Madison looks confused. “Why? You’re supposed to walk with the best man.”
Rochelle’s eyes dart to me, then away. “I just... I think you’d look better with him. Height difference and all.”
A laugh huffs out of me before I can stop it. Height difference. Right. Because that’s definitely what has her spooked.
Cal catches the exchange and grins, that easy charm sliding into place like armor. “What’s the problem, ladies? Silas doesn’t bite. Much.”
“Cal,” Jace warns without looking up from his clipboard.
“Unless you ask nicely,” Cal continues, because he’s never met a situation he couldn’t make worse with his mouth.
Rochelle’s face goes pale, then red. She turns those wide brown eyes on Cal, probably hoping her practiced helpless-female routine will work on him. “Maybe you could switch with him? Just this once?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I’m on usher duty. Very important job, seating grandmothers and maiden aunts.” Cal’s grin widens. “Besides, Silas is perfectly harmless.”
Liar.
I’m about to tell them all to sort their shit out when footsteps click against marble to my right. I follow Cal’s eyeline, and there she is.
Fuck.
The air leaves my lungs like I’ve been sucker-punched.
Parker looks beautiful. Has always been beautiful. But standing there in emerald silk that hugs every curve I’ve memorized and tried to forget, her auburn hair swept up to expose the elegant line of her neck, she’s devastating. The makeup is flawless—professionally done, designed to photograph well—but I prefer her without it. Prefer the freckles across her nose, the way shebites her bottom lip when she’s thinking, the natural flush that spreads across her cheeks when she’s angry or aroused.
Right now, though, she could kill me, and I’d thank her for every second.
“Is there a problem?” Her voice cuts through the nervous chatter, sweet as honey with an edge sharp enough to draw blood.
Rochelle straightens, probably thinking she’s found an ally. “Oh, Parker, thank God. Maybe you could help me explain that I’m just trying to be practical here?—”
“Practical.” Parker’s smile doesn’t waver, but something dangerous flickers in her sea-glass eyes. “Is that what we’re calling this little display?”
The words land like a physical blow. Rochelle’s perfectly glossed mouth falls open.
“I mean, let’s be honest about what this is,” Parker continues, voice still pleasant, still smiling that razor-sharp smile. “You’re too self-important to put your ego aside for five minutes. Too weak to even pretend to be a good person when it matters.”
“I am a good person,” Rochelle snaps, color flooding her cheeks. “Which is why I think?—”
“A good person,” Parker cuts in, voice dropping to something silky and dangerous, “wouldn’t be scared of someone like Silas. A good person wouldn’t judge a man based on whispered rumors and half-understood reputations.” She steps closer, and I can see the exact moment Rochelle realizes she’s outmatched. “But then again, you don’t actually know him, do you? You just know whatother people say. You just scream someone who gets their daily news from 'for you'pages.”
Rochelle’s mouth opens and closes like a fish drowning in air.
“So really,” Parker continues, tilting her head with mock sympathy, “you’re not the maid of honor at all, are you?”
The entire wedding party has gone silent now, watching this verbal evisceration with the kind of horrified fascination usually reserved for car accidents.
Parker turns, finds me still leaning against the pillar, and calls out across the space. “Silas.”
Her voice does things to me that it shouldn’t. Things I’ve spent years pretending not to notice.
I push off the marble and walk toward her, aware that half the wedding party is watching this little drama unfold. She extends her arm when I reach her, silk gloves smooth against my sleeve as I link our arms.
Then she winks. Actually winks, with a smirk that promises trouble and makes my pulse kick like I’m sixteen again and she’s just suggested something that’ll probably get us both grounded.
“Problem solved,” she says, loud enough for the others to hear, then drops her voice to something only I can catch.
Parker Carter has never been afraid of me, not even when she probably should have been. Not when we were kids, and I was already showing signs of what I’d become. Not when we were teenagers, and I was learning what I was good at, what I enjoyed doing to people who crossed the wrong lines.
