Hugo stands in a throng of bridesmaids with his usual charm, making the women blush. He even disarms the men with that grin, the one that invites you to share in some undefined secret, looking old-world debonair in a tailored tux, his black hair in artful disarray.
We have that in common, the ability to make friends in any room. The ability to charm our way through every woman and most of the men. While meaning none of it, feeling nothing.
The relief in his dark eyes, that’s real enough. “Thought you might not come.”
“I said I would.”
He gives a soft huff of laughter, looking away. “You left early last night.”
Lust. Anger. They merged into something ugly last night, something that had almost made a young woman the target of my revenge. I could have turned into my father. Maybe I did. “I made an appearance. Same as I’m doing now.”
He glances at my tux. “I suppose you visited Mrs. Cheung.”
Someone should alert the media. The next diet craze—alcoholism, thanks to the research by Sutton Mayfair. Six weeks of bingeing stripped away every spare centimeter of space, leaving my frame lean and hard. “She didn’t appreciate me showing up without an appointment.”
“I’m sure she didn’t,” Hugo says, his voice mild.
He’s the one who discovered Mrs. Cheung when we were broke as hell and trying not to look that way. The tailor shop squats between a dumpling house and a Chinese movie theater, mostly hidden by gnarled bamboo plants allowed to run wild.
We can afford Italian designers and bespoke suits now, but we like to remember where we came from.
“She charged me a ridiculous amount of money. And tried to set me up on a date with her niece.” She also gave me a rather colorful setdown in Cantonese while she tucked and trimmed my tux yesterday. A small price to pay to appear presentable today.
That’s the whole point of this, pretending nothing is wrong. Helping the happy couple get married without knowing they tore me apart.
“Her niece can do better. Did you tell her you’re one step away from liver failure?”
“Now, that’s a goddamn dirty lie. My father drank for forty years, and his liver was just fine. It was the tree that got in the way of his truck that did him in.”
“Your father was a drunk and a bastard. He should have been put down like a rabid animal.”
“Funny. Christopher said the same thing once.”
“Well, Christopher is my friend, too. Even if I’m very angry at him.”
“Because he had the fucking audacity to fall in love?”
“Non. He was in love with her for many years. He only decided to do anything about it when you expressed an interest in her. That’s why I’m angry at him.”
“Don’t be,” I say, my voice flat. “I asked her out first to get a reaction from him.”
“Then you’re both assholes.”
“Yes. Only, he’s better at it. But you know what? Even knowing that, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“You wouldn’t?”
“Well, I’d have started drinking sooner. That’s the important thing, recognizing where I went wrong. And making up for lost time.”
Christopher Bardot and I were business partners first.
We became both friends and enemies. In one night, with the woman we both loved between us, we almost became lovers. He’s going to marry that woman, and I have to smile and laugh and pretend like my stomach isn’t ripped into shreds.
Something shifts in the air. I feel the change echo inside me. I turn.
Ashleigh stands there, wearing that pale gold dress, wobbling on cream-colored Louboutins, looking like a lost lamb. If there were any mercy in this world, some priest would come to shield her from sinners like me. Maybe they’d lock her up in a nunnery where no one could touch her, no one could hurt her.
There isn’t mercy in this world.
There are only wolves like me, and we love to tear lambs apart.
“Introduce me to your friend,” Hugo murmurs as she approaches.
“Don’t be an ass,” I say, but it’s too late. Of course he’s going to be an ass. The very specific Hugo Belmont kind of ass that charms women out of their panties.
“Magnifique,” he says, his hands fluttering around her like butterfly wings. “You look like an angel standing here beneath the stained glass window.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Thank you.”
“This is Hugo. My friend.” Though the word friend feels like an overstatement when he smiles at her and she smiles back. I consider dunking him in the baptismal pool. I want all her smiles. Which is strange. I’ve never been jealous with my lovers before. Even with Harper and Christopher, I wanted them together. I just wanted to be with them.
Hugo kisses her hand with outsized chivalry, as if they’re in royal court in the eighteenth century. “And what is your name? Sutton has been keeping you in hiding, I think.”
“We haven’t known each other long. I’m Ashleigh.”
That earns me a meaningful glance from Hugo. First name only. Ashleigh. Only a small step up from what do you want my name to be? “I’m going to leave her with you,” I say, a warning in my voice. “During the ceremony. Don’t scare her off.”
“Me?” Hugo gives a wounded look. “I think you are the scary one between us.”
A musical laugh that belongs to Ashleigh. It sounds young and innocent. And I realize that I’ve never made her laugh. Only Hugo’s done that. Jealousy burns my throat.
Blue appears at the front door. He’s wearing a tux and a discreet earpiece, which means he’s working the wedding. He owns a security company in Tanglewood. We’re good friends. More than that, we’re brothers. Dear old Dad sired a handful of bastards. Most of them had to grow up with their mothers—or in Blue’s case, with a resentful father who knew he’d been cuckolded.
There’s sympathy in his pale blue eyes. “We need your help.”
Maybe Christopher got cold feet after all. “Where is he?”
“Not him. The bride. Harper’s asking for you.”
My heart slows to silence for one disbelieving beat. Followed by a rapid rat-tat-tat pulse. She’s asking for me, when she picked some other man. I should tell her no. I should tell her to go to hell. Harper’s asking for you. “Isn’t that Avery’s job?”
She’s the maid of honor. There are also a handful of bridesmaids who can help, surely. I shouldn’t even be a guest at this wedding, but somehow I’m the best man. Now this.
Blue gives a slight cough. “She’s locked herself in the steeple. Alone. She says the only person she wants to talk to is you. Of course we can break the lock, but—”
“Christ. I’ll go.”
A featherlight touch on my arm stops me. Ashleigh looks uncertain and painfully brave in the jeweled light of the stained glass window. “Should I come with you?”
Relief whispers through me. I’m going to plunge into cold, black water, and here’s this beautiful rope to hold on to, waiting for me to find my way back. She doesn’t know what she does to me with her fragile courage and pale skin. I can see the veins at the hollow of her neck. I can see the throb of her pulse. I want to swallow her whole. “Nah. You wait here.”