The exact opposite of every woman who’d be in attendance tonight. Especially the bride. I grinned, imagining Heather’s face if I strolled into her wedding with a beautiful woman like Aria on my arm.
Revenge wasn’t best served cold. It worked best when dripping with sex and superiority.
Maybe Clara had been on to something. Maybe—
No. Hell no.
Aria loathed my existence. And not even Clara held enough sway over her sister to get her to agree to be a wedding date.
Aria’s gaze turned toward my house. The wind caught a lock of her hair and blew it into her mouth, so she tugged it away.
There was no way for her to see through the mirrored glass, but the way she stared, the way her eyes narrowed, was like she could see me watching. She wordlessly scolded me for intruding on her time with Gus.
So I backed away from the window and retreated to my desk, where I spent a few hours returning emails and phone calls, watching the clock tick down. The pit of dread in my gut grew deeper by the minute.
Jesus, I hated my family.
My grandmother. My brother. My soon-to-be sister-in-law. I hated them all. I hated their friends. I hated their colleagues. I hated that tonight they’d see me alone. Vulnerable.
Because besides my paid employee, who else did I have?
When time ran out, I hurried through a shower, then donned my best tuxedo, the black Italian fibers having been tailored specifically for my frame. I knotted a solid black tie at my neck and fastened my diamond cufflinks. And with my Patek Philippe watch around my wrist, I snagged the Jaguar’s keys from the table beside the door and made my way to the driveway where my butler, Ron, had parked it this morning after having it detailed and waxed.
Stepping outside, I filled my lungs with the clear desert air. I wouldn’t get another fresh breath until I returned home. Las Vegas would stick to me like gum under a shoe, unwelcome and a damn mess to clean.
The cooler temperatures of Arizona suited me fine. In the summer, it was warm. In the fall, the nights cooled and made life bearable.
My shoes clicked on the concrete as I made my way toward the driveway. The weight of the keys in my palm kept my hand from shaking. The other, I tucked into a pocket.
One night.
All I had to do was make it through this one night. Then one more year, two weeks, and three days.
Before Thanksgiving of next year, I’d be a free man. No longer bound by the wishes of a dead man. Trapped by the whims of his wife.
I sucked in one more fortifying breath and rounded the corner, only to stop short at the sight of my car.
And the woman standing beside it.
She huffed. “It’s about damn time.”
Chapter Three
Aria
“Thanks for opening the door,” I deadpanned as Brody rounded the hood of his Jag. “Such a gentleman. Do you treat all your dates with such attention?”
“You’re not my date.”
“I didn’t get dressed up for nothing.” I motioned to the emerald gown Clara had conned me into earlier.
The dress was cut low in front, past my breastbone in a deep V. The back dipped beneath my shoulder blades. The satin clung to my torso before flaring out at the hips, billowing into a skirt that swished around my legs. For a woman who’d never had a prom, this dress was as fancy as I’d ever been.
Clara had taken one look and declared the dress had been made with me in mind. Then she’d watched me like a hawk from outside the bathroom, ensuring that I was doing my best primping work.
Her makeup stash had been properly raided and her curling iron thoroughly misused. My eyes were lined and my cheeks were rosy. My hair was curled and hung loosely down my back. She’d tucked a jeweled pin into one side, pulling a section away from my temple. The pin’s stones matched the gown’s color to perfection.
I’d spent more time on my appearance today than I had in the past year.
Brody shot me a look from over the top of the car, then he opened the driver’s side door.
“Seriously? You’re not even going to open my door.” I gripped the handle and yanked it open with too much force.
“No.” He shook his head. “You’re not going.”
“That gruff, bossy tone doesn’t work on me.” I gave him a saccharine smile. “I don’t work for you.”
“What did Clara tell you?”
I lifted a shoulder. “She begged me to be your date to some ostentatious wedding. She promised there’d be champagne. And she promised you’d be nice.”
“He will be nice!” Clara shouted as she walked down the driveway with August at her side. The shout made her dissolve into a fit of coughs.
“You should be resting,” Brody and I said at the same time.
I scowled at him, then turned it toward my sister. “Go inside.”
She waved me off, coughing as she neared the car. “I’m fine. August is going to take care of me after you guys leave. Isn’t that right, bud?”
His chest puffed up. “Yep. We’re ordering pizza for dinner.”
“Pizza,” I moaned. I loved pizza. “There’s no chance this wedding will be catered by Domino’s, is there?”
Clara giggled. “None.”
“Didn’t think I’d get lucky.”
“You can stay for pizza,” Brody said. “Because you’re not going.”
If the man didn’t want me along, fine. I wasn’t going to force it. I’d already done my best by showing up, dressed to perfection and wearing a pair of toe-pinching heels. What more could I do? I knew when I wasn’t welcome. And avoiding an evening with Brody was no hardship.
I opened my mouth, ready to accept defeat, but my beautiful, red-nosed and stuffed-up sister spoke first.
“She’s going.” Clara leveled her gaze on Brody. “Don’t be an idiot. You and I both know this is the best option. Besides, look at her.”
“What about me?” I dropped my gaze to my feet.
“You’re beautiful,” Brody admitted through clenched teeth. It sounded pained, like it was either admit that I looked good—because I looked good—or have a tooth pulled without anesthesia.
“Gee. Thanks.” I rolled my eyes.
“Heather will hate it.” Clara gave Brody an evil grin.
Who was Heather? My darling sister had skipped over some details in her rushed explanation as to why I was going. Because that gleam in her eyes was nothing more than petty spite.
I could get behind petty spite, as long as I knew who we were spiting.
Brody pondered her words, his jaw clenched and his stare impassive. “Shit.”
“Brody said a bad word.” August pointed at Brody and looked up to Clara, waiting for his mother to take action.
“Yes, he did.” Clara cocked a hip and shot her boss a sideways look.
“Sorry. Dam-darn.” He sighed and left the car, walking over to August. He dug in his pocket and came out with a quarter, handing it to my nephew. “Piggy bank.”
“Yes.” August fist-pumped and grinned at me.
I gave him a wink.
August had four piggy banks, more than any kid needed, but each had a purpose. One was for his birthday money. One was for money he found himself, like pennies and dimes discarded on sidewalks. The third was for his weekly allowance. Clara paid him five dollars a week to make his bed each morning and pick up his toys at night. And the fourth, the most recent addition, was for money he took off Brody and occasionally Clara when one of them slipped and swore in his presence.