by Elise Noble
That flash of panic came back. “I’d better go. Talk later.”
“Good luck,” Malachi said. “See you on the other side.”
Archie dashed off, leaving us alone for a moment on the uppermost patio. Despite the informality of the dress code and the slight chaos around us that could only have been caused by leaving everything to the last minute, the happy couple had chosen a striking venue for their upcoming nuptials. The gardens of the huge beachfront mansion reached right to the edge of the sand in three wide terraces, each edged with tropical plants in full bloom that filled the air with a delicate aroma. The swimming pool next to the house had a waterfall at one end, and half a dozen people had already claimed sun loungers while they sipped their cocktails.
High walls at the boundaries meant the whole property was private apart from the area by the sea, and security guards loitered on the beach, checking for trespassers. Another pair had checked our invitation when we arrived, sweating in their uniforms as they manned the gates. I thought that was quite impressive, but Malachi had rolled his eyes and muttered something about rent-a-cops. Clearly, there was a hierarchy in the secretive world of security.
“This sure is a big house,” I said to Malachi. “Someone must’ve worked really hard to afford it.”
“They did, quite literally. Apparently, it belongs to a friend of Misty. They film adult movies here. Let’s hope the pool has a good filtration system, huh?”
Oh. Perhaps my apartment wasn’t so bad, after all.
“I’m not such a great swimmer anyway. Have you seen Misty?”
“Only on screen.”
“Excuse me?”
Malachi closed his eyes. “Shit, I did it again, didn’t I? I meant, Archie and Misty sent video invites to the wedding as well as the paper ones. I absolutely have not watched my friend’s future wife getting her kit off. Fuck, I need a beer.”
He took my hand and led me towards the buffet table, which groaned under the weight of platters and bottles. Mostly bottles. Ice buckets held two different kinds of champagne, and a guy who looked like a fitness model stood at the ready with a cocktail shaker. Shirtless, of course. I took a moment to admire his six-pack, but it wasn’t a patch on Malachi’s.
“Can I offer you a drink, ma’am?”
“Something non-alcoholic, please.”
“At this wedding? Are you sure?”
I noticed a half-empty glass of red next to him. How much of a circus was this going to be if even the bartender had resorted to drinking?
Malachi squeezed my hand. “I said I’d get you home.”
“In that case, perhaps I’ll just have a small glass of champagne.” A little something to take the edge off. That could only help if I had to put up with Erin for the entire evening.
“Here you go? Are you related to Misty? Her sister?”
“No, I haven’t even met her yet. Why?”
“You just look similar, that’s all.”
I suppose I’d received worse compliments. Liquid courage in hand, I joined Malachi in making small talk until it was time to head to the beach. In some ways, he reminded me of myself, like his ability to move smoothly from one inconsequential topic to another, never touching on anything controversial with people he didn’t know. I’d quickly learned how to converse with strangers as a necessity in my former job, and I suspected he’d had to master the art for whatever undercover work he did with Blackwood.
Then it was time for Archie to sign his life away. A young brunette—Livvy, Malachi whispered—stood on a table and shouted for everyone to go down to the shore. Two blocks of seats had been set out on either side of a central aisle, and a bower of white roses provided a backdrop for the ceremony. Beautiful. And the best part? When Erin tried to walk across the sand in her four-inch heels, she freaking sank.
“She never did think things through,” Malachi muttered.
After two men had lifted her free, she opted to go barefoot instead, and Livvy kicked off her white flip-flops so they matched as they followed Misty and her dog down the aisle. Yes, her dog. She was being given away not by her father but by a cocker spaniel in a tuxedo. The dog was better-dressed than any of the other guests.
“Isn’t Tico adorable?” the girl next to me whispered. “Misty said that until she met Archie, he was the only man in her life who’d been totally loyal.”
Perhaps I really should get a dog? Loyalty sure sounded like an attractive option, and they probably didn’t require as much maintenance as men. Just a walk every day, and bathroom breaks, and a couple of meals…
“Do you, Chastity Ann Roker-Haynes, take this man, Archibald Robert Curtis, to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the officiant asked.
Oh my gosh. Misty’s real name was Chastity? Boy, that was ironic. But she looked so happy standing up front with Archie and her dog, both of whom were panting in the heat. She’d worn a cream bikini, jewelled at the edges, and a veil that fell all the way to the sand was pinned into her blonde hair. With her looks, she could have been a model, but I knew from experience that her height would work against her. At sixteen, I’d been told by every agency I was too short for the runway.
Then they were man and wife, and when the officiant said Archie could kiss his bride, the only thing that broke them apart was the best man coughing like mad from behind. An unusual match, but they were clearly in love.
Would I ever have a day like this? I’d always fantasised about a fancy outdoor wedding with a ballgown of a dress, a bouquet of roses, chrysanthemums, and orchids, and a hundred friends watching me walk down the aisle alone to say “I do” to the man of my dreams.
Oh, who was I kidding? I could count my friends on my fingers, and as for the man…
“Before I came, I’d have put money on a divorce within six months,” Malachi whispered. “But now I’m not so sure.”
Okay, I might have dreamed about him last night, but that’s all it was: a dream.
“Archie seemed happy earlier. Nervous, but happy. I hope they last.”
“Me too. Not just because Misty-slash-Chastity seems okay, but because the last time he had a bad breakup, he insisted on a boys’ trip to Vegas, and I woke up by the side of the road in the desert with no recollection as to how I got there. In a fuckin’ dress.”
Now, that I wished I’d seen. “What kind of a dress? Something slinky?”
“Does it matter?”
“Well, since we’re supposed to be dressing up next Sunday, I’d like to understand your sense of style. I mean, was it neon and ruffles or something more tasteful?”
“It was pink with feathers, okay? Fuck knows where it came from. A showgirl at the casino, probably, since that’s where we were drinking earlier. Which is why I go easy on the alcohol now. No man wants those sorts of pictures doing the rounds more than once in his life.”
“They were on Facebook? I’d almost be tempted to join up just to see.”
“Just email. I steer clear of social media because of work. You’re not on Facebook either?”
No, because if I existed on the internet, it would give my brother a better chance of finding me. On my Rubies profile, I’d kept my face in shadow and, like all the girls, I’d used a false name. After ten years, I hoped he’d given up looking, but since I was the only thing standing between him and a jail cell, I couldn’t afford to take that risk. I should have kept my mouth shut all those years ago. Mom knew where he was hiding, of that I was sure, which was why I’d told her I lived in Sacramento.
“I’m not sure it’s safe. So many people pretend to be who they’re not.”
Around us, guests started to meander back towards the mansion. According to the printed cards that had been on each of our seats, we had two hours to “relax and chill” before we all posed for photos and sat down for dinner on the terrace. I was looking forward to the speeches, not because they promised to be entertaining but to get some pointers. Stef had asked me to be maid of honour at her upcoming wedding. A bittersweet honour, since it wa
s yet another reminder that everyone but me had landed a perfect man. The date hadn’t been set yet, but I couldn’t see her waiting much longer now that baby Abigail had been born.
“What do you want to do?” Malachi asked. “Get more drinks? Food? Take a swim?”
“Could we just sit on the beach for a while? I can’t remember the last time I walked on sand.”
A tiny white lie—I’d only been to the beach once before, with a client who paid me to accompany him on a long weekend to Miami. The days had been okay, just sitting around while he golfed, but he’d pushed me into letting his friend join in the night before we left, and I’d never forget the constant grunting.
“Sure. Let’s go find some towels.”
To Misty’s credit, she’d thought of everything, and the towels were sitting in a basket at the edge of the lawn. I unrolled mine next to Malachi, who apart from a bit of hand-holding for Erin’s benefit had been the perfect gentleman. Unfortunately.
No, Imogen. Not unfortunately. I needed to keep my eyes on the prize, and the prize was Jean-Luc. Malachi was just a means to a hopefully happy ending.
“Do you come to Florida often?” I asked.
“Maybe a couple of dozen times since I started with Blackwood. But last year, I had to spend three weeks here on a case, so I got to know the guys in the Fort Lauderdale office. And the best beaches, and a few of the bars.”
“Work hard, play hard, huh?”
“Something like that. Undercover work can be a bitch, but sometimes it has its perks.”
“Do you think you’ll keep doing security work for the rest of your life?”
“What else would I do? Go back to horticulture? Yeah, I’ll stick with Blackwood. Working there’s more than just a job; it’s a calling. And those guys are family now.”
That was exactly what Stef said. Once they accepted you as one of their own, they always had your back. I’d felt a little stab of jealousy when she told me, and again now with Malachi because I still felt more lonely than I ever let on, especially since Stef spent most of her time with Oliver and Abigail at the moment.
But I smiled and nodded because that was what I always did. And I shouldn’t have been complaining, because I’d gotten a free trip to the beach, I had a cute guy beside me, and Bradley had even remembered to pack sunblock so I wouldn’t burn.
I held up the bottle. “Any chance you could do my back?”
“Sure. We get bonus points if Erin’s watching.”
Malachi had surprisingly soft hands, and he was thorough. Oh boy, was he thorough. I was halfway to heaven by the time he rocked back on his heels and placed the bottle by my outstretched hand.
“Your turn.”
Two could play at that game. Octavia had encouraged all of her girls to take a massage course, and I’d passed with flying colours. When Malachi lay out on his front, I dug in with my thumbs, then spotted Erin staring at us from the second terrace. And she looked gloriously annoyed.
“Erin’s watching us,” I whispered.
“Good.”
“And I don’t like her very much, so I’m just going to…” I swung one leg over his ass so I was straddling him, one knee either side of his hips. “Do this. Okay?”
“Nice idea,” Malachi mumbled.
I might even have gotten a moan out of him as I went to work, and so engrossed was I in the thick cords of muscle that ran either side of his spine, I didn’t even notice when Erin disappeared. Oops.
“There, all done.” I crawled back to my own towel, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “I’m gonna go and get a drink. Do you want anything?”
No answer.
“Malachi?”
Nothing.
Well, that was a first. My magic hands had sent a man to sleep.
CHAPTER 10 - IMOGEN
“ANOTHER GLASS OF champagne?” the bartender asked as I approached. “Or a cocktail? It’s definitely a cocktail sort of a day.”
Should I? I deserved it after surviving the ceremony. “A cocktail, but just a small one. And is there a bathroom nearby?”
“There’s one in the pool house, but Mindy just headed over there. Probably best to try the mansion. If you go in through the terrace doors, cross the great room, then take the left-hand hallway through the double doors, there’s a half-bath second on the right.”
“Across the great room, left-hand hallway, second on the right,” I repeated. Directions had never been my strong point.
“Should I draw you a map?” he asked good-naturedly.
“No, no, I’ll be fine.” I could always ask somebody if I got lost, couldn’t I?
I walked past groups of people chatting on the top terrace, and from the snippets I heard, they fell into two camps—those discussing the state of the porn industry and those expressing concern that Archie had suffered some sort of breakdown.
Since I didn’t know much about either, I just hurried on past through a room with no less than twelve sofas, four of them clustered around a sunken area lined with fur rugs, and skirted an abstract statue of a couple fucking. Part of me wondered why nobody had covered it up, seeing as Archie’s parents seemed to be a rather conservative couple in their mid-fifties, but I was also weirdly impressed that Misty didn’t try to hide who she was. I’d never have been brave enough to flaunt my work for Octavia, even if I’d wanted to.
Across the great room, take the right-hand hallway, second on the left…
Wait.
This wasn’t a half-bath. It was a dining room. A dining room complete with Erin snorting a line of cocaine off a polished mahogany table that seated at least fourteen.
Shit, shit, shit.
Before I could back out, she straightened, wiping traces of white powder from under her nose.
“Well, look who it is. Malachi’s piece of trash.”
Oh, that little witch! Who was she calling trash? At least I’d worn an outfit that covered more than my nipples.
“Considering you dated him for months, I’d think about how that statement reflects on you.”
“I know he’s just trying to get back at me for that night in New York, but I was drunk when I slept with the guy, okay?” Her voice rose alarmingly, and she began waving her hands. “It doesn’t count if you’re drunk!”
She’d done the dirty on Malachi? What a piece of work. “It does count.”
Now she squared up to me, hands on hips. “You’re telling me you’ve never done anything stupid involving alcohol?”
“Sure I have. I’ve just never cheated on my boyfriend. No wonder he wants nothing more to do with you.”
“Really? You think? Then why does he keep calling me?” She fumbled her phone out of her bikini top and waved it in my face. “Look—missed calls!”
The phone was moving too much for me to see properly, but I couldn’t imagine Malachi stalking her, not after everything he’d said to me.
“He probably pocket dialled.”
“And he probably hired you from an escort agency, dime store Barbie.”
Despite all the shit I’d lived through, until that moment, I’d never slapped another woman. But my palm connected with Erin’s cheek before I could stop myself. And with the scream she let out, you’d have thought I’d gouged out her eyes with a freaking spoon.
“Yeeeeeooouuuw!” She flew at me, crimson with anger, clawing at my face as she screamed obscenities. Aw, hell. My heart took off at a crazy gallop, and I tried to get away, but she wound one fist around my hair and hung on as she spat her insults.
“You fake-ass floozy! You’re nothing but a cheap whore. Nothing!”
In desperation, I hooked one leg around hers and kicked the way my old self-defence instructor had taught me. She landed on her skinny behind with a bump, but she still didn’t let go, so I ended up sitting on top of her.
“I’m gonna pull these stupid extensions out!” she yelled.
“They’re not freaking extensions! Get the hell off me!”
I pushed at her face with both hands, and
she tried to bite my fingers like the rabid dog she was. I adjusted my grip, but so did she, using one hand to grab at my bikini top and pull. My boobs popped out, and she screeched even louder.
“Fake! Fake! Fake! Everything about you’s fake!”
Running footsteps sounded from behind, followed by a sweet Southern drawl.
“What the actual heck?”
Fingers tipped with pearly white nails tried to pry Erin’s hands out of my hair, but she’d gotten too good a grip. What did she do in her spare time? Jell-O wrestling?
“Benny! Mitchell! We need some help in here.”
Two hefty guys tore Erin’s hands away from me, and the taller of the pair lifted me up by my armpits as she scrambled to her feet. Even then, she wasn’t finished, and Misty grabbed her arm when she ran at me again.
“Enough! What on earth’s going on?”
Oh, shit. I tried to cover my boobs with what was left of my bikini top while I spluttered apologies. “I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what happened, but—”
“She hit me!” Erin shrieked.
“Is that true?”
“I know I shouldn’t have, but she called me a dime store Barbie.” And an escort, which had cut far too close to the bone.
“Erin, why can’t you...?” Misty started, but then she looked past her, gaze focused on the table. “Are you taking drugs at my freaking wedding?”
“I… No, it was her.”
Erin pointed at me, but since she still had flecks of white powder clinging to the skin above her lip, her lie wasn’t all that convincing. And thankfully, Misty saw right through it.
“Get out, Erin. Just get out.”
“But—”
“I don’t want to hear it. Nobody takes drugs around me. Nobody.”
“I’m here for Archie, not you.”
“Do you want me to get him? Because he’ll say exactly the same thing.”
“Really? You think? You only met him six weeks ago, and I’ve been friends with his sister for a decade.”
Misty’s shoulders slumped, conciliatory, and for a moment, I mistook that for a lack of backbone. But Misty was an actress, albeit not a mainstream one.
