He scans the text. “He’s reading me the riot act. The wedding is tomorrow. I’ve got to be at his hotel tomorrow morning at eight o’clock. His family and friends are going to have breakfast and then I’ve got to help him get ready. He’s extremely disappointed in my absence this month and the fact that I apparently don’t know how to be a good friend.”

“And he does?” I say crossly. God, I hate that cockwomble. He’s got an unerring instinct for where Zeb’s weak spots are and he hits them every time. I look at Zeb’s face and the reappearance of the wrinkle between his eyes. Yes, Patrick is still on his winning streak.

He looks at me, and I roll over onto my front, leaning on my elbows and cupping my face in my hands.

“You should really ignore that fucker,” I advise, but his expression has already gone distant. I hate the way he looks when Patrick summons him. Like he’s on the end of a very long lead. Patrick lets it out, but only so far, and he keeps a careful watch on where Zeb is at all times. I think I hate it most because sometimes I torture myself with the thought that Zeb is still in love with Patrick.

There’s also the problem of his screwed-up feelings of responsibility. He seems to think he has to take on everyone’s problems. If we’d been together for longer than a month I’d tackle that, but I can’t because at the moment it would be overstepping so many boundaries I’d be up in court for trespassing.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have fun,” I say lightly, rolling onto my back and staring at the ceiling.

“Wait. Are you not coming?” He scoots next to me. “Wasn’t that part of the original arrangement we had?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the p’s. “My presence has not officially been requested by His Majesty, The Pampered Prince of Pillock, so I’m not going anywhere.”

He rolls his eyes. “He’s not so bad,” he immediately protests. I stare at him and he cups my face, his fingers warm against my skin. “I want you to come,” he says softly. “Please.”

I look at his imploring eyes. “Will you be wearing that morning suit of yours? The one you wore to Arissa’s wedding to give her away?”

The smile creases the sides of his eyes. “I will.”

I think of how handsome he looks in it and how Patrick will watch him, and against my will I nod. “Of course,” I say, watching his look of relief. It warms me that he seems to want me around. But it doesn’t take away the chill at the bottom of my spine that says that this is a very bad idea.

Chapter Twelve

Jesse