“I don’t know. Just some guy in the Bahamas. I was so drunk, and so angry at you for breaking up with me. I just—I’m not proud of it…” There’s a brief pause before she continues. “We’ve always been so careful, and I assumed I’d missed my period because of the stress of everything with Daddy. But when I did the math last night, I realized I’ve missed more than one. So, I—I took a test…and it—it was positive. That’s the reason I couldn’t go out there. Trent, I couldn’t marry you without telling you this first.”

He barks out a humorless laugh. “You think we’re still getting married?”

“I would like to, yes,” she answers, resolute, like she’s simply securing a business arrangement and not planning to spend the rest of her life with this man. “If you’re willing to raise this baby as your own, no matter what. If you’ll still have me. Yes, Trent, I still want to marry you.”

There’s a loud crash, followed immediately by the girls’ shocked screams.

I’m halfway to the door when it comes flying open, nearly smacking me in the forehead.

“Sounds to me like I just dodged a major bullet. You can do the honors of calling this sham of a wedding off. We’re done. For good this time. Get rid of that kid,” he snarls. “I don’t want it. I don’t ever—and I mean ever—want to see your face again.”

It takes every ounce of restraint I possess not to slam my fist into his smug face when he turns on his heel to storm off and our eyes connect.

He garbles on a muffled laugh. “She’s all yours, man.”

“Always was,” I singsong, all smug. Like I wasn’t preparing seconds ago to accept defeat.

We’re locked in a stare down, his jaw ticking as he chews on his response before finally waving a dismissive hand through the air.

“Good luck, then.” His eyes move toward the door he just left before he shoves past me. He’s still shaking his head to himself when I drum my fist on the wood.

“Tre—” Sammi starts before swallowing her tongue. Her tear-filled eyes widen. “Lyle?”

“Hey, Li’l Bit.”

She dabs a tissue under her eyes, as if she could hide the fact that she’s been crying. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” I say, stepping past her into the bridal suite, where her friend is gawking so hard her jaw’s practically dragging the floor.

“You all right, doll?” I ask the starstruck brunette. “Someone should probably check on your friend here.”

Sammi groans before releasing her hold on the door and spinning around to lean against it. “I mean here, here—like in this room.”