“This is a terrible idea, mark my words. I will not come to your funeral when he finds out what we’ve done,” Yasmine says.
“I wouldn’t blame you. After this, I’m going to owe you my firstborn child,” I answer.
“Gross,” she says. “I don’t want children. I want vacations. Preferably to Caribbean locations with fruity drinks and men who will rub oil all over my body.”
“Done,” I answer. “Bahamas coming your way as soon as all this blows over. You’ll have to find the men on your own. I have a feeling I’ll be sick of them.”
“Have I told you lately that I hate you?”
“Love you too, Yas. Now, you remember the plan?”
“You mean the one where I practically kidnap your sister so you can abscond with her jerkhole husband? How could I forget?”
“All you have to do is get her far enough away from the church so she can’t come back and interrupt until it’s over.”
“You better hope she can’t fight, because the last thing I want is a shiner to match yours.”
“About an hour should do it. From what the wedding planner has explained to Father, it’s going to be a quick and simple ceremony. I bribed the priest to change my name on the marriage certificate and during the vows, so unless O’Connor kills me or someone objects, that should be enough time to get it all done.”
“You don’t think he or your father will object?”
I’d thought long and hard about this, and I’m betting my life and my sister’s happiness on O’Connor’s interest and my father’s obsession with optics that they’ll keep their mouths shut. I’m not saying my father won’t try to beat the life out of me after, but that’s future Catriona’s problem. My current priority is making sure Elizabeth is as far away as possible.
“I don’t think either of them will want to make a scene. Or at least, that’s what I’m counting on.” Then I change the subject before I lose my nerve. “How does it look?”
We congregate in front of the mirror, and I turn from side to side. I hadn’t had the chance to go dress shopping, so I resorted to wearing my mother’s. Thankfully, we must have been the same size when she married my father, because the fit isn’t too bad. I have more boobs, and it’s not quite my style, but it almost feels fitting to wear her dress today. Like she’ll be with me when I attempt to pull this off. Father may notice, but if so, it’ll be too late for him to interfere. Is it terrible that I’m looking forward to it?
“Like you’re making the biggest mistake of your life,” Yasmine deadpans.
Rolling my eyes, I turn away from the mirror and ignore the burn that rises in my throat. “Probably. Let’s get this over with before I lose my nerve.”
I wait in my room, staring down through a window as Yasmine strides out to pick up Elizabeth and the wedding planner. Father is already at the church keeping a close eye on things. The car door closes behind her, and soon, she’s swallowed up by traffic in the distance. There’s no going back. No changing our fates now that I’ve set these plans in motion. Elizabeth has told me time and again not to interfere, that she is fine with going through with it. No doubt when she realizes Yasmine is taking her in the wrong direction, she’ll be pissed.
Am I willing to sacrifice my relationship with her at the altar of my plans? The sister I’d like to be would say no. I’d never want to see her hurt. But the person I am, the one fueled by justice and revenge, doesn’t care who gets hurt. Her. Father. O’Connor. No one is safe.
Not when dread and a twisted sense of anticipation are unspooling in my stomach at the thought of what I’m planning to do next.
My phone rings as I’m pulling into the church, and, afraid it’s Yasmine with an emergency, I answer it without looking at the screen. “Hello? Is everything okay?”
“Miss Catriona, it’s Leo Broussard. I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time.”
You could say that, I think, and almost dissolve into hysterical giggles. Moving into the church via the back door so no one can see me, I say, “No, of course not. Do you have news?”
“Yes, I was able to identify the last number from your mother’s call records. The one you weren’t familiar with.”
I stop in a dark hallway, heart thundering, stomach protesting my light breakfast violently. “You did? Who—” My voice cuts out. I clear my throat. “Who was it?”
“A Mr. Devin Franklin. I assume you’re familiar.”
Devin Franklin? “My father’s head of security?” I don’t know who I was expecting, but that was not it. “Why would he be calling her?”
“That I can’t tell you. But he did phone her several times the day of her death. According to the police report, which I’ll forward as soon as I’m done, he says it was regarding security for upcoming events.”
I start moving again, feeling the ticking of a clock in my veins. I only have a few minutes before I need to be in place so this all goes off without a hitch. “That’s strange. But it doesn’t seem out of the realm of possibility. I don’t think my father evermentioned it. Wait, wouldn’t I have recognized his number? I have it saved in my phone.”
“It was his personal cell phone number. I imagine you have his work contact saved.”
Why would Devin Franklin be calling my mother from his personal number?
