Stealing the Bride

by Lee, Nadia

But when I open the door, Skittles walks in. Just the sight of her creates such warmth that pure pleasure washes over me, erasing everything from my mind except light happiness. My bliss vanishes in a nanosecond as I notice she’s not glowing. On the contrary: she’s looking tense and pensive.

  Which, with Skittles, is the equivalent of a normal woman sobbing.

  What the hell happened? “You’re back early,” I say, and give her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Everything okay?” I whisper.

  “Yeah,” she says. The smile she gives me is about ten percent of its normal wattage.

  I want to drag her away and ask her what’s wrong, but I feel the intensely curious gaze of my family and friends. I’m not going to get any private time with her until I introduce her to everyone first.

  I steer her to the center of the room, then gesture with a flourish.

  “Everyone, meet Pascal. Pascal, that’s my brother Tony and his wife Ivy. That’s Yuna, who is Ivy’s best friend and, uh, soul sister.”

  Skittles blinks. “Soul sister?”

  “It’s like a soul mate, except it’s a sister,” Yuna explains cheerfully.

  “Oh.”

  “And that’s my best friend, Nate.” Over her head, I mouth, If you embarrass me, you die.

  If Nate sees it, he doesn’t react. He just smiles and shakes hands with Skittles. Tony, having spent most of his childhood in Europe, stands, puts his hands on her shoulders and air-kisses her on both cheeks. Nate looks slightly wistful, as though he should’ve thought of that.

  “So good to finally meet you,” Tony says.

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Nate says. “I hope he didn’t mess things up too badly at the wedding. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let him take my jet.”

  Yeah, yeah, give me shit because I grabbed a twin I didn’t know about. Bastard.

  “It’s okay,” she says with a warm smile.

  Ivy and Yuna hug her. “I’m so excited to meet you, Pascal,” Ivy says. “That’s such a unique and cool name.”

  “And you’re gorgeous.” Yuna gives Skittles a once-over. “That hair! I wish I had your color.”

  Skittles blushes, looking utterly cute. “Your hair’s gorgeous, too. I always wanted straight hair.”

  “It’s boring.” Yuna pouts for a moment, looking down at her long mane balefully. “Court said you were having dinner with your family.”

  “Change of plans.” The smile Skittles gives is weak.

  Okay, I’ve waited long enough. “Let me show her the pizza place’s menu, in case she doesn’t like what we got.”

  Before anybody can object, I steer her to the kitchen so we can talk.

  “Are you all right?” I ask, keeping my voice low. Tony isn’t overly nosy, but the rest? I suppress a shudder.

  “Well. Yes and no.”

  I search her face, hating that I wasn’t there to shield her. “Did you have a hard time with your dad?”

  “It wasn’t that bad,” she says. “Everyone else was very supportive.” Her face is composed, but I catch the small tremor of her chin, the brief breaking of eye contact. “He really meant everything he said on Monday.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Fucking Steve. I despise him for being such an asshole, and crushing my feeble hope that he was just off his meds on Monday.

  “It’s okay. I didn’t expect him to change his mind or anything.” But the small voice says she’s feeling disappointed anyway.

  “Hey, Court,” Nate yells from the living room. “Stop trying to sell her some fake story you can tell us. We all know what she really thinks about your performance. One lonesome fifty-dollar bill.”

  What the fuck?

  Skittles looks at me questioningly.

  How the hell did he find out about the fifty bucks? I look around the room. Tony, my darling brother, seems to be inordinately interested in the ceiling.

  “You bastard,” I say.

  Tony laughs. Ivy shakes her head at him, while Yuna gives Nate a dirty look. “Oh, nice,” she says. “Now you’re making her embarrassed.”

  “What she got to be embarrassed about?” Tony asks. “It’s really about Court, not her.”

  Skittles is taking a moment to process. Finally she whispers, “They know about the money?”

  “Well, yeah. They also know the spectacle I made in Hawaii.”

  Holding my breath, I wait. Some women are sensitive about these types of things. But Skittles nods with a self-deprecating smile. “The fifty dollars,” she announces to the room, “was all the money I had on me at the time. And it was for the first kiss.”

  There is a chorus of “oohs” from the room, and Yuna claps lightly. Skittles turns back to me. “Let ’em laugh all they want. That fifty dollars brought you to me.”

  With a smile, she links her fingers with mine. The same warmth I felt when I first saw her swells like one of those huge, colorful hot-air balloons, filling me until I can barely breathe.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Court

  After a particularly late and leisurely brunch, I watch as Skittles sighs on the other side of the dining table. It’s not because she’s replete. She’s checking her emails and texts, something she’s been doing frequently over since her aborted dinner with her family.

  Although she puts on a cheery face, I know she’s worried about her job situation. She hasn’t had a single interview in the more than two weeks since she walked out of SFG. I don’t understand why, though. She’s brilliant. She asked me to review her résumé last week, and I didn’t see anything that jumped out as a red flag.

  Unlike her, I’m avoiding my phone as much as I can. Dad’s roid-raging pit bulls—I mean lawyers—have been hounding me for days now. Apparently, they really need to talk to me. About what, who the hell knows? But there’s no way it can be anything pleasant. They’re lawyers for a reason.

  As I make my way to the kitchen for another coffee, the concierge calls to let me know a personal courier has arrived for me. I let the guy up, although I’m not sure who would be sending me something. Dad isn’t the type to mail anything, except for birthdays and Christmas. Hopefully it’s not Mom. She’s been quiet since the last hospitalization drama, and I’m hoping things stay that way. I don’t have the patience to deal with her issues at the moment. Her manipulative ways are just becoming too much.

  She’s your mom.

  Yeah, no kidding. That hasn’t changed, and never will. But somehow that fact only serves to upset me. My gaze slides toward Skittles, now working on her laptop. Look at her. She’s working her ass off to be somebody on her own. Even though she’s becoming more anxious, and she knows who I am and the kind of influence I can exert on her behalf, she’s never even hinted.

  The package turns out to be a registered letter. I sign for it and immediately rip it open, walking toward the kitchen to toss the envelope. It’s from Percival Langois, one of Dad’s lawyers. The letter inside makes my blood boil.

  Dear Mr. Harcourt Blackwood,

  This is our final attempt to reach out to you. Your father, Tulane Blackwood, is increasingly disappointed with your irresponsible behavior and attitude toward the family legacy. He understands you are currently involved with Pascal Snyder, and that she is seeking employment. Blackwood Energy is more than happy to make an offer and relocate both of you to Tempérane.

  I happen to be in Los Angeles this week, and would be delighted to talk with you at any time today or tomorrow, whenever is convenient for you. All you have to do is just respond to my text from earlier this week…

  He happens to be in Los Angeles. Does he think I’m an idiot? I stop reading, too pissed off to continue. Does Dad really think my refusal to go to Tempérane is about Skittles? Or her employment situation?

  I clench my fist. The sound of the envelope crumpling gets Skittles’ attention. “What’s that? Bad news?”

  “Motivation for patricide.”

  “What?” She lets out a little laugh. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”
>
  She doesn’t understand how complicated things are. When Dad’s hands-off, he can be overly so, even when he knows things are total mess. But when he decides to get hands-on, you might as well try to stop a determined bulldozer.

  Personal courier delivery or not, I would normally ignore the letter. But Dad’s dragging Skittles into the family issues, and that’s unacceptable. Besides, I don’t know how far he’ll go to get what he wants. My parents don’t always understand the concept of limits. So it’s time I set some explicit boundaries.

  I check my texts and see the one yesterday from Percy, asking me to meet him for dinner today. Bastard. Since I’m feeling less than agreeable, I text back, Lunch would be better.

  Capital idea, he responds. Palpable relief comes through the bright electric pixels. What time and where?

  I say twelve thirty and La Mer if he can swing a reservation, laughing to myself all the while. Setting up an orgy between Romulans and Vulcans would be easier than getting a table at La Mer at the last minute.

  A few minutes later, he replies, Done. See you then.

  I stare at the letters. How the hell did he manage that? Not even Nate, who’s related to La Mer’s owner by marriage, can do that. Then I narrow my eyes. I bet he made a reservation at every top restaurant in the city, just in case. That’d be just like him, because he loathes disappointing his clients. Although if there were any justice, Percy the barracuda would be zapped by lightning every time he set foot into a restaurant fancier than Panda Express.

  Skittles’ phone beeps. She lunges for it, stares at it for a second, then visibly deflates. “It’s Curie. She wants to know if we can have lunch together today.” She sighs and collapses onto the couch, her head thrown back.

  “You don’t want to go?” I thought Curie and she were still tight. Or did I screw things up for them when I threw Curie over my shoulder in Maui?

  “I do, but… I’m just being a bad sister. I should be happy to see her, but I just wish it were…” She closes her eyes. “Nothing.”

  I know exactly what she means. She’s been struggling since she left SFG, even though she’s trying to hide it. Curie, on the other hand, is doing fine posting fluff on Instagram. I’ve seen her posts, and she gets paid to mention products and whatnot. Tight or not, it can’t be an emotionally comfortable place to be. I give her a hug. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. You only need one interview to go well.”

  “Yeah.” She smiles, but it’s hollow and forced. “Want to come? She’s inviting us both.”

  It’s excruciatingly tempting to cancel on Percy, but I want to make my position on Skittles clear as soon as possible. “I’d love to, but I have a meeting.”

  “Okay. I’ll let her know.”

  I’d rather be stuck in an elevator with a platoon of flatulent Klingons, but I make myself presentable and drive over to La Mer while Skittles goes to see her sister. Although I’ve been here before, the place still impresses me with its gorgeous aquarium walls and partitions.

  I should bring Skittles here on a date. She’d enjoy it. We should also have a mimosa brunch at Éternité. As a matter of fact, we should hit every nice restaurant in the city just because she’ll love it. It’ll also be ten million times more pleasant than what’s to come.

  Percy is already seated, dressed in a gray three-piece suit. Some of the people in Tempérane say his slicked-back black hair and mustache make him look like Clark Gable. I have to agree, especially with his tanned complexion. He grins, showing teeth white enough to blind.

  “Court! How are ya?” He’s full of Southern bonhomie as he stands to shake my hand.

  “Good.” Would be doing great if you hadn’t bothered me on my dad’s behalf. “You been waiting long?”

  “Nah. Have a seat.” He gestures, then sits opposite me.

  I notice the half-empty tumbler of bourbon. Percy loves good liquor. Especially when he thinks he’s won. Guess it’s up to me to show him the celebration is premature.

  A server comes over to take our order. Nate told me once never to get the day’s special, because it tends to be stuff the chef’s trying to get rid of. But that’s exactly what I’m going to do, since I’m not really here to eat and don’t want to bother with the menu. Percy obviously shares the sentiment, because he requests whatever I’m having without glancing at the menu himself.

  “How much is my dad paying you to hound me?” I ask the second our server vanishes.

  “The firm’s on retainer.” Percy smiles. “I’m doing this for your sake, not a billable rate.”

  “Riiight. How stupid do you think I am?”

  “You aren’t stupid, son, but here’s the problem. You have no direction,” Percy says smoothly.

  I snort. “I don’t need Dad to give me direction.”

  “Is that a fact?” He takes a slug of the bourbon. “You got yourself a job?”

  “Nope. Want to know why?”

  “Do tell.”

  “I don’t have to. I don’t need to work to put food on the table or make ends meet. Don’t need to rush to grab some vanishing opportunity. I can take my time, explore my options—find something that really turns me on and is worth my time and energy.” This is going to go straight to my father’s ears, thanks to Percy. But I’m not just saying it to annoy them. If money doesn’t give you the flexibility to explore your own life, what’s the point?

  Percy looks at me pityingly. “Like that girl? She turn you on? Worth your time?”

  I tense, annoyed he’s bringing Skittles up again. “Is this some kind of threat?”

  Percy’s eyebrows twitch. “Threat?”

  “I’m not going in blind like Tony.” Cold shivers run through me at the memory of what happened to him—how they hurt Ivy to get to him. “He only got fucked over because he didn’t think the family would stoop so low.”

  “Margot, son. Not your family.” His voice cools.

  If he believes that, he’s an idiot. And Percy is no moron. “Dad was complicit.”

  “He was no such thing.” His tone is suddenly all lawyer.

  “He looked the other way.”

  “And is currently rectifying his mistake.”

  “A divorce? That’s rectifying his mistake? Seriously?”

  Percy sighs as though he’s tired of dealing with an unreasonable child. “It isn’t like you to be getting all worked up over a girl. You didn’t care much about Tiffany, although she’s a delightful young lady.”

  His tone says Skittles can’t be that good of a lay, and it raises my hackles. “Fuck off.”

  “Ain’t about me fucking off.” He flicks invisible lint from his suit. “Your father’s very much aware of your current infatuation. He’s ready to offer her a job and pay to relocate her if that’ll help.”

  Anger explodes inside me like a fireball, followed by icy fear. I cling to the anger because it’s more useful, although the idea that Dad might do something to hurt her, the way Mom did to Ivy, is terrifying. Percy is talking all smooth, doing his Mr. Teflon thing, but there’s no way I’m taking anything he says at face value. “You and Dad both stay away from her. She’s not a pawn. If he thinks I’m embarrassing now, imagine what it would be like if I really put my mind to it.” I give him a nasty smile. “I’ll make him wish I was never born.”

  Surprise flashes in his dark eyes. He knows how messy things are, although he wasn’t there when Mom basically said I was just a stand-in for Tony and our dead sister Katherine. He doesn’t know Mom would’ve been more than happy to sacrifice me if it would have meant getting Katherine back.

  “Harcourt,” Percy begins. “Your parents—” He swallows the rest when our server appears with our entrées.

  I toss the napkin on the table and stand. “I’ve lost my appetite. You can pick up the tab and bill my dad for it.”

  “He loves you, you know,” Percy says.

  A bitter smile twists my tightly pressed mouth. When my parents say they love someone, it comes with more fine print than a box of anxiet
y meds. It’s just that other people don’t realize that. How easy it is to speak of love, especially when it makes you look good. Why, I can do the same. After all, all good sons do, don’t they?

  I shoot Percy a thin smile. “I love him too. You should let my dad know that as a token of your resounding success.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Pascal

  I spot Curie at our favorite pizza joint. Normally we would’ve seen each other at some point since the dinner, but she’s been very busy. The price she has to pay for such a long honeymoon.

  She looks fabulous, as always. A huge grin, bright eyes. I swear she’s glowing like love is radioactive. The diamond ring and plain wedding band glitter on her finger as she waves from the table.

  “Wow. This feels so weird,” she says when I sit opposite her. “You never have a real lunch break during the week.”

  “I know. The benefits of unemployment, right?” I force a smile.

  She peers at me. “Did you get any callbacks, interviews…?”

  I squirm. “Nothing yet, but hopefully soon.”

  “That’s just weird. You have a lot of experience, and you graduated from a fabulous university. I don’t understand how you wouldn’t have an offer by now. Or at least a few interviews.”

  “Yeah. Me either.” Although Dad said something about how hard it was to get a job. The market isn’t that bad. I wonder briefly if I’m wrong about Dad. Has he been calling around, blocking my attempts to get a new job?

  “Are you applying to places in other cities?”

  “No. I’m sticking to L.A. so far. Don’t want to move if I can help it.” My family’s here, my friends are here. And so is Court. I hate the idea of leaving everything and everyone behind. But at the rate things are going, I wonder if I need to expand my horizons.

  “You could always come home for Thanksgiving and Christmas,” Curie says, as though she understands exactly why I’m hesitating.

  “Maybe. But I don’t want to think about that right now. It hasn’t even been full three weeks yet.” I muster up a brave front, doing my best to hide my unease. But it really is odd that I haven’t received any responses, even from the contacts I made in college. “So how are things with you and Joe? Got the new place already?”