Page 146 of Twisted Knight

It doesn’t matter, does it, Knight? She’s just a good lay for the time being. A way to twist the knife a little deeper.

Nothing fucking matters but the end game.

And yet still I stare. Still I wonder. Still I justify.

“They make a handsome couple, don’t they?”

I glance over to the woman who has just walked up and taken Rupert’s place beside me. She’s tall with blond hair and an imposing presence. Pearls around her neck, a French manicure on her nails, and a purse to her lips that says she uses it when she’s passing judgment on someone.

“I’m sorry. Who are you talking ab—” But I see exactly who she’s talking about when I follow her gaze back to where I had been looking moments before. Back to Rowan … and Chad, who is now standing beside her with puppy eyes and a pathetic smile.

He’s regaling the group with some animated story and every time he wants to add emphasis, his hand goes somewhere on Rowan. Her shoulder. The small of her back. Her arm.

It creates a visceral reaction from me that no matter how hard I try to ignore, it doesn’t go away.

Yeah. A good-looking couple if you’re into pretentious, sackless pricks.

“See, they take your breath away too,” she says and holds her hand out. “Florence Williams. So nice to formally meet, although I’ve already heard so much about you from my son.”

Ah yes. Of course. Chad’s mother.

I temper the sarcasm of the response I’d really like to give. “Nice to meet you.”

She offers me a warm, searching smile before turning back to watch the topic of conversation. “Their wedding is going to be the talk of the town, you know. She’ll be such a stunning bride in tulle and taffeta. And he’s always dashing in a tux.”

Tulle and taffeta? That’s the last thing I’d picture Rowan in. Not that I think of her in a wedding dress by any means.

“I wasn’t aware they were engaged.” The last word is like broken glass on my tongue. “Apparently I need to pay closer attention to my soon-to-be employees.”

She bats a hand at me and laughs the fakest fucking laugh I’ve ever heard. “No need to pay any closer attention to anything. Some things were just meant to be, you know. She and Chad have played cat and mouse since high school. They were even a thing way back when. First kiss, first … all that.”

I grit my teeth and exhale, slow and measured. There’s no fucking way she lost her virginity to him.

“I’m sure she’d be thrilled that you’re telling everyone her personal business.” I don’t hold back on the sarcasm this time.

“Oh honey, I’m going to be her mother-in-law. I get to say whatever I want. All of us go so far back we’re probably connected on some family tree somewhere.” She laughs like a hyena and bats my arm again. “Not really, but it feels like it.”

“Charming.” This woman is a nightmare. An absolute fucking nightmare.

“It is, isn’t it? The wedding’s planned.” She sucks heavily on her straw. “I mean, the flowers, the venue, the caterer, the colors—every single last detail. All we need is for Rowan to finish sowing her wild oats and come to her senses.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, yes. Chad is crushed every time she rejects him—but we understand it’s simply because she’s scared. Cold feet are a real thing. But the chief—”

“The chief?” The fucker.

“Yes, my husband. The chief of police of Westmore proper. Has been for over thirty years.” She wobbles her head on her shoulders like it’s something I should already know.

Don’t worry, Flo. I do know.

“Thirty years? No shit.”

“Yes, indeedy. Oh look,” she all but squeals as Chad does something I clearly don’t catch by the time I look back over at them. Maybe that’s a good thing. “See? They are perfect together.”

“Mmm.” Fucking perfect.

“I made a special request to the department to have a police salute caravan parade thingy for them on the ride from the church to the reception. And you know it’ll get approved.” She winks.