Bitch.
I turn and look at Bolton. He moves like a wraith to Eleanor’s side. I nod once. “See her out, Bolton.”
She stumbles as he forces her to walk through the front door. Eleanor cries out, a sound torn from her throat—half pleading, half accusation—stammering and nonsensical under the weight of what she suspects I’ve done.
As for me, I remain unmoved, suit impeccable, resolve absolute. After she is out of sight, her protests nothing more than a drifting breeze, I face the boutique, addressing the showroom staff with smooth, charming apathy. “Pardon the disturbance. She’s simply lost control of her emotions.”
I’d wished to wait until after the wedding, but she has shown herself to be a fucking pebble in my leather shoes. So tonight, after this very public emotional breakdown, she’ll find peace at the bottom of a jar of pills. With her messy house, piles of fast-food containers, hauntingly crisp children’s rooms, and backyard graves, her suicide will come as no surprise and summon very few questions.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
fawn
Exhaling hard,I ready myself for the thundering presence of Clay Butcher. I hear his footsteps approaching. Hugging myself, I stare at floor-to-ceiling mirrors framing my trembling reflection.
My eyelids flutter shut, bracing for the heat of his disappointment. The weight of his gaze would be too much to bear, so I hide behind closed eyes, as if darkness might shield me from it.
“Jasmine, take my sons and wait outside,” he orders.
I hear Jasmine leaving. “Yes, Boss.”
Don’t look.
“You’re angry with me?” I squeak, eyes still squeezed shut.
“Open your eyes, little deer.” He cups my face, cradling me with that gentle dominance laced with understanding and warmth.
Oh, Sir.
With a sigh, I flutter my eyelids open to his blue gaze full of concern and… regret.
“When did I miss this?” he rasps, each word rough with remorse, and deep with severity.
“Miss what, Sir?” My throat tightens.
“This—” He sighs roughly. “I am not fulfilling something for you, sweet girl. It pains me. Distracts me. I was in the middle of a meeting with some unkempt new colleagues of mine when I received the text. Why? Tell me how I failed?”
“You haven’t failed.”
“I have, little deer.” Dipping his huge six-foot-five frame down, he kisses my nose. “You’re too sweet to admit that I have missed something. A need. Deeper than simply fun or friendship, what is it?”
“Just… since I saw her, then the letter…” I throw my arms outwards, huffing. “It’s not like I have people from my past lining up to be a part of my new life. She was there. I went against my better judgement. I’m a silly little girl.”
“No, you’re not silly.” He pulls me into his chest, wrapping me in long, powerful arms, inundating me in his masculine scent—cigars and whiskey.
For a moment, I see my stepmother’s eyes. As I consider that expression, how it guts me, more eyes appear. Nicer ones, like HJ’s when he saw the dress, and Jasmine’s while she shovelled honey-nuts into her mouth, a fist at a time, and Clay Butcher’s right now, gazing down on me. I don’t need a mother. I don’t need someone on the bride’s side.
Not really.
While I was looking backwards, at my past, I missed what was right in front of me. I don’t want to miss what is right here, not ever, not when it issowonderful. “I don’t need a mum to approve of my dress—” I gasp when I remember I’minmy wedding dress, even though it’s mostly covered by the robe. “Sir!” My eyes widen. “I’m in my dress. It’s bad luck.”
“Christ.”He chuckles deeply. “Of course it is.”
“Oh.” I playfully shove him. “Don’t mock.”
He lifts a single brow.
I just playfully shoved Sir…
