What do you do when you find out that your straight-laced, investment banker fiancé is sleeping with your wild-child best friend—who just happens to be your cousin and your maid-of-honor—three days before your wedding?
You leave him at the altar after reading their dirty text messages out loud to two hundred of your closest friends and family and then you go on your two-week honeymoon to a tropical, all-inclusive resort… but you don’t go alone.
Nope—you take your back-stabbing bestie’s walking red flag of an on-again-off-again situationship with you.
Tattooed and gorgeous, Dean Mercer is everything I despise in a man—cocky and condescending. Arrogant and abrasive. The almost kiss we shared two years ago?
Completely irrelevant.
Inviting him along was the cherry on top of my revenge fantasy sundae—but I didn’t want to actually spend time with him.
You go your way, I’ll go mine.
That was the plan.
I had every intention of spending my two-week, self-imposed exile drowning myself in umbrella drinks while working on my tan—alone. But Mr. Red Flag had an even better idea—
You really want to make ‘em pay, princess?
Making our fake relationship Instagram official was never the plan... but then again, neither was seeing him naked. Falling for Dean Mercer might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done—or it just might be the sweetest kind of revenge.