp and circumstance. And because I can’t refuse her anything, I’m going to give her the big wedding she wants. Which is what brings me to today’s meeting.” For a moment, he looked pissed. “Quit sticking your dicks in the bridesmaids.”

Sebastian couldn’t help it. He snorted. That was one rule he wasn’t going to listen to, because he was married to Chelsea.

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—”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and hauled it against her, then touched his cheek. Her eyes were wounded and full of pain for a brief moment, and then flickered back to that carefully dead state again. “I wish I could be the wife you need.”

Fuck it. He grabbed her arm and pulled her against him. “Chelsea, I love you. Fuck what I said about this relationship being a fake. I love you. I fell in love with you the first time we kissed. I want to be your husband. I want you to be my wife. Don’t do this. Don’t leave. Let’s talk. Please.”

She bit her lip, and her entire body trembled. For a moment, hope rekindled. If she was hesitating . . .

But no, she shook her head. “I can’t, Sebastian.”

“At least tell me why.” His voice was anguished. His entire world felt like it was ending. It was clear she was miserable and suffering. Something had happened to her, and she wasn’t letting him in. “Tell me why you’re doing this.”

She held her bag closer and pulled out of his arms. “I don’t want to.”

“You can’t?”

“I won’t,” she corrected, and gave him a faint smile that seemed ironic compared to the tears that shimmered in her eyes. “Good-bye, Sebastian.”

Stung, he let go of her. She was choosing not to share with him? Whatever it was that bothered her, she didn’t want to share it with him? She was clear about that. It wasn’t that she couldn’t share it. It was that she didn’t want to.

She didn’t want him in her life.

And god, that fucking hurt. “I love you, Chelsea,” he said again, voice hoarse. “Please. Don’t do this to me. To us. To what we have.”

She shook her head again and moved past him. “I have to go.”

“Where are you going?” Was she going to deny him that, too?

She continued down the stairs. “To Austin. To stay with Pisa for a while, until I figure things out.”

“Can I come see you? So we can talk? So—”

“No,” she said quickly. “Sebastian, no. Please. Let’s just end it right here, okay?” Chelsea glanced up at him from the bottom of the stairs, and she looked so fragile and sad that he wanted to hug her against him and make it better for her.

But she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him.

And that was like a knife in the heart.

He raised a hand to tell her good-bye, but she was already gone. He thumped down on the top of the stairs, stunned, and wondered how a perfect life had gone so wrong so fast.

*   *   *

She didn’t love him.

Sebastian was shocked at how much the realization hurt. He’d thought that Chelsea was happy in their relationship. That what had started out as friendship and a fake wedding had turned into a helluva lot more. She was proud of him, he’d thought. She loved his art. Loved hearing him talk about sketches. Loved playing with his hair when they watched a movie, or tugging him along after her when they skated in the park.

He thought she’d enjoyed his company, his body. His life. His love.