On the night of my bachelorette party, someone slipped a key card into my hand. I thought it was a little surprise from my fiancé. But the second I pushed the door open, there was my worst enemy, Wendy Sloane, pinned under him—the two of them tangled in the sheets, not bothering to stop. Catching sight of me, he finally rolled off her, slow and unbothered. "She's the investor's daughter. Didn't want to shortchange her." Then, seeing how calm I looked, he rushed to add, "Relax. You're still the one I'm marrying. Wedding's still on tomorrow. Just—promise me you won't give her a hard time after we're married." He expected me, at the very least, to ask him why. Instead I slid the engagement ring off my finger and texted the man who'd been circling me for ten years. Tessa: Marry me? I'm short a groom. He texted back in seconds. Aaron: On my way.