by K. A. Linde
“What are you talking about?” Ramsey said with a smile to ease her worries. “I’m coming with you.”
“What?” everyone yelled nearly at once.
Lexi’s smile shined like a beacon at the realization that he was actually going to skip the wedding…with her. They were all boycotting! She loved the idea. The only person she wanted to be with was leaving with her. It was too perfect. She felt a glow of happiness overwhelm her as her smile turned to him. He moved toward her, blatantly ignoring everyone else in the room, cupped her cheeks in his oh-so-capable hands, and kissed her lightly on the mouth.
“Of course, I’m going with you,” he whispered for her ears with a peck on her little button nose.
Lexi broke Ramsey’s beautiful gaze long enough to judge the reactions of the remainder of the room. Bekah looked ready to murder him where he stood. Lexi thought it was unsurprising as that now left her short a groomsman. Considering she was insane about her own wedding and had freaked out more about the bands cancellation than Jack’s infidelity, this certainly made sense to her. Not to mention, this was her brother who was leaving her own wedding. Bekah couldn’t have planned a better scheme to ruin someone’s wedding herself.
The rest of the room looked shocked, but none more so than Parker. Her eyes were practically popping out of her skull and her mouth was hanging open. It was as if she couldn’t believe that the perfect Country Club gentleman she had known since she was little, that she had dated for years, would ever do something like this. How could he turn away from his own sister on her wedding day? How could he turn away when she needed him?
“You can’t just leave!” Parker cried on top of the other protests. “This is Bekah! She’s only getting married once, and you want to miss that?”
Ramsey shook his head at the protests, but fixed his gaze on Parker who seemed to be the most desperate of the bunch. “I’ve done many things to defy the person my family wants me to be, which is why I’m sure you, of all people, should be able to understand why I must object to this wedding.” He spoke quietly, but with a determined and even tone.
“No,” Parker said shaking her head, “I cannot understand. I’ll never understand why you would leave now. It’s as if you don’t even care about anything—about how this affects things.”
Ramsey’s eyes seemed to harden with every word she spoke. “You don’t understand, because you never saw me for who I really am. I may be a product of my upbringing, but I am not a “Bridges Man” through and through,” he said adding the air quotations for emphasis. Bekah gasped at the connotation and Parker’s mouth hung open. Jack even looked stunned at the proclamation.
“Wh—what are you talking about?” Parker stammered out.
“How can you say you aren’t a Bridges Man?” Bekah asked furiously.
He rounded on her. “Because I’m not,” he said throwing his arms wide. “I never have been. I have done everything in my power up until these last couple months to thwart the very power that everyone attempted to bestow upon me. I don’t need nor want the power, money, or responsibility that Bridges has to offer.”
“Then why did you agree to work for the company?” Bekah demanded at the same time Parker gasped out, “Why are you working with me as Vice President then?”
Ramsey shook his head as if answering was the last thing that he wanted to do, but he obliged them nonetheless. “I did it thinking it was the best thing for me and Lexi, and I managed to secure a contract that finally…fit my interests, per se.”
“What do you mean fits your interests?” Parker asked completely ignoring the first half of the statement.
Ramsey shrugged with an easy smile. “Let’s just say I was given full discretion over the company, which are terms I can agree to.”
“Daddy would never…” Bekah began, but was cut off by Ramsey’s defiant stare.
“I’d like to see that contract,” Lexi murmured under her breath.
“I had my lawyers look it over,” he said confidently. “So, as you can see, I stand by my word. Now if you’ll excuse me.” He motioned for Lexi to exit. As the small entourage made for the exit, Parker dashed after him and grabbed his arm to stop him in place.
“You can’t be serious,” she muttered despondently.
Ramsey turned to her reluctantly. “Parker, I’m not sure how to make myself any more clear.”
“You’re going to leave your own sister’s wedding?” she asked her eyes filled with utter disbelief.
“Yes,” he said as a matter-of-fact. “If you cared for her at all, you would leave to.”
“How could…” she shook her head, unable to comprehend. “How would I be showing her I care if I left?”
“Because the only thing that is going to stop this mess is for us to stop denying what is going on here. Parker, just walk away,” he implored her.
Lexi watched as Parker looked over her shoulder at the people she’d known her entire life, and then back up at her and Ramsey. Parker had the look of a woman who had been in love with a man for a very long time and had to make a tough decision. “No,” she whispered shaking her head and stepping away from him, “I can’t be a part of this. I’m here for Bekah. If you don’t care enough to stand by her, well, I can’t change your mind. I never could. But I won’t give up on her,” she said with a cold stare. “I don’t give up on people.”
Ramsey nodded solemnly at her implied meaning and turned back toward Lexi. The past was the past, and he couldn’t change it. He could only shape the future. “Lexi, let’s go.”
Lexi smiled up at him before turning back to the people she was so ready to leave behind. “I truly hope that you have a happy life together,” she said with a pleasant smile across her face. She knew that it couldn’t possibly be the case that her well wishes would come true, but she was certain that they didn’t believe her.
As the quartet walked out of the groomsmen quarters, across the hotel, and through the enormous front doors, Lexi knew that she truly didn’t care what they thought. She was finally doing what was right. She had done what she came to do. Jack was out of her system for good this time. She may not have been successful at stopping a terrible wedding, but she had succeeded in extracting herself from the situation entirely.
And even better than that, she had Ramsey again. They were on equal footing, and time may be the only thing that could tell where they were going from here, but at least they were going together.
She couldn’t ask for more than that.
“Where to now?” Lexi asked looking up at Ramsey hopefully.
He gingerly pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and then laced his fingers with her own. “To our place?” he asked with the same note of hope in his voice.
A smile played on her lips. “I like the sound of that,” she said as they walked hand in hand away from the wedding. They were showing more solidarity for each other, and more disapproval of the events unfolding inside than any objection she could have uttered prompted by the minister—speak now or forever hold your peace.
She figured she really was at peace.
The End
I cannot say enough thanks to the people who have helped me throughout the process of publishing this book. After agreeing to put Avoiding Commitment out there, I knew Avoiding Responsibility would come next, and I’m glad to have the continual love and support that was necessary to complete this endeavor. Here is a short list of amazing people who have helped me get where I am today:
First and foremost, I’d like to thank my family for putting up with me. You never got tired of me talking about book stuff. Okay…you did, but you loved me anyway. Joel—you were always there to roll your eyes at me and my book people, but you let me rant and knew I could do it. Thanks for believing in me.
Taryn Cellucci—thank you for knowing I could make the story better and pushing me to see it come to fruition. You’ve helped more than you know, and more than I could ever ask for. S. C. Stephens—thank you for being there through it all! Sarah Hans
en at Okay Creations did a fantastic cover design, as always. I want to thank you for being a good friend as much for your skills. My editing goddesses: Rebecca Kimmerling and Lori Francis, for sticking it out with me to the end! Mollie Harper—I appreciate what you saw in me and the story. I toast you with a little NGE for all your help!
I am so glad to have become friends with readers, authors, and book bloggers. The list is a long one, but know that I love each and every one of you! Bekah Hater’s Club, my “O” girls, Laura, Jessica, Rosalind, Angie, Crystal, Trish, Jenn, Cristin, Jennifer, Stephanie, Book Broads, Bookaholics Anonymous, Writer’s Club, Maryse at Maryse.net, Jenny and Gitte at TotallyBooked, Taryn at My Secret Romance, Autumn at Autumn Reviews, Tarryn Fisher, Rebecca Donovan, and Colleen Hoover. So—thank you!!!
Finally, I wouldn’t be in this position at all if it weren’t for all of my fans at FictionPress. You guys kept me writing throughout it all with your encouragement and reviews. Whether I know you on a first name basis or not…you got me here! Cheers to you!
To Joel,
I’m writing and dancing.
PRESENT
Chyna lounged back in her chaise, soaking up the remaining afternoon rays from the hot Italian sun. Her olive-toned skin was at home in its natural habitat and had darkened considerably over the course of the last month and a half. Milan had treated her well, and she adored it here. She had grown up in New York City—fashion week, the MET, the Upper East Side, Central Park—but even she had to admit that as much as she loved the city, Milan was just something else.
Her Italian tour was nearing an end, and soon the designer label she had been modeling for all summer would no longer need her services. She was reluctant to move from the penthouse they had provided overlooking the Via Montenapoleone, Milan’s most illustrious shopping district. She would miss the private beach in Genoa where she would take jaunts to the coast with Giovanna, Ravenna, and Brigitte. Most of all, what really surprised her was that she would miss the work.
Modeling ran through her veins. Most believed that all you needed were long legs and a pretty face to be an effective model, but there was so much more to it than that. It was truly an art form that she had mastered. Who knew all those years of getting plastered at her mother’s shoots would pay off in the long run?
“Chyna, the sun is almost down,” Brigitte whined.
So, maybe she wouldn’t miss her.
“I know, Bridge.” Chyna used the nickname just to annoy her. She was so French sometimes.
Brigitte wrinkled up her tiny nose at the comment and swung her honey blonde hair over her shoulder. “Fine. You do your own hair and makeup for the Glam Ball. Marco will not be kept waiting.”
Chyna sighed as Brigitte walked away. Marco was yet another reason she should stay in Italy, and he was also the biggest reason to leave. Marco was…everything. As the head proprietor of Camera Nazionale della Moda Italiana, the nonprofit organization in charge of Milan Fashion Week, he practically owned the city, which meant that he owned her, too.
Stretching out her long lean legs, Chyna picked up her dirty martini and downed the remaining contents. She plucked the string of olives out of the glass and carried them with her to the exit. Tonight was going to be an interesting night to say the least.
Glam Ball was an annual event for Milan’s high-end fashion clientele, and Marco had played host to the event for the past four years. As his lucky number five rolled around, in true Marco fashion, he had way overdone himself. Chyna had stumbled across a bill for the French-imported champagne alone and had cringed. The number had actually made her cringe.
The pièce de résistance of the entire glorious occasion though had to be utter perfection. He needed something better and more spectacular than he had ever had before. And, he had never had Chyna before.
When she had found out that Marco was using her, an American, as the centerpiece for the ball, she could barely contain her excitement. She had never wanted anything more in her life. He had picked her out single-handedly in front of the entire group of exhibition models, and it had taken all of her self-control to not burst into tears right there in front of him. She hadn’t had the same self-control when she had returned to the penthouse. After only two weeks of modeling for him, he had chosen her. It had almost seemed too good to be true. Almost.
She and Marco began private lessons and photo shoots shortly thereafter. The amount of time she put into her modeling that next month would have made her mother proud, if she did that sort of thing. Chyna didn’t care about the other girls’ jealousy. The business wasn’t built on friendship; it was built on taking advantage of the opportunity that lay in front of you.
So, she spent hour after hour locked in a room with him, his camera, and his favorite piano composition. She practiced pouting her lips just so, making her eyes give off five-hundred different meanings with a glance, swishing her hips, adjusting her hands to perfection, fluffing and blowing out her long black hair. He knew exactly what he wanted and how to extract it out of her through the camera lens.
She should have expected the turn it took. She should have seen it all for what it really was.
Chyna shook her head as she entered her closet and stripped down out of her bathing suit. It hardly mattered what she wore to the Ball itself. The models would change at the venue into the handcrafted outfits designed for the event. A limo would be here soon enough to whisk them to La Scala Theatre, the world-renowned opera house in the heart of Milan. Chyna didn’t even want to know the lengths he had gone to in order to acquire the sixteenth-century Italian theatre for the evening.
“Chyna,” Giovanna cooed in her thick Italian accent, “the limo has arrived.”
Chyna certainly wouldn’t miss this about Milan. She had never had a roommate in her life and certainly not three. The fact that they could just waltz into her room at any given time—like right now when she was completely naked—irritated the shit out of her. Didn’t they have any common decency? As it turned out, no, they didn’t. Apparently, walking around nude was commonplace for models, especially European models. She didn’t particularly have anything against it, but she preferred to choose when people saw her naked.
“Coming,” Chyna told her. She picked out a pair of fit dark-wash jeans and a plain, white, V-cut T-shirt with four-inch pumps. She would be dolled up soon enough.
Giovanna was the polar opposite of Chyna. She was blonde, blue-eyed, and pale with the quintessential sweet and innocent vibe. She did, however, manage to look like a complete and total hooker any time she dressed herself. She wore a pleated miniskirt that failed to cover her ass, a black lace bustier, and six-inch heeled booties. A white blazer hung from her finger, but Chyna knew she would never cover herself up that much.
Brigitte had gone for simple as well with a white tank tucked into high-waist shorts and Hermès sandals. It had been rumored that she would be the spokesmodel for their next collection.
On the other hand, Ravenna just looked fierce no matter what she wore. As much as Chyna liked Ravenna, she was a certified bitch, who was technically too big to be one of Marco’s girls. But, she had been a favorite two years ago, and she was so spectacular on camera. With her fiery, dark red hair, deep compelling eyes, and uncontrollable curves, it was hard to resist her.
The foursome exited the penthouse, and they were whisked away in the black stretch limo. As they approached La Scala Theatre, Chyna realized how much she was dreading the coming evening. She had wanted to be the centerpiece of the show so desperately, and now that it was here, she was reconsidering. She wasn’t nervous exactly, but everything had evolved so quickly that it was completely out of her control. She wasn’t sure how to get it all back without doing something drastic, and that wasn’t a particularly appealing option.
The drive was shorter than she would have liked, and soon, they were before the grand structure. Chyna had been here once before as a child. Her parents had been together then, and the ballet had been stunning. She had tried her han
d at ballet when she returned home, but she became easily bored when she didn’t look like the prima ballerinas overnight. Staring up at the gorgeous castle-like building, her memories made her wish that she had stuck with it.
Chyna followed the other girls out of the limo, and in an instant, Giselle, Marco’s personal assistant, was before them. She was all legs with sky-high heels and a too short dress accentuating her very best feature. Diamonds glittered everywhere on her—strings of them around her neck, giant round ones in her ears, rings covering her fingers, and some even peeked out of her hair piece that was placed carefully in her dark brown hair. It appeared diamonds had actually been sewn into the glittering bodice of her dress. The rules about moderation had never applied to her.
“Come along. Come along,” she said, not halting to see if they followed.
The girls kept up with her easy pace, following her to an enormous door leading into the building. A flurry of activity was already underway when they found the dressing area.
Two dozen models were being fit into an array of clothing sets for the fashion show. A few models were walking around in flowing designer gowns. Several were wearing glittering lingerie, tastefully constructed for the evening. Still others were helped into animal print bodysuits and barely there bathing suits. Makeup artists were painting faces to match, accent, and highlight the garments. Blow dryers went off around the room as hairstylists brushed and sprayed their locks into submission. If Chyna didn’t know better, she would have thought it was all chaos.
“Brigitte, Ravenna, Giovanna, go to hair and makeup,” Giselle snapped. “Chyna, Marco would like to see you in his office.”
The girls were already eyeing her suspiciously, but Chyna ignored them and followed Giselle. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be called into private sessions with Marco, and they knew it. Still, after three weeks of one-on-one attention, her stomach still clenched at the possibilities. Powerful men hardly unnerved her—she had grown up with one after all—but Marco was different somehow. He had the authority to give her everything she wanted, but more importantly, he had the power to take it all away.
