by Nora Flite
Oh . . . and I was lucky enough that no one stopped Kain from seeing me.
Getting kissed under the stars—even through a window—was pretty amazing.
Regardless, being stuck as I was, I couldn’t see my mother or run my business. Kain had returned my purse and phone to me, which did help some; I could call her freely, but it was clear she doubted my reasons for not stopping by.
Blaming work was a shaky lie, it wasn’t keeping me busy at all. It was a mixed blessing that Fran’s wedding had ended so abruptly. No one was blogging or gabbing about the dress she’d worn—the one I’d made. That meant I didn’t have the explosion of business I really needed . . . and it also meant I didn’t have to field calls about dresses I couldn’t make because I wasn’t able to get to work.
Kain’s father wasn’t going to let me go anywhere.
In a last-ditch effort to not lose everything, I’d given Kain my bridal shop key, asking him to collect my mail.
And . . . he’d done it.
“There’s a lot of stuff,” he said.
Frowning, I started digging through the pile. Most of the stack consisted of bills. Kain saw too many for me to bother hiding them. “What?” I finally asked. “Is it that shocking?”
Dropping into a chair beside me, he pulled one of the envelopes closer. “When Fran and I went to your shop that first time, it looked like you were doing really well.”
“Appearances.” I shuffled another bill aside. “They say if you act rich, you’ll become rich.” It almost worked, too. Maybe the police will still turn those checks over to me someday.
“If it helps, after seeing what you did in such a short time for us, I think you’re one hell of a wedding planner.”
That had me smiling helplessly. I almost shoved a small, white envelope in with the rest, but at the last second, I saw the name on it. This is . . . Peeling it open, I pulled the photos into the light. They weren’t even all the way out before I was shaking.
Hazel looked beautiful in her wedding dress. It fit her perfectly—of course it did, I’d made it—but it was her smile that really made her glow. She was standing in front of a man dressed as Elvis, her husband grinning in a mismatched blue-and-tan suit.
It was easily the trashiest wedding photo I’d ever seen.
I loved it.
“Whoa, hey, you okay?” Kain asked me.
I couldn’t answer, I was so overwhelmed. She looked so happy.
There was a knock at the door. I heard someone outside talking—was Costello on guard duty or Hawthorne? When the chatting continued, I knew it had to be Fran and Hawthorne. She never talked to Costello beyond a few blunt sentences.
Heels clicked through the door, Francesca swaying into my prison. Mic followed her closely. She said, “I was going to ask if you wanted breakfast, but it looks like someone else brought it to you.” She leaned over my shoulder. “Wow. That’s got to be the worst wedding I’ve ever seen!”
Heat burned up to my ears.
“Are they seriously in Vegas! Ha-ha, wow, who does that? Gawd, that’s . . . Sammy? Are you crying?”
Wiping tears from my eyes, I folded the envelope. “No, of course not.”
Kain touched my knee under the table. It was comforting, I sent him a quick smile.
Next to me, Frannie folded her arms. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“I’m not sad. I’m happy.” Sliding my chair back, I took a deep breath. “It just feels good to know Hazel got the wedding she’d always hoped for.” How could I explain how I was feeling? I’d spent hours on that dress, and I’d given it all up just to keep Hazel from missing out on her big dream.
Mic made a tiny whimper. Lifting my head, I realized Francesca was looking at her feet. Her hair had fallen over her forehead, hiding most of her expression. It dawned on me that her silence wasn’t because she was being snotty.
“Fran,” I said, starting toward her.
Shaking her head, she forced out a loud, fake laugh. “What? Stop looking at me like I’m some little orphan on the side of the road.” Mic whined again; she bent down, scooping him up. “He’s hungry, I’ve gotta feed him before he throws a fit.”
Faster than normal, she hurried from the room.
“Huh,” Kain said. “What was that all about?”
Twisting the corner of the envelope, I watched the doorway she’d vanished through. “I’m so dumb. I was talking about happy weddings, not even considering how she must feel with how hers ended. She didn’t even get to kiss the groom.”
Slumping forward, he put his elbows on the table. “With everything going on, I forgot, too. I feel like a shit brother right now.”
Tilting my chin high, I looked back at him. “Let’s fix it.”
“Fix it how? You’re not supposed to leave this room.”
Chewing my thumbnail, I started to smile. “Then let’s get me out of here.”
He chuckled. “I’d love to. Even if I did, I don’t know how we’d fix Fran’s mood. She wants a wedding, I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Lifting my eyebrows, I winked. “Then aren’t you lucky that you happen to know one hell of a wedding planner?”
We were lucky Costello wasn’t guarding my room. Where he seemed to respect his father’s requests, Hawthorne . . .
Hawthorne was a bit different.
Leaning on the wall outside my door, he just eyed me and Kain. “You want to leave?” He looked at the floor. “Fine, I don’t see you.”
“I—what?” I asked, stumbling on the words.
His eyes darted up to me, then to Kain. “The story is Costello let her leave, not me. And you’ll owe me for this.”
Grinning, Kain punched his brother lightly in the shoulder. “Fine with me.”
It was too easy. It felt like a trap.
With Hawthorne humming loudly, I followed Kain down the hall. I didn’t stop looking over my shoulder for a long while. He cupped my elbow, saying, “Relax. Thorne can be a dick, but he’ll keep his word. What do we do about this wedding you want to throw?”
Breathing easier, I scanned the windows. “I need music, flowers, and Midas. Can you handle some of that?”
“I’ll call him, he can get here easily. Flowers . . . I’ll talk to Matilda.”
I was relieved to know she was still working here after my horse-escape attempt. “Good call, she has the whole garden at her disposal.”
Nodding, he pointed to a staircase. “There’s a music room up there, third room on the right. You can find whatever you need.”
He started to leave. Before he could, I took his hand, standing tall to kiss his warm mouth. Sparks danced into my belly, all from one dumb, little kiss. “Man,” I whispered, watching him through half-shut eyes. “That never gets old.”
Breathing in so deep his chest rubbed mine, he cradled my cheek. “Sammy, about you getting locked into that room, I—”
“Shh. It’s fine.”
“It’s not. I’ll figure something out.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Kain thought he needed to break me free, but he was missing the real problem. Getting out of the room and off the property wasn’t hard; I’d just been let free without any fanfare, I was sure Hawthorne would let it happen again if we asked.
Escape was pointless if Kain was left to deal with the repercussions.
Ever since Maverick had made me watch Kain gasping for air . . . writhing in pain . . .
I’d realized that was what I needed to prevent.
I didn’t want to do anything that could put him at risk again. My new problem was choosing between protecting my mother and protecting him. There was no easy answer.
Maybe no answer at all.
The music room was exactly where Kain had said it would be. Wandering the huge room, I gazed up at the domed ceiling. There was a small stage, a giant bay window, and huge instruments all along the walls: a piano, a cello, and some things I couldn’t identify.
What I was after was the wall of CDs. Walking tow
ard it, I ran my fingers down the spines until I found a suitable choice for tonight. Perfect! Grabbing one that contained instrumentals, I grinned in delight. The CD player sitting on the nearby desk was the last thing I needed to make sure we’d have music tonight.
“And where are you going with all of that?”
The voice cut through to my core. No one should have a sword for a tongue, especially not one that could also make your heart sizzle. It was barely a relief that the source wasn’t Maverick.
Hawthorne was sitting at the piano. I hadn’t noticed him—had he stalked inside while I was looking away, had he been following me and Kain since the start?
Hugging the CD player tightly, I searched for where my voice had buried itself. “You scared me,” I finally managed to say. Fuck, it had come out like a ragged squeak. “Why aren’t you standing guard outside my room?”
Narrowing his liquid-coal eyes, the man rose gracefully. He had on dark jeans and a braided belt and a long-sleeved red shirt rolled up to his elbows. His patterns of ink cut off in a perfect line at his wrist; for a second, I’d thought he’d had on a second shirt.
He moved as lightly as fingers playing over a flute, approaching until he stood before me with his arms linking at the small of his back. “I asked you a question.”
Flicking my stare down to the equipment in my grip, I said, “I need it for something important.”
“Oh, well, then you can tell me what that is.”
Hesitating, I considered my position. I didn’t know Hawthorne well, but he was Fran’s brother. It didn’t make sense to cut him out of my surprise . . . and at the same time, he made me realize how he could help.
Gesturing with the CD player, I smiled. “Okay. But don’t tell her. Tonight I want to surprise Francesca by finishing her wedding ceremony.”
His eyebrows crinkled deeply. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not fair that she didn’t get to finish out her wedding. I want to fix that.”
He stared at the items I was hugging. It was a long moment, so I was disarmed when he stabbed that fierce set of eyes back at me. I couldn’t break away from them—did all these damn brothers have such haunting stares? “Are you sure she’ll like being surprised?”
“I’ve got a hunch.” My smile struggled to grow. “Now, I need to ask you a favor.”
He straight-up laughed. “Me?”
I leaned toward him. “Tell your mom and dad to come to the gazebo around eight. They should be there when this goes down.”
“What, don’t want to waltz up and ask them yourself?”
“You know I’m not supposed to leave that room. I’m trying to mend things, not make them worse.”
He considered me with his head angling to one side. “Fair enough.”
“So . . . you’ll ask them?”
Breathing in deeply, the dark-haired man looked at the ceiling. “My father will be furious . . . and there’s a chance he’ll know I let you out.” His palm rubbed down his face. “Why did I agree to let you out again?”
“Something about wanting a favor from Kain.”
“Right. Maybe he’ll agree to take the beating good ol’ Dad will want to give me, instead.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “Just tell them. She’d like it better if they were there. Let Costello know, too.”
“That definitely won’t happen.”
I’d started to walk away. Now I turned back. “Do you just like being difficult?”
“Yes.” His grin split his handsome face. For a second, it was easy to see that he and Kain were brothers. “But I’m not being a dick. Costello and Fran . . . they don’t get along. Didn’t you realize?”
“She is weird with him, but . . .”
“Fran didn’t invite him to her first wedding. Why would she want him at this half-cocked version?”
Now that he mentioned it, I hadn’t seen Costello at the wedding or the dinner I’d organized. “He must have burned her pretty bad to get so ostracized.”
Hawthorne glanced away. “In a way.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Not my place. Sorry.” I didn’t think he was sorry, but I didn’t argue. I had enough on my plate, I wasn’t ready to dive into more family politics.
Deciding the conversation was over, I walked toward the door. Hawthorne clasped my wrist, halting me so abruptly I stumbled. “Hey,” he said, an uncertainty in his dark eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “Why are you doing this?”
Pulling away, I asked, “What, helping Fran?”
“Not just that—you’re asking for my father to be there to watch. He’s locked you in a room for almost two weeks. I’d want to kick his nuts in, if I were you.”
My head moved side to side. “Even if I did want to hurt him, Fran isn’t part of that. No matter what he’s done, she loves him, she’d want him there . . . and she deserves a happily ever after.”
“A happily ever after,” he mused. His angled brows crawled higher. “If I see my parents, I’ll tell them to come by the gazebo tonight. No promises they will.”
It might have been something in his pose, but I believed him. With a real smile on my lips, I said, “Thanks.”
Hawthorne shrugged into his ears, acting like he didn’t give a shit one way or the other.
I suspected he definitely did.
Night came on too slowly. I was eager to make things happen.
Kain was helping me decorate the gazebo in the backyard. Matilda was on lookout, her job to warn us if Fran came anywhere near us before we wanted her to.
“You know,” he said, hooking a light up on one of the tall beams. He reached it without stretching. “I think we’ve got one small problem.”
I’d stopped working, too busy eating up the sight of him in his tight, white dress shirt that he’d left undone at the collar. Damn, he always looked delicious when he cleaned up.
He caught me staring; I looked away quickly. “What’s the problem?”
“Well . . . don’t we need a priest to officiate this thing?”
A private grin broke out on my face. “Let me tell you a funny story.”
“Ha, all right.” Leaning against the structure, he tied off another light. In the growing evening, the balls blinked like tiny fairies.
Tossing some flowers I’d pilfered from the garden over the beams, I flicked a loose twig away. “Few years ago, I decided to go to New York—design school and all. Wanted to show the world what I could do.” That feels so long ago now. It was a bubble where my father still lived and my mother was still healthy.
Walking down memory lane made my stomach flip, especially when I thought about going for ice cream with Kain. As we’d sat there eating, I’d looked into the store at all the happy families . . . and I’d actually thought that I’d seen my father.
It was impossible, and still, that moment had stayed with me.
But he was dead.
No one came back from dead.
Shaking off the trickle of black mood, I tied off another vine. “My friends wanted to take me out before I left town. We . . . went a little wild.”
“You’ve got my attention.”
Stringing up the last of the long ivy vines, I said, “The short of it is that things got a little crazy.”
“Oh-ho,” he chuckled. “This is getting even better. Tell me this is going to end with you kissing some chick.” Kain inched closer to me, eager for more of my story.
Rolling my eyes, I picked a leaf off of his head. “It ends with me filling out a form online.”
His blank stare said he wasn’t impressed. “Your definition of crazy and mine are miles apart.”
“Shh. The point is that we don’t need a priest.” Bowing dramatically, I flicked my hair so that it whacked him in the chin. “You’re looking at a registered officiant. We don’t need to bring someone else in to marry these two.”
His lower lip stretched out. “Pretty impressive, sugar. I still like my version better, though.”
“
Do you think that’s what happens when girls go out and drink? They just start making out?”
“It’s only natural. Scientific, even.”
Reaching out to give him a soft push, I instead found myself being yanked into his arms. Kain dug one palm into my lower back, gliding it down so he was cupping my ass. His other fingers caught my jaw, forcing me to look up at him. “Wha—”
His breath was warm. “You know what I like better than imagining you kissing other girls?” Kain squeezed my hip, nudging his stomach against mine. “Kissing you myself.”
“Psst!” Matilda peeked into the gazebo, her hand tapping the wood like it was Morse code. “Someone’s coming!” She froze, noticing how Kain had me shoved up against one of the wooden beams.
He winked at her, saying, “Delay them for another ten—maybe fifteen minutes.”
“No!” Scoffing, I wriggled out from under him. I hadn’t noticed that he’d unhooked my bra; with Matilda watching with wide eyes, I quickly reached back to snap it together.
Scanning the gardens, I saw a figure coming our way. When I recognized those hard eyes, I stood stone still.
Hawthorne was here.
He nodded at Kain, giving me a side eye. “Where should I stand?” he asked.
I hadn’t honestly expected him to come. “What about—”
“Mom and Dad didn’t seem keen.” He said no more, as if the conversation was over. Biting my lip, I motioned for him to hide around back where Matilda was with Midas. I didn’t know if it was better or worse to have only some of the family.
It was more than I’d expected, but . . . it made it feel emptier, somehow.
Hawthorne trailed behind the gazebo. Over his shoulder, I spotted Midas. He was torn between grinning and fidgeting, his skin slick in the tiny lights woven through the flowers above.
He was wearing—from what I could tell—the same suit he’d had on at the wedding. It was a shame that Francesca wouldn’t have her dress, but surprising her would make it worth it.
Matilda squeaked. “Okay, now she’s coming!”
Fran was making a beeline for the gazebo.
