by Jenna Elliot
Whatever. I certainly won’t ask Mia to arrange her wedding around my schedule, and I know she must have chosen the day for a reason. Probably because she and Ethan can get away from their club that night.
“You’re not kidding,” she says breathlessly. “I have to buy a dress. You have to buy a dress.”
“What about a venue? A photographer? Flowers?”
“It’s all arranged.”
“Really? Okay, clue me in. Are we flying to Vegas?”
“No, silly. Ethan’s arranged everything. The wedding is going to be on Ace’s yacht. The captain will marry us. We’ll fly over to the Bahamas for our wedding night. Jax is lending us a house on a private island he owns. Can you believe it?”
There’s one glaring omission here, and I don’t want to spoil the moment by asking. Unfortunately, this particular issue has the ability to impact everything. We’re talking about life-changers here, babies and marriage. I need to run interference, which is what I always do.
“Did you tell your folks?” I ask.
Mia’s parents do not approve of Ethan. Doesn’t matter that he’s successful in business and has as much money as they do. Doesn’t matter one bit. As far as they’re concerned, Ethan’s not someone they can take to the club or the golf course because he doesn’t fit their definition of respectable.
“I did,” she says, but I can’t gauge her reaction.
“Good for you. Would that be the wedding, or the baby, or both?”
“Wedding. I don’t want to give either of them a stroke. Let them think there’s still hope of me coming to my senses. A marriage is easy to dissolve. A baby, not so much.”
“Oh yeah. Good thinking. They coming?”
“No. Not enough notice. Daddy has a briefing with the partners. And Mom has her standing nail appointment.”
“Oh, okay. So, we’re good?” I ask, reining in my own familiar sense of outrage.
I have never understood Mia’s parents. I don’t think I ever will. They are the opposite of my family in just about every way that means anything.
A nail appointment?
But I’ve learned to rein in the anger through the years. My reactions never make Mia feel better, only worse. So I usually just try to help her find the positives. And I listen when she needs to talk. And since she met Ethan, Mia has come a long, long way toward finding peace about her parents.
“Yes,” she says. “We’re good. They are who they are. And I’m starting a new family. I don’t have to do things the way my parents do. My baby is going to be loved.”
That makes me smile. “Damn straight. And Auntie Emme is going to help you spoil him or her rotten. And so will my mom. She’s going to want to be called honorary granny, or something equally possessive. You know her. She’s been dying for some grandbabies to breathe life into her stupid Easter egg hunts again. Get your frilly dresses and hats ready, because she’ll be running the video.”
Mia laughs softly. “I’m counting on it.”
Suddenly, I’m blinking away tears. “Who’d have ever thought that you’d be starting on the kids before me? You’re not even supposed to be through with law school yet.”
“An effective redirect. It’s all good.”
And I know it is. I’m smiling again by the time I pull into my apartment. We make plans to go shopping for wedding dresses tomorrow and hang up.
But, as I park the car, I see some guy in a dark hoodie full-out running around my building. I catch a glimpse of blond hair beneath the hood as he corners the building and check my door locks. I get ready to crank the car again and sit there with my hand poised over the ignition, waiting.
Honest to God, I’m going to have to think about moving. There are a lot of families here, hardworking people. But the place isn’t high-rent by anyone’s yardstick.
I could keep better hours, and I wouldn’t have a clue what the night crawlers are doing since I’d be asleep myself. Of course, then I’d have to give up my nights at the club, which I don’t think I’m willing to do.
Not to take Jason up on his offer, anyway.
Yeah, I think that’s exactly how I’m leaning. Especially after hearing Mia’s good news and seeing how love has transformed her life. That’s what I want.
That’s what I’ve always wanted.
The late night stills, and when I’m reasonably confident no one else is going to pop out from around a building, I finally head up to my apartment. And because that damned light is still out, I don’t have a clue anything’s wrong until I’m right in front of my door.
It’s open wide.
There’s no light inside. Not even the hood light over the stove, which I always leave on. But through the open blinds a streetlight illuminates my trashed living room, and my heartbeat rockets as I glimpse shadows of stuff overturned, the couch, the end table. There are dark slashes of graffiti on a wall, and in that split second before I bolt, I make out the word . . .
Slut.
18
Emme
I MEET MIA AT the bridal store at noon. I wear dark sunglasses to cover the circles under my eyes, evidence I had no sleep. The police didn’t wrap up their reports until dawn and then I was too wired to sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was the word “slut” written in large red letters. As much as I want to keep everything from Mia, because I refuse to ruin this special day, the minute she sees me, she gasps, “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking the stupid route, hoping to distract her. “Find any gowns you like yet? So what are you thinking—white gown and all that?”
She wraps her arms over her chest and narrows her gaze. “Emme. You are wearing two different colored socks. Your hair has gunk in it. And you smell like bleach.” Taking my arm, she draws me into an alcove of the store. It’s all white and pristine, so unlike the mess in my apartment.
She reaches up and plucks the sunglasses from my face, then scowls. “What is wrong? Tell me.”
Ugh. She knows me too well for me to lie.
“Someone broke into my apartment last night.”
“Were you—“
I shake my head quickly. “I’m fine. I walked in on it five minutes after I hung up with you. But they did a lot of damage and the police didn’t wrap up things until early this morning. So I didn’t get any sleep.”
“And you didn’t call me?” she demands, then flings herself into my arms and hugs me. “I’m so glad you weren’t there. And you’re sure you’re okay. Did they steal stuff?”
Mia is a safe place, and she has been since middle school. The sister I chose for myself. All her concern takes some of the edge off. She finally steps back, and I shrug.
“They just broke things. It may have just been some drugged-up kids.” Kids who know a woman lives in my apartment.
Slut.
“Is that what the police think?” Mia asks.
“They don’t have a clue.” I reach for her hand and raise it so I can see her ring. It’s a heart-shaped pink diamond on a platinum band that’s elegantly simple, and ginormous. That romantic heart is the absolute last thing I expect from Ethan, but somehow exactly what I expect. He’s crazy about Mia.
“OMG.” I say on a reverent whisper. “You tell Ethan that he done good. Real good.”
Her expression softens as she follows my gaze to her new ring, and I know she couldn’t be more pleased. I squeeze her hand. “We’re not letting anyone ruin our day, Mia.”
I try to tug her toward the racks of gowns. “I don’t want to think about anything but lace and garters and pricey diamond rings. That sucker is huge.”
“Four carats,” she says matter-of-factly. “No one saw anything? So the police don’t have any suspects?”
Mia plants her feet and refuses to budge.
I don’t tell her about the blond guy I saw running away. Or how the cops asked me about any current guys or ex’s with a grudge. I can’t imagine either Jason or Ace breaking and entering, cutting up my so
fa, writing “slut” on the wall.
Instead, I go for distraction. “Hey, that mermaid shape would look great on you. Might as well enjoy your waist while you can. What do you think?”
Judging by the scowl, she thinks I’m distracting her. Which I am, but she allows me to lead her toward the dresses.
A saleswoman appears. “Do you ladies have an appointment?”
Mia had that detail taken care of, and gives the pertinent information. Then we’re taken to a back room, where Mia explains that she’s looking for formal length but without traditional trains or anything that will impede her movement on a yacht.
“You’ll love Monique Llullier’s spring-summer line then,” the salesperson says. “She excels at the traditional of course, but she also has quite a number of simpler silhouettes that are just stunning.”
Mia is herded into a dressing room, and I’m set up with espresso and told to sit. A few minutes later, the bride-to-be appears, wearing the mermaid dress.
“Oh, that looks fabulous on you,” I say, getting more than a little choked up. My emotions are right on the surface today. Exhaustion? Maybe a little, but my best friend for life is simply gorgeous all decked out in white silk. All this happiness has been a long time in coming for Mia.
“Stunning,” the saleswoman agrees. “The sweetheart neckline fits perfectly. With the right heel, you won’t even need to touch the hemline. Have you thought about shoes yet?”
Mia shakes her head, and we begin the dress parade. Trumpet-shaped. Full-skirted. Illusion necklines. Embroidered tulle. Chantilly lace. Textured organza. Asymmetrical tiers. Hand-tufted ruching. My head spins.
But my dear Mia glows. And by the time I’m on my third espresso and slightly revived by the caffeine, I feel triumphant when she winds up back in the mermaid dress.
“This is it,” she says.
“I told you.” Do I know my BFF or what?
“This was made for me. Don’t you think, Emme? I mean, we’re soul mates. What wedding dress doesn’t have to be altered?”
The salesperson agrees. “You’re lucky we have this on the rack. All we have to do is measure the veil. We have alternations staff at all our locations. They’ll make any adjustments, and you can take this home today.”
“Sold,” Mia says, her eyes shining.
And I spotted it. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t want to try any others?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head decidedly. “Nothing beats this dress. I’m happy. Now you need a dress, too.”
Finding the perfect dress takes a little less effort. Exhaustion? Maybe a little, but the fact that we’re not going with any traditional bridesmaid look limits our choices.
An hour later, I have a new dress and shoes. Mia has her dress, shoes, and adjusted veil.
Wedding planning on speed.
But we’re both caught up in the excitement as we stash our purchases in the car and decide to tackle the open-air mall for the final search—jewelry. We decide to hit up a real jeweler first because we want something to commemorate the day. Like those old BFF necklaces that we used to wear in middle school. She wore the best friend half, and I wore the for life half.
“What do you think?” Mia asks. “Matching bracelets or earrings?”
I consider. “I’m thinking bracelet. We can see arms in both our dresses. Hair, not so much. Either way we go will count for your ‘something new’.”
“That’s right,” she says excitedly. “I need all that stuff.”
“Mom will want to give you something, which can be your ‘something old’ so—”
I break off suddenly, distracted by the sight of a woman stepping out of a limo in front of a restaurant. It’s the hair that catches my attention at first, the sunlight glinting blue on the pixie that’s familiar.
“Is that Audrey?” I’m too far away to be entirely sure.
“Who’s Audrey?” Mia asks.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to make out the woman who is suddenly whisked inside the restaurant by a hot bear-like man dressed in a dark suit, who takes her arm. The couple disappears into the restaurant, and the limo pulls away.
“Audrey’s a member of my club. I’m not sure if that was her.”
While she looked familiar . . . I suppose if she was naked, I would know by the tattoos, but I certainly don’t expect the high-powered business suit, hot escort, and limo. If that was Audrey, she’s obviously someone wealthy or important.
Someone unexpected, when I think about her with the Liam Hemsworth look-alike munching pimiento spread off her breasts.
“Let’s walk over there,” Mia suggests. “We can peek in, and see if it’s her.”
I only nod, and we walk that way. But the restaurant turns out to be one of those pricey places, where only walk-in traffic dines on the floor. Audrey, or the woman who looks like her, isn’t on it. There’s an elevator to a second floor with a gold plaque that reads: Commerce Club.
“Members only, I guess.” I smile at the hostess when she reaches for menus. “Just checking out the place.”
Then Mia and I head back outside.
“You didn’t want to eat, did you?” I ask.
“No, I’m good right now. Let’s finish shopping first. I’ve got saltines in my bag if I get seedy.”
That makes me smile. “Saltines. You’re preggers, all right.”
“I can’t wait to see Ethan’s face when he sees me in that gown,” she says. “You don’t think I spent too much?”
“It’s less than that spectacular custom job in the window. Besides, you’re only getting married once.”
“Yeah, but I hate being so extravagant with a baby coming.”
I snort. “Ethan won’t mind. Hell, he spent more than you just did on that specialty muffler for one of his custom bikes.”
“No argument there.” She laughs, and I can tell she thinks Ethan’s quirky extravagances are adorable.
I think it’s adorable to see her so crazy in love. Her love life was pretty tepid before Ethan. I’m glad she has finally done something for herself, something that makes her so happy.
But again I’m distracted when a man ahead of us ducks into a store. I only see the back of his head, but he’s blond, and tall. My inner alarms go crazy. As we pass the storefront, I look for him. But he vanished inside and I don’t see him come out. Jeez, I must have PTSD after last night.
Mia grabs my hand. “Let’s sit for a minute.”
One look at her, and I see she’s pale. Too pale. We find a bench. “Are you okay?”
Her hand curls protectively over her flat belly. “Just hormones.”
“Morning sickness?”
“Not exactly. But I feel different. A little lightheaded. A little woozy. It comes and goes.”
“Where are your saltines? Do you want something to drink?” I ask, relaxing a little as her color returns.
She takes her water bottle from her purse. “I’m good, thanks.”
We sit there quietly for a bit, watching the people pass. I was the one who’d always planned for the husband and family. Mia was on the fast-track to become a high-power society lawyer. Ethan just sort of happened unexpectedly.
The best thing to happen to her, in my opinion.
Finally, I ask, “So, what do you want? Boy or girl?”
“Little boy. Little girl. I’m good either way. It still doesn’t seem real. I feel as if I’m dreaming, and I’m going to wake up any moment.”
“With you and my sister getting married, I’m feeling a bit behind the times.”
“Your womb starting to throb?”
“Um, no.” But the question was fair. I did have plans to get married not so long ago. Now I don’t even have a plus one for Mia’s wedding. I’m pretty well done with Jason. And Ace . . . Well, a wedding on Ace’s yacht means Ace will be there.
On Friday night, too, which was supposed to be our third session. No doubt he’ll cancel.
But will he bring a plus one?
&nbs
p; 19
Ace
MOVING FRIDAY’S meeting to the yacht after the wedding.
I lean back in the chair behind my desk and press the Send button. I suppose if Emme planned to bring a date to Ethan and Mia’s wedding, I just ruined the plan.
And I don’t give a shit.
Weddings bore me. Too much happy, happy. But I’m not willing to lose a week with Emme, or let life outside the club get in my fucking way. At the moment, I want her off balance and needing me, thinking about when I’ll satisfy her sweet pussy.
I debate how best to accomplish mission objective, and I finally decide to send her a wedding gift of my own. A sexy wedding gift that’ll spice up this event for us both.
With a smile, I reach for the phone again to make the arrangements. I know she’ll do exactly as I instruct, and I like the idea of sharing this little secret. I’m not entirely sure what she’ll think when she receives my gift, but I can pretty much guarantee that by the time this wedding is finally over, Emme’s going to be one very horny young lady.
20
Emme
I’M STILL TRYING to get my place together when the day of the wedding arrives. I decided to paint the whole living room a deep Caribbean turquoise since I had to cover up the graffiti anyway, so I’m just finishing up the baseboards, when the doorbell rings. Setting down the wet brush, I scope out who’s there through the peephole.
A blond guy. And my heart steps up the pace before I realize he’s wearing a FedEx uniform and holding a box.
“Yes?” I say through the door.
“Delivery for Emme LeBlanc.”
“You need a signature?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then just leave it, thanks.”
The police still don’t have a clue who trashed my house. At the rate they’re going, they never will.
The FedEx guy leaves the box, and after he’s gone, I unlock and open the door. My cell rings, so I snatch up the package and shut and lock the door quickly. I don’t recognize the number and immediately think about the detectives.
