by Devney Perry
Aria clutched my arm as her ankle rolled for the third time. Heels were not her forte, as she’d informed me in the limo. She’d threatened to chuck the shoes and go barefoot if I didn’t have an arm available at all times to keep her steady.
“How long will this take?” Aria asked, casting a look over her shoulder to the exit.
“You know how these things drag.”
“No, actually, I don’t. Enlighten me.”
“This is the reception. It will start with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres. Toasts. Then a dinner, likely five or six courses, so it won’t be quick. Cake. Toasts. Dancing. More toasts.” For each event, Heather would likely have a different dress. “If we’re home before dawn, it will be a miracle.”
“What about the actual wedding?”
“The ceremony is over.” Thank God, I’d missed it. “Heather and Alastair had a private ceremony a few hours ago with close friends and family. Invite only. I didn’t get one.”
“You’re his brother.”
“Family doesn’t mean the same thing in mine as it does in yours.”
She hummed and gripped my arm tighter as we approached the ballroom doors. The pace slowed as people stood in the reception line. My stomach knotted tighter with each inch forward. Then there they were. The happy, cheating couple.
I’d avoided them since the day I’d caught them humping in Heather’s apartment. I’d gone over to pick up a watch I’d left there the night before. Surprise. Engagement over.
That day, I’d gone back to work and assigned Clara the task of changing the locks to my penthouse. I’d also decided it was time to move while applauding my foresight to never let Heather move in. She probably would have screwed Alastair in my own damn bed.
Heather’s billowing white gown caught my eye first. The cackle of her laugh stabbed my eardrums. Alastair looked so much like my father, there were times when it was difficult to look at his face. His dirty-blond hair was combed to precision, his nose straight and his dimpled chin raised.
He and Dad were alike in more than just looks. Alastair had inherited Dad’s greed and gluttony and gullibility. Thankfully, I’d taken after Grandfather. I’d inherited his common sense and work ethic. His brain. Though Grandmother liked to remind me that I was more like my mother than I wanted to admit. Foolish. Impulsive. Driven by emotion.
After all, Mom’s biggest weakness, my father, was the reason she was dead.
It was a blessing Mom wasn’t here. Toward the end of her life, she’d hated these spectacles as much as I did. But oddly enough, seeing Heather and Alastair together didn’t bother me like I’d expected. They deserved one another. When I looked at them, smiling and preening, I felt nothing other than annoyance because they’d ruined a perfectly good Saturday night.
“Her dress is gaudy and hideous,” Aria said as we emerged through the threshold of the double doors.
The couple in front of us gaped and sent her horrified looks.
Aria simply smiled. “Hello.”
I fought a laugh. It was . . . surprising. I hadn’t thought I’d have to fight much other than my gag reflex tonight.
Gaudy was definitely Heather’s style. The skirt of her dress ballooned to nearly four feet in diameter. Alastair had to stretch his arm over the skirts to touch his new bride’s arm.
Golden light bathed us from head to toe as we shuffled deeper into the ballroom. Crystal sconces cast gleaming rays onto the blue and cream filigree–papered walls. My shoes sank into the lush navy carpet swirled with varying shades of sandstone, powder and ivory.
Islands of cocktail tables covered in white cloths filled the room. A string quartet was playing in the distant corner.
Ornately carved sills framed the windows that lined the room in steady succession. The domed ceiling was broken into sunken sections, each delimited by more carvings and accentuated with chandeliers. The circular ballroom provided a stunning view of the city lights beyond.
“Wow.” Aria’s eyes roved from wall to ceiling to floor to window. “Quite the place.”
“It’s something.” When Heather had pitched it as the venue for our wedding, I’d nixed it immediately because this was most definitely not me.
“How do you want me to play this?” Aria whispered.
“I . . .” The words died on my tongue. I had no fucking clue. “You tell me. This is my first fake date.”
“Same.” She straightened. “Let’s put on a good show.”
This time, I let the smile go free. I glanced down and Aria’s pretty brown eyes were waiting. They were flecked with honey and sangria. The reds and yellows were so slight, they swirled into the iris, mixing with the chocolate to give it fire. Aria’s fire.
Did Clara have eyes like that? If she did, I hadn’t noticed. Why hadn’t I noticed? We’d spent more time together than I had with anyone else in a decade.
After only hours in Aria’s company, I’d picked up details that I shouldn’t have noticed. Like the pout of her lower lip. The delicate lobes of her ears. And now the mesmerizing color in her eyes.
It unnerved me more than seeing Heather and Alastair after all these years.
Aria gave me a small smile, but as we took another step, it changed. Twisted. The fire in her gaze sparked even brighter. The mischievous woman whose words cut like a samurai sword was ready for the show.
Her hand let go of my arm to slide down the sleeve of my tux jacket. Aria laced her fingers with mine as her other hand snaked up my chest. She inched so close that her scent, floral and sweet, filled my nose.
That intoxicating smell scrambled my brain and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the curls in her shiny hair. I wanted to twist them around my fingers, then take the strands in my fist and—
What. The. Fuck.
This was Aria. A woman who openly admitted she hated me the way I hated her. An enemy. My assistant’s sister.
There’d be no fisting of her hair. No licking of her lips. No nibbling of her ears.
I tore my eyes away and looked up as we took the final step, just in time to see a different head of dark hair. Heather’s hair was as rich and glossy as money could buy. Yet it dulled in comparison to Aria’s.
Heather’s smile tightened. “Brody.”
“Heather.” I nodded. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze darted to Aria, who pressed deeper, almost indecently, into my side. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“This is Aria Saint-James,” I said, not bothering with a bogus label. Girlfriend. Lover. Date. None were accurate and none mattered.
“Congratulations.” Aria smiled at Heather, then at Alastair.
“Brody,” Alastair greeted with a smug grin. It probably would have been worse had Aria not been on my arm.
My brother was a vain man. He always had his eyes set on whatever shiny toy I had in hand. Whatever I had, he wanted.
Probably why he’d seduced Heather. I highly doubted this was a love match.
“Congratulations.” I reached out to shake his hand.
“We missed you at the ceremony.” The asshole knew I hadn’t been invited.
“That’s my fault,” Aria said before I could speak. “Brody is irresistible in a tux. It took me a moment to put myself back to rights and by the time we made it here, well . . . we really tried to make it on time.”
The color drained from Heather’s face and that grin of Alastair’s faltered.
I bit back a laugh. God, Aria was something. Fearless. Bold. Unpredictable. Qualities that usually pissed me the fuck off, but tonight, she was on my side. And she was here to put on one hell of a show.
I’d play along.
Bending, I dipped close to her neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin with my nose as I dragged in a heady breath.
She giggled and swatted me away. “Brody, behave.”
“With you? Never.” I pulled myself away, something that took more effort than it should have, and I faced my brother again. “We’re holding up the line. Again,
congrats.”
I whisked Aria away, not sparing a backward glance. “That went well, don’t you think?”
She hummed as her heel twisted, but I kept my grip firm and she didn’t stumble. “Damn heels.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”
“You do and you die. Now . . . let’s find some champagne.”
I raised a hand to signal one of the waiters carrying a tray full of flutes. “Pace yourself. This will be a marathon not a—”
“Broderick.”
I cringed at my full name and the voice delivering it. Christ. Was it too much to ask for just one minute between confrontations? Yes. Grandmother wasn’t one to give anyone a break, especially her eldest grandson.
She appeared in a flourish. Her jacquard dress and matching jacket were patterned with silver and pale green. Diamond earrings dripped from her ears. A matching pendant hung from her neck. Her white hair had been swept away from her face and twisted into an elegant knot.
“Grandmother.” I let go of Aria to take Grandmother’s hands in my own. Then I bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek.
“You missed the ceremony,” she scolded, shaking her hands free from my grip.
“Apologies.” Of course she didn’t know I hadn’t been invited. Alastair or Heather would have lied.
She tsked, her green eyes scrutinizing me from head to toe.
In my life, only two people had learned to rattle me with a single look. My grandfather. And my grandmother.
My skin itched and I struggled not to squirm as she stared. Then she whipped that cunning gaze to Aria.
I panicked. I should have warned Aria first. Clara knew about my grandmother, had put up with her for years, but this was all new to Aria.
“Who are you?” Grandmother’s words were spoken with deliberate breaks, like there was a harsh period between the spaces.
“I am Aria Saint-James.” Aria’s tone matched Grandmother’s, her enunciation nearly as precise and the tone as haughty.
And here I’d been worried for nothing. The knot in my gut eased. I should have expected Aria to meet attitude with attitude. She was not a woman to shrivel like so many dates had in the past under Grandmother’s examination.
“You’re not Clara,” Grandmother declared.
“No, I’m not.”
“Then who are you?”
“My date,” I answered.
Grandmother frowned. “Your taste continues to worsen. Clara might be your employee, but at least the girl can stand up straight and doesn’t need to drape herself all over you in public.”
“Oh, Brody. You didn’t tell me your grandmother was so charming and kind.”
Grandmother harumphed. “And she’s rude.”
“Rude can’t be helped.” Aria shrugged. “When we drew straws in the womb, Clara picked the ones for poise and grace. That left me with sass and sarcasm.”
“You are Clara’s twin sister?” Grandmother’s gaze moved to me. “Why would you bring her here?”
“Because Clara is sick. Aria volunteered to be my guest.”
Aria fixed on a sweet smile. “Clara has been telling me for years about Brody’s family. The stories seemed so cliché. I mean . . . certainly rich people couldn’t really be that shallow. When she got sick, I figured I could come here and see for myself. Per her usual, my sister was right.”
I choked on my own spit. Oh, fuck.
Grandmother’s eyes widened into saucers. “Brody, you embarrass me by bringing a random stray to your brother’s wedding.”
Aria flinched at the word stray. It was small and thankfully Grandmother didn’t notice how her word choice had hit a nerve.
Aria opened her mouth, probably to deliver another snarky retort, but I spoke first.
“Then I suppose we’ll just be leaving.” Maybe this evening would end much, much sooner than I’d planned. No disappointment here.
“You cannot leave.” Grandmother frowned. “You know how that would look. Keep her quiet and well away from me. Tonight is not the night for an unseemly display.”
“We’re not sitting at the same table? Bummer.” Aria’s voice dripped that fake sugar I’d heard so many times.
For the first time, it tasted delicious.
Grandmother’s eyes narrowed and I knew we’d be discussing this on Monday. Then without another word, she disappeared to mingle with her cronies. Namely, Heather’s grandmother. Those two were the best of friends and had been for years. I think my broken engagement would have been upsetting if Heather hadn’t traded one Carmichael male for the other.
“She’s lovely,” Aria deadpanned when Grandmother was out of earshot. “Thanks for jumping in there and coming to my rescue.”
“You didn’t need rescuing.”
“True. Is your entire family that kind?”
“That is my entire family. You’ve met them all.” Yes, I had some distant cousins and aunts and uncles, but I’d stopped communicating with them ages ago. When one of them contacted me, it was only for a loan they wouldn’t repay. Why bother?
“It’s only your brother and grandmother?” Aria asked.
I nodded. “My parents died years ago. In a car accident.”
“Oh.” The bravado on her face melted away. In its place, a deep sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
The murmur of voices filled the ballroom as more people filed inside.
I took Aria’s arm and guided her toward a hallway. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” She skipped to keep pace.
“This is where we’ll have cocktails. Then we’ll be shuffled into another space for dinner. And probably a third for cake and dancing.”
“Okay,” she drawled. “You didn’t answer my question.”
No, I didn’t. She’d see soon enough.
The guests paid us no attention as we disappeared from view and slipped into the adjacent room. It was twice as grand as the space where we’d been.
A sea of tables covered in china and silver and enormous floral centerpieces filled the room. Golden lights hung from the ceiling. Archways of more flowers hugged the walls. Their perfume clung thick to the air as we weaved past chairs and empty tables.
I marched us straight for the front, to the row of tables closest to the head table.
It only took me one guess to find my tented place card. I picked it up, along with the one etched for my guest. “Be right back.”
Aria leaned in to inspect the centerpiece, a tall bouquet of blooms that speared from a gold-dipped vase, while I jogged to the far end of the room and located the table closest to the exit. I searched for two place cards with the same last name. Finding them, I swapped them for my own, then rejoined Aria.
“What did you do?” she asked as I put the tented cards beside Grandmother’s.
“Mr. and Mrs. Johnson just got a table upgrade.” I held out my elbow for Aria’s arm. “Come on.”
“You’re not worried they’ll switch us right back?”
“And make a scene? Never.” The wedding planner might be reprimanded for the blunder, but I suspected Alastair would know that I was responsible for the swap.
“You chose the table closest to the bar.” Aria smiled as we walked past our new seating assignments. “Excellent choice.”
“Thought you’d approve.”
We slipped into the hallway, our steps unhurried as we meandered back to the cocktail room.
There were more people now, more waiters milling about with trays of food. I caught one with a tray of champagne and lifted two flutes, handing one to Aria as we settled next to a table conveniently close to the wall. Like the other tables, it held a floral bouquet.
“These are gorgeous.” Aria touched the tip of a white rose. “This visit wasn’t entirely wasted. I do love the floral arrangements.”
She leaned in, drawing the flower’s scent into her nose. Her eyes closed as she inhaled. Savored. The smoky shadow on her eyelids and the dark moons of her lashes were a beautiful sight. Differen
t than her normal makeup-free look.
I stepped closer, close enough that anyone watching would think I was wooing my date. Really, I wanted to talk without prying ears, and if we looked like we were engaged in an intimate conversation, maybe people would leave us alone.
There were enough colleagues and acquaintances here, it wouldn’t be long until I was inundated with business conversation. Before that happened, I wanted a quiet moment with Aria.
To apologize.
“And I’m sorry about my grandmother’s comment.”
“Which one?” she asked, moving away from the bouquet to sip her champagne.
“When she called you a stray.”
“Oh.” Aria’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Does she know? How Clara and I grew up?”
“No, not to my knowledge.”
“Then she was just lucky with her shot.”
“Still, I apologize on her behalf.”
“Don’t. She doesn’t deserve your grace.”
Maybe that was true. But Aria hadn’t deserved Grandmother’s disdain.
“This is good.” Aria raised her glass. “Keep ’em coming, Carmichael.”
I chuckled, drinking from my own flute. Aria was right. This event wouldn’t be a total bust. And having Aria in Clara’s place had already been entertaining.
Clara wouldn’t have given Grandmother grief. Clara wouldn’t have looked this beautiful in the green dress. Clara wouldn’t have pulled me in, closer and closer, until we touched.
Clara might have drawn plenty of eyes from the guests and other men in the room, but she wouldn’t have drawn mine.
Clara wasn’t Aria.
And Aria had my attention.
“How much do you know about my childhood?” she asked.
“Not much. Enough.” Clara and Aria’s parents had died in a car accident when they’d been only ten. A drunk driver had crossed the center line and smashed into their car, killing their parents on impact. Afterward, the sisters had gone to live with their uncle. “Clara told me that after you ran away from your uncle, you lived in a junkyard with four other kids.”
“That about covers it.”
“She said you lived in a van. A delivery van.”
A faint smile whispered across Aria’s lips. “The other kids, our friends, had their own places. Katherine and Gemma lived in a tent sort of thing, though it was more like a fort. Karson and Londyn lived in the Cadillac that I drove to Arizona. Obviously, it’s been restored.”
