Stop that, Belle.
Damon had some papers out, and—oh shit.
“Belle?” Damon said. “Is that going to work?”
“Y-yes,” I stammered, hoping I wasn’t agreeing to anything too crazy. “Could you run the details by me one more time though, just to be sure?”
Clearly annoyed, Damon flipped the page back and started to read through what I realized was a list of things the bride and groom wanted for their wedding.
A venue in Europe. Designer dresses for the bride and all the bridesmaids. Guest list of over one thousand. Enough floral arrangements to clean out the florists within a hundred-mile radius. Famous musicians for the reception.
I nodded while the cash register sound dinged repeatedly in my head. This was going to dwarf the biggest wedding I’d ever put on, and if I pulled it off, it would cement my career. I’d already made a respectable name for myself in the five years I’d been planning weddings, but what happened in Texas was probably already on its way to undoing all that work. Chris’ wedding, if I could stomach being around the lying human turd that was Chris Rose, would change all of that.
Within a few minutes, I was inking my name at the bottom of an agreement to plan the wedding.
Chris was watching me with a strange expression, which was good. He was probably wondering if I was already planning his murder. Yes, Chris. I am. And it’s going to be cruel and unusual.
“Well,” Chris clapped his hands and stood up, which meant “Mindy” followed because she was still attached to his arm. “This was fun. I’ve got to get home though and get some rest.”
“Yeah,” Mindy agreed. “We need to get you home. Maybe I can rub your feet before you have practice tomorrow. I know how you like that.”
Oh God. Please kill me now.
Chris smiled a little awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”
The two of them left the room, and I felt a fresh wave of nausea when I thought of him going home and lying to her about what had happened on the plane.
“Is everything okay?” Damon asked when we were alone.
“What?”
He gestured, and I realized I’d just been sitting there in stunned silence. The normal thing to do probably would’ve been get up and leave the room. “Y-yeah. I’m okay.”
“You’re sure? This is an important job, and if there’s something wrong, I’d like to know about it.”
I pressed my palms over my eyes and groaned. “No. No. It’s not okay, because your brother? I just got done sleeping with him in the bathroom of our plane on the way here. He didn’t tell me he was about to get engaged!” I was standing up now and my chest was heaving.
Whoops. So much for playing it cool and protecting the only job opportunity that could possibly save me from the negative backlash of my last wedding.
Damon took the news a lot better than I thought he would. All he did was rock back in his chair and cup his chin. “And you’re feeling guilty?”
“Guilty. Pissed. Murderous. Confused. Should I keep going?”
Damon gestured for me to sit. I took his offer, plopping back down in the chair and letting out a shaky breath.
“Listen,” he said after a few moments of silence. “They had a special arrangement, Chris and Mindy. Both of them are… interesting. They were taking a break. No rules. Like a final hoorah before they tied the knot. Neither of them wanted to know anything about what happened during the break, but all bets were off. Okay? So, yes, he should’ve told you the full truth, but it’s not as bad as you think.”
“What kind of screwed up marriage is preceded by a free for all fuck spree?”
Damon grinned. “I never said my brother was a normal person. But this wedding is a big opportunity for you. If you can look past it, this will be good for all of us. So I hope you’ll still work with us.”
I nodded. I still didn’t feel like I’d quite caught up with everything, but what Damon told me helped. Even if it was only somewhat. I thought maybe I could downgrade myself from homewrecker to just feeling dirty and gross for getting tangled up in their strange little web.
“I’m still in. And I should go.” I tapped the list he’d given me and forced a quick smile. “I’ve got a lot of work to do, right?”
6
Belle
A metallic whack jolted me from nearly falling asleep. My father shielded his eyes, watched the golf ball disappear into the blue sky, then grunted with appreciation.
I followed the ball as it curved sharply and disappeared into the trees. “Tough luck,” I said.
“Hm?” My dad asked. He was in his mid-sixties with salt and pepper hair I knew he meticulously maintained with specialty hair and beard dye kits. He looked like that guy from “the most interesting man in the world” commercials might’ve looked if he’d spent his life chasing political appointments. In other words, if he was “the least interesting man in the world”.
“Looks like you hit the trees,” I said, pointing to where I’d seen the ball land.
“We may need to get your eyes checked. It was right on the fairway.”
My big brother, Asher, had come along, and he shared a knowing look with me. Our dad was a notorious cheat, and we made an unspoken agreement to watch him like hawks and catch him in the act.
Asher hopped in the driver’s seat of the golf cart. We’d both taken our shots already, and mom hadn’t touched a golf club in decades. She had a firm grip on the martini she’d picked up from the clubhouse before we got on the course. She was in her forties now, and she wore a wide-brimmed sun hat to keep the wrinkles at bay.
Dad hopped in the back of the golf cart and we headed toward the fairway, where Asher and I’s shots had actually landed.
My dad hopped out of the cart before we even stopped, smoothly pulled a ball from his pocket, and dropped it. He tapped his toe over it to keep it from bouncing conspicuously, then spun to wave at us. “See? Dead center.” He let out a triumphant laugh.
Asher and I rolled our eyes at each other but didn’t bother calling him out.
Family golf time wasn’t about winning. It was about putting our time in with the family unit in a setting where our dad was mildly distracted enough to not be a pain in our asses. Mom was also probably going to be too tipsy to nag us about the usual topics.
Asher lined up for his shot. He was always the better golfer in the family, but that was hardly a surprise. My brother was good at everything he ever did. It was why I wished he’d resisted my father’s urge to get recruited into the world of politics.
Personally, even the word politics made me want to take a long nap. But I’d absorbed enough incidental knowledge to know that my brother was on the fast-track to high places. He was extremely handsome, with dark hair, dark eyes, and a smile that had always let him get away with murder. Of course, he had the brains for policy and all the manipulation required, too. Asher was all the things my father probably wished he’d been.
I didn’t have to wonder if my father wished I was more like my brother, because he’d told me as much several times.
We wrapped up our game and headed back to the clubhouse to get lunch together. Once my dad was done boasting about the game of golf he’d “won,” the conversation devolved into some boring business talk about delegates and other political buzzwords.