by Ashley Jade
Preston squeezes my knee and I realize that my nanna’s looking at my left ring finger. The one that doesn’t have an engagement ring, but a simple white-gold band.
Nerves flutter in my tummy, but I continue. I can do this. I’m gonna knock her support socks off with a story that’s so unbelievably romantic she’ll keel over and have no choice but to believe every word I say.
“It’s such a shame a mugger held me at gunpoint right after the wedding and stole it.”
Preston, the professional con-artist himself, told me it’s easier to bullshit people when there’s some truth woven into the lie.
This is as close to our truth as it gets.
My nanna lifts an eyebrow and Reggie rolls his eyes. “How tragic.”
“It was, I was scared out of my mind. One moment I was at the hotel bar celebrating, and the next, I was walking outside trying to get some fresh air and some scary Russian man was pointing a gun in my face.” I bat my eyelashes and look at Preston. “But like the white knight he is, Preston came to my rescue.”
My nanna hands Reggie her notepad. “Why were you walking around by yourself?”
She glowers at Preston. Shit.
“We got into an argument,” Preston pipes in. “I told her to go back up to the room, but she ended up following me outside.” He brings his coffee cup to his mouth. “My little dumpling just couldn’t mind her business.”
“You were being attacked by some scary mobster,” I grind out. “I wasn’t going to stand by and watch him kill you. Most people would have said thank you for intervening, ass—ace in the hole.” I grab a slice of toast and butter it, trying with all my might not to stab Preston with the knife in my hand. “It’s my nickname for him. He’s a bit of a poker player.”
Preston snorts. “Most people wouldn’t have involved themselves in the first place.”
I slam my hand down on the table. “Jesus Christ, you’re never gonna let that go, are you?”
He smirks. “Until death do us part, baby.”
“Don’t call me—”
Reggie clears his throat and my own tightens when I realize everyone is staring at us. Including the butler who’s back with our food.
After we’re all served, I take the folder out of my purse containing a copy of the marriage certificate and hand it to Barry.
Then I look at my nanna, silently praying she’ll still uphold her end of the bargain. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I hope you’ll keep your promise to me.”
Barry opens the folder. “You can call and confirm yourself, but according to this, she is married.”
You can cut the tension in the room with a knife.
My breath stutters in my chest when my nanna turns to Preston, eyes narrowed. Preston doesn’t falter though, he gives her the same venomous stare right back.
I kick him under the table, reminding him that he’s not supposed to be pissing her off, but charming her. In typical Preston fashion, he pays me no mind.
The atmosphere is so strained no one has even touched their food.
Gaze still locked on him, my nanna lights another cigarette…and then she blows on the end, driving the smoke directly into Preston’s face. My guts clench, because not only is it one of the rudest gestures I’ve ever witnessed—it’s clear Preston’s not passing her little test.
I’m so screwed. Juan prancing around in a sequin ball gown would have worked out better for me.
Or Landon. Landon would have been the perfect choice. He’s nice and respectful. He would never…
Oh, dear God. Fuck all the ducks.
I watch in horror as Preston plucks the cigarette from her, takes a slow drag…and then blows it right back in her face.
Reggie looks appalled, and Barry, who’s coughing up a storm, looks like he wants to buy him a beer.
Unfazed, Preston gives her a smug smile, deep dimples and all. “Cigarettes are bad for your health, Grams.” He takes another drag and stubs it out on her plate of uneaten food. “So is fucking over my girl.”
My mouth hits the floor and Reggie shoots up from the table. “How dare you—”
My nanna shoves her notepad at him, cutting him off.
His face screws up in confusion as he reads it. “Are you sure about this, madam?”
That earns him a pinch. “She wants me to tell you the original agreement isn’t off the table yet.”
Relieved, my breath leaves me in one big whoosh until he unfolds another sheet of paper and says, “Provided you answer the following questions honestly and to Ms. Bishop’s satisfaction.”
“Fine. I’ll answer—”
“Not you.” Reggie’s eyes swivel to Preston. “Him.”
My nanna folds her hands in her lap, looking far too superior for my liking as Reggie continues, “Since your grandmother never had the chance to approve of your boyfriend before he became your husband, she wants to conduct an interview to make sure you were telling the truth about being involved prior to getting married. Based on those answers, she’ll make her decision regarding whether or not she’ll proceed with making you her beneficiary.”
Oh, crap.
Barry looks at me. “I don’t advise going through with this.” He heaves a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “Then again, I also advised you not to get married in the first place.”
My spidey senses tingle. Barry’s right. It’s a trap. Her dislike for Preston aside, it’s clear she never had any intention of making me her beneficiary. She just wants to dangle the carrot in front of me for however long she can before she rams it down my throat and watches me choke to death.
Me and Preston…because every second that ticks by brings him that much closer to his own death.
Our differences aside, I can’t help but feel awful for pulling him into this situation now. He would have been better off with that rich woman at the casino bar.
Preston must be thinking the same thing, because when he pulls out his phone and looks at the time, his jaw tightens. “Let’s get this over with.”
The butler appears. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Scotch,” I mutter, even though it’s clear his question was directed at my nanna.
The butler scurries off and Reggie sits back down in his seat. “How long have you known Kit Bishop?”
Preston picks up his fork. “Three years, three months, and four days if you want to get technical.”
My nanna stiffens, it’s clear she wasn’t prepared for that answer.
Preston takes a hearty bite of his pancake. “Next.”
“Why did you want to marry her?” There’s no mistaking the judgment in Reggie’s voice.
Preston gives him a shit-eating grin. “So no one else could.”
Arrogant ass hat.
“Where did you attend college?”
Shame shadows his face and I want to warn him that my grandmother has a habit of sniffing out a person’s weakness and using it to finish you off like an opponent during a game of Mortal Kombat.
He recovers and looks her dead in the eye. “Yale. But I dropped out before I could graduate.”
“You and your wife have that in common,” Reggie says snidely, and I give him the one-finger salute.
Preston turns to look at me, but then my nanna scribbles something on her pad. “Why did you drop out?”
The butler arrives with my scotch and Preston takes it from him. “It’s personal.”
My nanna’s not happy with that answer and I blurt out the first thing I can think of. “His father passed away the same day the second semester of his sophomore year started.”
I inwardly shudder. The same day of the Woodside school shooting.
Maybe that will soften her heart enough and I’ll be able to borrow a million from her so Preston can give it to that Campanelli guy.
If not...
I close my eyes, hoping it won’t come down to that.
“My condolences,” Reggie says before he goes back to his paper. “In your opinion, what i
s Kit’s best trait?”
Preston’s response is automatic. “Her heart.”
“Worst trait?”
“Her family.” Preston pins my nanna with a dark stare. “Specifically, the vindictive hag who locked her in a basement.”
Her eyes become tiny slits and dread claws at my chest. So much for asking for a loan to save him now.
Reggie shifts, looking uncomfortable. “Where was your first kiss?”
The hand around the glass of scotch tightens. “In an elevator.”
I try to keep my expression neutral, but heat rushes over my face. I don’t know why he would say that when there are two, no, technically three, real places he could have chosen to say instead. Why pick that one?
“An elevator where?” Barry asks appearing enthralled.
Preston takes a sip of his drink. “Woodside University. I was with Kit during the school shooting. Kyle was holding us hostage and threatening to kill us all. But, thanks to Landon sacrificing himself we were able to hide out in the elevator until the police showed up.”
“Thanks to Landon and Preston.” My hand goes to my necklace. “I wasn’t being very cooperative and Preston had to drag me to safety. If he didn’t, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
His lips turn up in a snarl and he looks at my grandmother. “I made sure she was okay when you couldn’t even be bothered to show up at the hospital.”
Whatever doubt my nanna had about me not knowing Preston is gone with that statement.
The woman almost looks sorry.
Either that or she ordered the butler to drug my food and I’m seeing things. I wouldn’t put anything past her anymore.
Reggie looks puzzled. “I thought you said you went to Yale? What were you doing at Woodside?”
“Does it really fucking matter?” He leans back in his seat and folds his arms. “Who the hell are you, anyway? The only way a man would take this much crap from an old bag is if she’s fucking, feeding, or financing him.”
It’s like he wants the mobsters to kill him.
Reggie turns his nose up. “I’m her assistant.”
“No shit,” Preston scoffs. “Given you’re about as gay as the day is long I assumed as much.”
I can’t help but take offense to his mocking tone. “Something wrong with being gay, Preston?”
“Dammit, Kit you know I—”
Reggie drives his finger into the air. “You’re out of line, sir. I’ll have you know I am not a homosexual.”
Clearly, I should have directed my question at Reggie.
Preston’s nostrils flare. “I wasn’t—”
A plate shatters against the floor and we all look at my grandmother.
“Madam, are you—”
My nanna holds a hand up, silencing him. And then to my sheer confusion, she crooks a finger at Preston, calling him over.
Automatically my hand goes to his arm. I don’t know what she’s planning on doing, but I don’t trust her.
“I’m fine, Kit.”
With that, he walks over and takes a seat next to her.
She shoos Reggie to the other side of the table before she writes something on her notepad and hands it to Preston.
The knot of tension in Preston’s shoulders mounts as he reads it and I lean over the table, attempting to see.
Sensing my nosiness, she hits the side of her cup with a fork in warning.
My annoyance grows when she rams a pen into his hand and taps the notepad. I was hoping I’d be able to figure out what was going on by his response.
He scrawls something on it and gives it back to her.
And then there’s nothing but silence as her gaze ping-pongs between us.
That is until Preston’s phone rings and he pulls it out of his pocket.
Before I can inquire what’s going on, my nanna jots something else on the notepad and thrusts it at him.
Shoving his phone back in his pocket, he scribbles his answer.
Then he stands up.
“Everything okay?”
I have no idea what to make of the look on his face, but it’s enough to send my heart into the pit of my stomach. “Yeah. Where’s the bathroom?”
“Down the hall and to the left,” Reggie informs him and he takes off like a bat out of hell.
“What did you do?”
She rips up the paper from her notepad and shrugs.
I’m about to let her have it, but an unsettling feeling hits me full force and I dash out of the room.
The look he gave me was unlike any I’ve ever seen from him—almost like he was saying goodbye. Combined with that secret cell phone of his ringing, it’s enough to send me into a tailspin.
My heart thunders in my ribs when I check the first-floor bathroom and find it empty.
The sick feeling in my stomach rises when I glance at one of the security monitors in the foyer and see a black SUV parked at the end of the long driveway.
An SUV Preston's walking toward.
I sprint out the front door, cursing when I reach the first gate that’s closed.
I slam the buzzer. “Let me out!”
Not waiting for it to open entirely, I squeeze through it and run down the long, winding driveway that's just under a quarter mile, praying they haven't left yet.
My lungs cramp and burn and it feels like an eternity has passed by the time I turn the curve and approach them.
My heart folds in on itself when I see that both of Preston’s arms are being held by two freakishly large men while another man stands in front of him, ready to attack…but not with his fists.
With some kind of metal baton.
Judging by the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and the way his body wants to hunch over despite being physically detained by the men, they’ve used it once already.
“Preston!” My voice comes out tattered and my stomach jolts with a brutal lurch.
If they kill him…they’ll have to kill me too. It doesn’t matter if we’re hiding in an elevator or facing scary mobsters…we’re a team.
“She has nothing to do with this shit. She’s just some rich bitch I’m screwing.” Even though he’s trying hard not to break, there’s no mistaking the pain he’s in when he looks at me. “Go inside.”
Not a chance.
The man before him takes a step back, getting ready to take another swing.
“Stop hurting him.” I'm a shaking mess as I dig inside my purse for the jewelry box. “I have your money.”
I charge toward them, but the SUV door opens and some scary man in a suit comes out and violently seizes my arm.
“I told you, she has nothing to do with this, Campanelli. Leave her alone—”
The baton flies into Preston’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
“Stop! I told you, I have it.”
Squinting his eyes at me, the man in the suit barks, “Who are you?”
He has the faintest hint of an Italian accent.
“I’m his wife.” I hold up the jewelry box with my free hand. “And inside this box is a twelve-carat ring worth three million dollars. I have certified papers to prove it if you don’t believe me. I’ll even go with you to pawn it if that’s what it takes.”
“Goddammit, Kit, no—” A punch to Preston’s face cuts him off mid-sentence.
“Change of plans.” The grip on my arm becomes so tight I wince. “We’re taking the moglie with us.”
He starts tugging me inside the car, but the sound of a gun firing makes him pause. “Che cazzo è?”
“Some old woman with a gun,” one of the men answers.
Craning my neck, I stare in shock as Reggie wheels my gun-toting nanna down the driveway. An out of shape, wheezing Barry struggles to keep up behind them.
Promptly, the men draw their guns and point them at her, causing Preston to fall to the ground with a curse.
Our gazes cross as he stands back up and I give him a shrug. I honestly have no idea what she’s doing.
We all
find out when she nudges Reggie and he pristinely states, “Madam wants me to inform you she will take care of whatever money is owed to you, provided you leave her grandchild alone and get off her property at once.”
One of the men snicker and Preston mutters, “This is like bringing a spoon to a gunfight.” He looks at Campanelli. “I’ll get you the million by sundown if you let her go.”
One of the men hits him with a gun.
“Stop hurting him.” I struggle against his hold, but the goon starts bending my arm and I gasp in pain.
That only makes Preston charge for Campanelli…which earns him a hard punch to the kidney before he’s restrained again.
He spits blood at him, twisting and foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. “You better kill me because the next time you hurt her, I’ll rip your throat out and feed it to the Russians.”
The gun pointed at my grandmother shifts to Preston, but I yell, “Everybody calm down and shut up so I can give the man his money.” I don’t know who this girl taking charge is, but I like her. She’s stronger than the girl who cried and shook during a school shooting.
Then again, there’s only so many guns you can have pointed at you before you become desensitized to it.
There’s only so many times you can have your life threatened before you decide to stop letting others control you and fight for it.
Cocking my head, I look up at the mobster holding me captive. “I have what you want, but the longer we stand here partaking in this pissing contest, the more time and energy we’re wasting. You seem like an important man—surely standing in a driveway having it out with a gambling addict, his wife, and her senile grandmother doesn’t top your list of priorities for the day. Therefore, why don’t we get his debt squared away so you can go back to what you do best and handle your business?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I like you.” He taps his temple. “You use this to think instead of emotions like most women.”
Dude couldn’t be farther from the truth. Logic has always taken a backseat to my emotions. But considering he could kill me in the next five seconds, I’m not about to argue.
