It’s going to be a freaking long night.
“You’ll ruin her makeup,” Drew deadpans, effectively breaking Charlie out of whatever lust-fueled fantasy he’s in.
Charlie straightens us up, pulling his lips from mine. “Fuck.” He stares at my lips, and I’m guessing my red lipstick is smeared halfway across my face. Taking my purse from Drew, I open my mirror and do a quick repair job.
“We can’t let any of them near her,” Charlie says, his voice laced with concern.
I close my compact, sealing it in my purse.
“Agreed.” Drew nods. His plan to worm his way back into Charlie’s good books hasn’t happened because Charlie is always working and there has been little opportunity for them to spend time together. Drew has purposely hung around the house after visiting me, to catch Charlie for a few minutes, but things are still strained between them. Except when it comes to my safety, where they are always on the same page.
Drew looks down at me. “You stay with me or Charlie at all times.”
“I understand the situation I’m walking into. I’ll behave.” Charlie looks skeptical, and I can’t blame him with my track record. I lace my fingers through his. “I don’t want any of those assholes touching me, so trust me, I’ll be sticking to your side like glue.”
He leans down, pressing a feather-soft kiss to my lips. “Thank you, darling. I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you.” He gently pulls me to him, careful to keep my face away from his chest so he doesn’t ruin my repair job.
Drew watches us, locking eyes with me, and I can tell what he’s thinking. He sees how much Charlie loves me. How it’s not even a hint of a lie. I swallow back bile, reminding myself of the things he’s done. It’s the only way I can hold the guilt at bay.
Chad pokes his head through the curtain. “Your father is about to lose his shit.” His eyes pop wide. “Holy fuck, Ab—”
“What the hell is the hold up?” my father hisses from somewhere behind Chad.
“Get rid of him,” I plead, because I want him to see me for the first time out in the room.
“They are ready, sir,” Chad says. “You can tell the orchestra to start.”
“He’s gone,” Chad whispers a second later. “See you out there.” He waggles his brows at me. “Fucking love the dress. You own it, girl.”
I blow him a kiss.
“He’s going to freak,” Charlie whispers in my ear. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”
“He wants me to be a part of this world, Charlie,” I say, peering up at him. “So, this is what he gets.”
“I respect you so much, Abby,” he says, and I barely manage to hide my snort of derision.
Yeah, he respects me so much he fucked someone else the night of our wedding.
What a load of bull.
Sad thing is, Charlie believes his own press.
“I’m sorry your mom isn’t here,” I say, squeezing his hand.
“I’m not.” A muscle clenches in his jaw. “She’s far too fragile, and I don’t want her surrounded by vultures.” He hurriedly composes himself as the music starts. “It’s better she’s not here.”
“It’s showtime,” Drew confirms, moving to the curtain. “I believe that’s your cue.” I nod, and Charlie loops my arm in his as we start walking. “Knock ‘em dead, little sis,” Drew whispers, and I cling to his words as the butterflies in my chest turn circles. Adrenaline courses through my veins as the announcer introduces us to the room.
I helped plan the setup, yet it’s still a visual assault on the senses as we round the bend, halting at the top of the room while everyone gets to their feet, clapping. The walls have been covered with sheer red drapes, and the bulbs in the chandeliers have been replaced with red-tinted ones. Circular tables, seating ten, are artfully arranged in the center of the room, around the rotating bar. Black silk tablecloths cover each table, and all the place settings are in red and gold except for the smattering of white rose petals tossed abstractly over the top. Tall rose bouquets, consisting of red and black roses, look darkly elegant as centerpieces.
The stage at the back of the room is also decked out in red and black silk drapes, and a row of candelabras in different sizes line the front of the area. Lighting has been deliberately turned down low at that side of the room, and the soft flickering of candles adds an eerie quality to the ambiance. A twelve-piece orchestra is playing my music of choice. A fantastic rendition of “All I Ask of You” fromThe Phantom of the Opera, complete with a male and a female singer who are nailing the powerful emotion of the piece. I’ve little doubt Father is seething as he listens to the words, especially when he locks eyes on me and all the blood drains from his face.
His eyes trail down my body, his lips pursing, and when he lifts his head back up, the look he gives me is so evil it sends shivers all over me. Gulping, I eyeball him, not backing down from the silent face-off. His eyes burn with quiet rage, and he pulls Patrice in closer to his side, digging his nails into her waist and doing little to disguise it.
Panic bubbles up my throat, but I force it back down.
I knew I’d get this reaction, so there’s no point freaking out about it now.
