Chapter 19
Chapter 19:
The Box was notorious. Even at 6 PM, the bass was thumping against the walls, vibrating in her chest. The air smelled of expensive perfume and bad decisions.
She found Anny and Aspen in a VIP booth near the back, surrounded by a cluster of socialites.
“Jocelyn!” Anny called out, waving a cigarette. “Over here p>
Jocelyn approached, keeping her distance. “Where is the drive p>
“Relax,” Anny smirked. “Sit down. Have a drink p>
She slid a martini glass toward Jocelyn. The liquid was clear, but there was a residue along the rim that looked suspicious.
“I’m not drinking,” Jocelyn said coldly. “Give me the drive, Anny p>
“You’re no fun,” Aspen sneered. She was wearing a dress that was barely legal. “Kieran is bringing it. He’s on his way p>
“Then I’ll wait outside p>
Jocelyn turned to leave.
“Oh, look!” Anny pointed toward the dance floor. “Here comes the entertainment p>
Ro𝗆𝗮ո𝘤𝗲 no𝘷𝖾𝘭ѕ 𝘰𝘯
A man was stumbling toward their booth, swaying heavily and bumping into waiters. He wore a suit that cost more than most cars, but it was stained with wine. His face was puffy, his eyes bloodshot and unfocused.
Aspen gasped. “Oh my god. Is that him? Is that Babe Vincent p>
Jocelyn froze. She spun around.
The man lurched closer. He looked like a wreck — like every rumor she had ever heard about the infamous playboy made flesh.
And he looked absolutely, unequivocally, nothing like Gaston.
Jocelyn stared at the man.
Her brain tried to make the pieces fit, like jamming a square peg into a round hole. This is Babe Vincent?
The man — the real Babe Vincent — wiped his nose with the back of his hand. He leered at the table of women, his gaze sliding over them like oil.
“Ladies,” he slurred. “Which one of you is the — the birthday girl p>
Jocelyn took a step back. Her heart began to race, a frantic drumbeat against her ribs.
If this was Babe Vincent, then who was the man sleeping in her guest room? Who was the man who had signed the marriage certificate with that jagged, illegible scrawl?
A cold memory surfaced. The lawyer’s office. The blur of paperwork. She had been so desperate, so focused on the trust, on escaping her mother, that she had barely read the document in front of her. She recalled the name Grandma had murmured. Collins. She had willfully ignored it, convincing herself that her “Babe” was simply a black sheep trying to clean up his image, his refined manners a desperate performance. The truth was far simpler, and far more terrifying. She had married a complete and utter stranger.
Panic — cold and sharp — spiked through her chest.
“Hey, handsome,” Anny cooed, standing up and steering the stumbling man toward Jocelyn. “I heard a rumor you snagged a Vincent, Jocelyn. Is this your Prince Charming p>
Babe turned his watery gaze onto Jocelyn and blinked, trying to focus.
“Nice,” he grunted. “Very nice p>
He reached out. His hand, damp with sweat, grabbed Jocelyn’s bare upper arm and squeezed.
“You wanna dance, sweetheart?” Babe breathed. The smell of stale bourbon rolled off him in waves.
“Don’t touch me!” Jocelyn shouted.