An hour later, the dance floor is hopping with drunken couples dirty dancing. The goth band I hired is rocking it out onstage, and the crowd is loving it. If I’d wanted the actual wedding to be a success, I could be slapping myself on the back right now for a job well done. But I’m too wound up to celebrate. We were banking on Father and his cronies leaving the room at some point so we could sneak out to his office to snoop, but he hasn’t moved from the room all night.
“Please, Kaiden.” Giselle’s whiny voice bores through my brain. “I really want to dance.”
“For the last fucking time, I don’t dance,” Kai snaps.
“I’ll dance with you,” Trent says, sidling up alongside her.
She considers it for all of five seconds before ditching Kai for his arch nemesis. Drew snorts as we watch them make their way to the dancefloor, disappearing into the middle of the crowd. “Doesn’t your cousin have any sense of self-worth?” he asks a bored-looking Alessandra.
“About as much as your sister,” she retorts, giving him the evil eye.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Drew pins her with a sharp look.
“It means Goth Barbie has bitten off more than she can chew.”
“Christian,” Drew bellows. “Alessandra was just mentioning how much she’d love to dance with you.”
Christian’s lips tug up on one side. “Well, I’d hate to disappoint such a pretty lady.” He stands, rounding the table and extending his hand toward my brother’s fiancée.
Alessandra’s smile is pinched as she rises, looping her arm through Christian’s. She shoots daggers at Drew as they walk off.
“Poor Drew,” Charlie whispers in my ear. “She’s a fucking weapon.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Michael,” Rick shouts over the music. “Surely, you’re not going to leave Isabella wanting?” He smirks at his date. “She hasn’t been flirting relentlessly with you all night to leave without at least one dance?”
Isabella and Patrice both glower at Rick, and I fight a lip twitch.
Father stands, grinning at Isabella, with dark eyes full of nefarious intent. “I can assure you,” he says, eyeballing Alessandra’s sister. “You will have the pleasure of my company in due course, but right now, I think it’s time I took my daughter for a spin on the dance floor.” He infuses his fake tone with light laughter, but no one is buying it. Kai stiffens, and Drew clamps a hand on his leg in warning.
“Charles.” Father approaches, tapping him on the shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us.” He extends his hand to me, and I almost puke my dinner up all over myself.
Charlie drags a hand through his hair, slanting alarmed eyes at me. I know he wants to tell him to fuck off, but he can’t.
A father asking his daughter to dance at her wedding party is not unusual.
Unless your father is a fucking psychopath named Michael Hearst.
Then anyone would understand wanting to run for the hills and hide.
But we don’t have options here.
“Some time this century—if you don’t mind,” the bastard drawls, barely concealing his annoyance. Patience has never been his strong suit.
I stretch up to kiss Charlie, discreetly pressing the communication chip to activate it. “Interrupt us after one dance.”
He nods. “Be careful.”
I walk ahead of my father, out to the edge of the dance floor, where we are in full view. But he grabs my wrist, subtly twisting it as he guides me through the middle of the crowd and over to the other side, where it’s darker and less packed. He nods at some man as we pass, and a shiver works its way through me with the way he’s leering at me. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Chad steering some girl out onto the dance floor beside us. My heart rate calms a smidgeon. But only a smidgeon.
Father yanks me in close, holding one of my hands up while placing his other hand way too low on my back. I’m forced to loosely hold onto his waist, and touching him, even over his clothes, breaks me out in hives.
We dance awkwardly for a few beats. It seems dancing, as well as sports, is not in his repertoire. He stands on my toes, several times, but I know better than to complain. Little beads of sweat roll down my back the longer we dance, and he makes no attempt to strike up a conversation. His eyes pierce mine before dropping to my cleavage. Bile swims up my throat as he looks down the front of my dress, and I curse myself for not getting the neckline adjusted. The hand on my back edges lower, and my heart is banging against my rib cage in fear.
My eyes dart to Chad’s, and his dark frown tells me he notices.
“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing tonight,” the bastard says, finally speaking, “but you aren’t fooling me with this charade.”
