Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

  “What are you in the mood for?” I ask. He usually prefers brandy or whiskey, but sometimes he drinks wine.

  “Whiskey’s fine.”

  I bring both the drinks.

  “So. The gift. Is it here yet?” I say, settling into my seat.

  “The guys should get here any time now to set it up.”

  Just then, the intercom buzzes. Tony checks his phone. “Aaand speak of the devil.”

  While he goes to take the delivery, I drink the whiskey. I should be relaxed and happy with my brothers around. I like them, and they’re cool and supportive. But relaxed and happy is the last thing I’m feeling right now. I keep thinking about Skittles—and what she did.

  I tap my knee slowly. Did I do something to upset her last night? Maybe I said something I shouldn’t have? But no matter how hard I try, I can’t come up with anything. Unless Skittles doesn’t like being told how hot she is.

  And let’s say I did say something stupid I don’t remember. Why did she run like that? If she was upset, she could’ve just said something.

  Did she think I’d go through her stuff and try to find out who she is? It’s true I want to see her again, but I wouldn’t violate her privacy that way.

  Maybe she went through my stuff… Hmm. No, I doubt that. She didn’t seem like the type. Besides, it isn’t like my name is Harcourt Bluebeard.

  Maybe she had a bad experience with some motherfucker. Damn it. This is why there needs to be an anti-asshole society that beats up assholes who scar women.

  “Everything okay?” Edgar says.

  “Huh? Why?”

  “You look really pissed. Is it Mom?"

  I tense up. She hasn’t texted me since last night. She probably got tired—or maybe her battery died. Permanently, one can hope. “No, it actually isn’t. For once.”

  “So what’s the problem? Your fancy school just realized that you didn’t take enough gender classes and is taking your diploma back?”

  Ha. That would be hilarious. “My degree’s safe enough."

  “Then what? Dad still giving you a hard time about taking a position at the company?”

  I shrug, feigning nonchalance. Dad knows there’s no way to have Tony be part of the company. So he wants me instead. His sons will continue the family legacy, whether they like it or not.

  Except… Working for Dad would mean living in Tempérane. And living in Tempérane means fawners. I have this thing about people who like me because of my family connections and name. I try to stay under the radar as much as possible, be the irresponsible kid who people with ulterior motives overlook. “Not really. He knows he can’t really force me. I’m taking control of my trust in three weeks.”

  “That’s true.” Edgar finishes his drink. “He is really unhappy about that.”

  Thank God it was Grandpa who set up the trust. If Dad had it his way, I’d never take control over the money or the stake in Blackwood Energy. The second part is silly because he knows I’ll always do what’s best for the company—in other words, I’ll always vote with Edgar. The company is too important to the local economy to mismanage. “Even if I had zero money in my bank account, I wouldn’t work for him. There are other jobs.”

  Edgar stares at me like I just told him I could do matrix algebra in my sleep. “You have one lined up?”

  I shrug. He takes this kind of stuff too seriously. “I can work for Tony. I can be his club auditor.”

  “Club auditor? You don’t have any accountant training.”

  “No, not like that. I go to his clubs and see if I like them or not. And get paid for it.” To be honest, I don’t know if that’s a real job. But if not, it should be. Clubbing is serious business.

  “So you want to be paid to party?”

  “It’s not partying if it’s a job.” I smile, liking that idea.

  Tony walks in. “Who’s paying Court to club for a living?”

  “You,” Edgar says.

  Tony turns to me. “Did Wei promise you that job?”

  “No, although he should.” Tony’s assistant is a sensible man. Surely he can see the wisdom of having such a position filled by someone like me. “We were just talking.”

  “Why do you need a job, anyway?” Tony asks. “You’re going to be worth about a billion dollars in three weeks.”

  “Yeah, for a guy who’s going to be a billionaire, he looks pretty glum, doesn’t he?” Edgar gestures at me with his empty glass.

  Since both of them are here and have more experience than me, I tell them what happened with Skittles. They listen, leaning close and nodding from time to time.

  When I’m finished, they pull back. Tony rubs his chin thoughtfully. Edgar’s brow furrows, and he taps the rim of his glass. Then they look at each other and both burst out laughing.

  “Oh man, I can’t believe that happened to you,” Edgar says finally, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. “Fifty dollars? She probably faked it. Just how bad were you that she didn’t even leave a C-note?” He looks at Tony. “You think the fifty included a tip?”

  For fuck’s sake. “She definitely did not fake it! I would’ve known.”

  “Then why the pittance?” Tony asks.

  My jaw tightens. “That’s why I’m asking you. Which I see was a mistake, because both my brothers are idiotic, red-faced baboons.”

  “The red faces are ’cause we’re laughing too hard,” Edgar says.

  Tony taps his chin. “I can’t think of any other reason, unless you took her to some hundred-dollar roach motel and the money was supposed to cover half the room.”

  “Come on, I’d never take a girl to a place like that. It was the Aylster.”

  Edgar purses his mouth. “Had to be the performance.”

  Asshole. “I’m telling you, it was not. We had a great time. Both of us.”

  “Then track her down and ask,” he says. “Or better yet, throw the money in her face.”

  “Yes.” Tony snaps his fingers. “Oh, and at a public event…like her high school graduation. Except that’ll only show everyone what she thought of the night.”

  I bare my teeth. “You guys are dicks.”

  Tony grins. “Dicks worth more than fifty bucks.” Edgar laughs, slapping the arm of his chair.

  Damn it. I should’ve known nothing useful would come from my brothers. Why did I think otherwise? Hope springs eternal only for idiots. “You know what? I am going to find her, and have my revenge.”

  “There you go. Revenge is the best…” Snapping his fingers, Tony looks at Edgar.

  “Revenge,” he finishes.

  My brothers are dumber than goats dropped off a cliff. “At least I’m not whipped enough to spend half a million bucks on a first anniversary gift.”

  “Well.” Tony shoots me a bland smile. “First you have to have a first anniversary…”

  “He’s going to build her a copy of Versailles for their second,” Edgar says.

  “Like I said. Whipped.” I make the whip-snapping sound.

  Ivy walks in, carrying a shopping bag. She’s a pretty strawberry blonde with soft gray eyes. She’s even more beautiful now. Must be the love she’s feeling for my brother. I’m not the mushy type, but when I look at those two, I feel like fate does exist.

  “What’s up with the whip?” She sweeps her gaze across the room, over all three of us, then raises her palm. “No, no. Never mind. I don’t want to know. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  Edgar and I laugh. I don’t know why he’s laughing, but oh man. Ivy should know by now that I basically exist to do what she wouldn’t do.

  “Did you buy something pretty?” Tony asks.

  “Shoes. I needed something comfy to wear.”

  I exchange a glance with Edgar. Since Ivy’s home, it’s our cue to get out. Bet Tony’s dying to show her the gift.

  We get up and bid them goodbye.

  When I reach the foyer, I see TJ.

  I overheard Ivy refer to him as a Visigoth once, and that’s a damn good
description of the guy. He’s a giant—a mountain, really, with lots of hair and a nasty expression that says he’s going to kick your ass, your dad’s ass, your brother’s ass and your Doberman’s ass. All at the same time. The suit he’s wearing doesn’t lessen the aura one bit.

  His biggest responsibility is ensuring Ivy’s safety. But he also works for Tony, and everyone at my brother’s company knows TJ and does what he asks them to do. Which means…

  “Something happen to you?” TJ says.

  I blink at him. “Huh?”

  “You look unhappy.”

  It must be pretty obvious for him to comment. His communication usually consists of grunts.

  I shouldn’t tell him because he’ll just mock me like my asshole brothers. On the other hand, he doesn’t have to know all the details. And he can find stuff. Everyone at Z tells him what he wants to know.

  Stick to the bare facts. Give him just enough to help without prompting any unnecessary commentary.

  “I met this woman at Z,” I begin. “I’m trying to figure out how to track her down.”

  He shrugs, like I’ve asked him to pick up a napkin or something. “What’s her name?”

  Damn it. I should’ve insisted on exchanging names, rather than going along with her silly “anonymous” routine. “I, uh, don’t actually know. I called her Skittles.”

  His eyebrows twitch. “Was your blood sugar low?”

  “Come on, man. I don’t need this crap.”

  “It’s not crap. I can help.”

  “Really?” I feign surprise. “What will I owe you?” In TJ’s world, there’s no such thing as a free lunch. Only free beatings.

  “Nothing. You’ve always been loyal to Tony.” He turns his head and spits. “Your parents treated him like the plague.” TJ’s loyalty to Tony could put a samurai to shame. “Did she do anything at the club? Buy a drink, use a credit card?” he asks, although he doesn’t look optimistic. He knows I always pay.

  “She was running a tab. But I don’t think she settled it before we left.” Thinking about how hot we were to get private makes me hard…and the memory of the post-sex morning pisses me off. Now I finally understand how people can have hate-fucks.

  “Doesn’t matter. We always take their credit card first, just in case. Who was the bartender?

  “Diego,” I say. “Benny was working, too.”

  “Lemme check.” He taps his phone screen.

  After a couple of beats, I ask, “So…?”

  He shoots me a mildly irritated expression. “This might take more than four seconds. But don’t worry. I’ll let you know.”

  “Okay, thanks.” Nothing to be done about the wait. But while TJ is working on getting me Skittles’ name, I can fantasize about my revenge.

  Chapter Eight

  Court

  Almost two weeks pass, and nothing from TJ. The fiery need for revenge is no longer burning as brightly as before. More like I’m annoyed with TJ for being so friggin’ slow.

  I bet he forgot. Typical.

  Now I wish I’d insisted on exchanging names. Then I wouldn’t be having to rely on him.

  Of course, if I’d insisted on real names, I might not have gotten laid.

  I think about that for a while. It’s like the tree in the forest. Kind of philosophical.

  I could’ve used Skittles’ bright cheeriness since our night together. It’s seriously annoying dealing with my parents, both of whom call me at all hours for very different—but equally annoying—reasons.

  Dad wants me to work for him because…Family Legacy. Mom wants me to take his offer…on the condition that he reconciles with her. But they need to have their lawyers figure all that stuff out, not me.

  Actually, even if I could bill them a thousand bucks an hour, I wouldn’t want to be involved. I’m neutral. An island. A son called Switzerland.

  Even Nate senses my piss-poor mood, because he drags me out to a comedy club, saying tonight’s acts are especially funny. I’m not big on comedy clubs, but I humor him, trying to be a good friend.

  People around me laugh, but I tune them out, the way I tune out the laugh track on a TV show. So irritating.

  I gesture at a waitress for another drink as the crowd hoots. Nate, who should have better taste and maturity, is clapping like a baby who’s seeing somebody blow a raspberry for the first time.

  “What are you scowling about?” he says.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “You haven’t laughed at a single joke.”

  I gesture at the stage. “That dude isn’t funny.”

  “Why the shitty mood?” Now he’s the one scowling. “I thought the comedy club would cheer you up.”

  “I’m fucking cheery, all right? Look.” I point at the new drink that just landed in front of me.

  He leans closer. “You still hung up on that girl? Snickers?”

  “Skittles,” I say dryly, opting not to mention the Parental Unit drama because he’s probably just as sick of it as I am.

  I already told Nate what happened with Skittles…minus the fifty-dollar part. I don’t need my best friend giving me shit for the rest of my life. He’d probably put it on my gravestone.

  “Snickers is better,” he says. “It’s got peanuts.”

  “Unlike you, I don’t date nuts.”

  “You should. They’re crazy in bed.”

  “So is Skittles. She screamed like Chewbacca getting his legs waxed.”

  Nate laughs. “You sure they weren’t screams of disappointment?”

  “She was sleeping with me, not you.” But my heart isn’t in the banter. I down my drink. The liquor heats my insides…and the irritation simmering in my gut. TJ said he’d find the girl for me. I’m entitled to a follow-up.

  I stand up and pull out my phone to text him. But before I can send anything, someone with arms like a squid wraps herself around me.

  “Court!”

  Ah, crap. You can’t mistake that voice—it’s perkier than a chipmunk on helium. Freakin’ Tiffany. My ex, whom I parted with amicably, not because I like her, but because I didn’t want to deal with the neediness and drama that would’ve ensued otherwise.

  I turn and see the bottle-red hair, the stylish handbag. “I got a second interview with Blackwood Energy!” she squeals. “I’m going out there next week for it!”

  “Great!” I say with a fake smile. Maybe she’ll fetch coffee for Dad and leave me alone.

  “I told your dad I was a really close friend of yours, and he was so nice to me.”

  Ugh. I need another drink.

  “He asked me about you! I swear, he said he’d love to hire me to be your assistant. Wouldn’t that be cool?” Her eyes are entirely too shiny. She even flutters her eyelashes.

  “It would, but I won’t be there, so maybe you should look for another position.”

  “But why, Court? It’ll be great. You can work for your daddy, and I can work for you. You know how hard it is to get a job?”

  “I can guess.” She’s proof that God is fair. He gave her the body of Jezebel after a stupendous boob job and the intellect of a lobotomized amoeba. I can see why Dad thought she could tempt me, but it’s not going to work. The girl can’t even sneeze without someone’s help, and she treats me like a black AmEx card.

  “I gotta go,” I say, and walk away, not caring that I’m being rude. I no longer have any patience for people who only want to use me.

  Outside, I text TJ, demanding to know Skittles’ real name.

  A few minutes later, he replies. Forget her.

  Excuse you, TJ, but I didn’t ask you to advise me on my personal life. Why? I pause for a second, then add, You couldn’t figure out who she is?

  Of course I did. His text is practically pulsing with wounded ego. She’s not worth it.

  He thinks that because he’s never slept with her. Or felt the buoyant happiness she inspired. Her name, man. Come on. You promised. I’ve been a great, loyal bro to Tony, remember?

  Curry Snyder.<
br />
  Curry Snyder? It almost makes me laugh. No wonder she didn’t want to tell me her name.

  Another text arrives. Ducking autocorrect. Curri. Then another. CURIE. Curie Snyder. But seriously, forget her.

  Why?

  She’s getting married tomorrow.

  Everything inside me slams to a stop, like a locomotive crashing into a mountainside. Where? I manage to text, despite shaking fingers.

  Maui.

  To an ugly guy who propositioned her parents? The movie Indecent Proposal had something similar. Well, it was an old dude offering a million bucks to sleep with a young married woman in that flick, but still. Some old fart could’ve done the same to her parents. Stuff like that probably still happens.

  Is she being forced? I text.

  Forced? She’s marrying her high school sweetheart.

  Is this some kind of cosmic joke? Her high school sweetheart? My lurid Indecent Proposal fantasy shatters. No way this can be right.

  Screw texting. I call TJ. “Hey. You sure about all this?”

  “Of course I’m sure. She paid for the drinks with her credit card. Her groom’s name is Joe Washington. Good, all-American boy.”

  What the fuck? “Then why the hell did she sleep with me?”

  “You asking me? Didn’t your fancy professors teach you anything in your gender studies class?”

  “Who remembers any of that shit after they graduate?” I clench my hair, then cut the connection, my mind churning.

  TJ’s right. I should let her go. But…

  I feel like I was holding a rainbow in my grasp, only to have somebody snatch it away.

  Okay, forget the sex. What I want most from her is that sense of peace and happiness. There’s no way this Joe guy is going to take that—take her—from me. If he were her true love, she wouldn’t have danced with me that way or slept with me.

  “Hey, you all right?” Nate has appeared, and places a hand on my shoulder.

  I unclench my hair and run my fingers through it. “Not really. But I need to borrow your plane.” I might be set to inherit a billion dollars in another week, but that doesn’t mean I have a private jet lying around, ready to just take off whenever.

  He stares. “The Learjet?”