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“What do you think? Which one speaks to you?” Ingrid asked from her position behind his and Ruby’s chairs at the dining room table.
Glancing back at her face, rapturous as she clapped her hands together and looked at him expectantly, his still half-empty stomach grumbled. He flashed her a quick smile that probably looked as fake as it felt before turning his attention back to the photos. The images lying above his plate of rye bread, cheese, and jam looked like those find-what’s-different pictures where you had to find the sixteen differences between two almost-identical photos. “They all look nice.”
Ingrid’s mouth firmed into a line and she let out a quiet, if distinct, exasperated huff. In her defense, it was the twelfth time he’d uttered those words since he and Ruby had walked into the dining room expecting breakfast and finding Operation Wedding’s HQ instead. Next to him, Ruby covered a quiet, better-you-than-me giggle with a bite of cheese.
Lucas struggled for something, anything, else to say about what looked like an explosion of feminine fluff around him. From the photos of the flowers to the different colored fabric samples to the fifteen options for wedding programs to the tasting slices of possible wedding cakes to the list of hairstylists, it was like Ruby’s mother had whacked open a wedding piñata that had dumped out everything over the dining room table. How she’d managed to pull it all together in less than twelve hours escaped him, but it was a logistical and supply line miracle impressive enough to make him wish he could recruit her into the Silver Knights.
“Mom, give him a break,” Ruby said, rescuing him once again from a total brain breakdown. “Number one, he doesn’t know a marguerite daisy from a red clover. Number two, we just came down for breakfast twenty minutes ago, we’re barely awake.”
It was the most she’d spoken since they’d left the bed, tossed on their special hand-binding accessible shirts, and hurried downstairs, hoping for breakfast before everyone else in the house had woken up. They’d been greeted by a full buffet of breads, cheeses, jams, and coffee as well as Ingrid in her wedding-planning glory.
“I suppose I’ll take that lack of sleep as good news.” A faint blush turned Ingrid’s cheeks pink, but she powered on. “But with only a few days until the wedding, we don’t have time for you to be sleepy. Your father is insisting on only the best for your big day. He’s already sent out the call for everyone to attend. I hate the lack of invitations, but there really just wasn’t time. You know Rolf, lots of activities, trips, and plans had to be moved around so he could be here for the wedding. He can delay, but some things can’t be postponed forever.”
Lucas forced himself not to react to that bit of intel. Their information was that the exchange with Gregers Henriksen would happen soon, within the week. Instead of checking out flowers, he should be searching the grounds, breaking into Rolf’s study, figuring out how to tap into the encrypted phone the crime boss never took a step without, but it looked like there was a possibility of gaining something out of breakfast after all. All he had to do was prod Ingrid a little.
“It can be crazy,” Lucas said, keeping his voice light as he picked up one picture, pretending to examine it while he was really watching Ingrid. “Did he have a trip planned for this weekend? I hate that we made him rearrange his schedule.”
“No, thank goodness,” Ingrid said, anxiety pulling her features taut as she placed a shaky hand on Ruby’s shoulder as if to steady herself. “He has a very important off-island meeting early next week, but Saturday’s festivities will be over before he has to go.”
Ruby’s head snapped up. “Who with?”
“Some man named Gregars, I think. Or was it Gandry? You know me, always forgetting these things.” She chuckled and shook her head. “This is why your father never tells me anything. I just forget.”
The photo crinkled in his tight grip but he schooled his face not to betray the frustration bubbling to the surface.
Ingrid peeked over Lucas’s shoulder at the picture he held. “Oh, I so agree. The rose and orchid bouquet is the perfect one.” She squeezed her daughter’s shoulder. “And you thought he wouldn’t have an opinion.”
“Where is Rolf?” he asked, being sure to keep his tone casual as he laid the photo on the table, smoothing its bent corner flat. “I should apologize for upsetting his schedule.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Ingrid said, crossing to her chair and sitting down in front of her uneaten breakfast. “He loves the chance to throw around his weight a little and get people to jump to his command.” Her tone was joking, but the teasing didn’t reach her eyes which had lost a little of their spark. “Anyway, he’s locked up in his study with Joey for the day. The good news is Antoine Alstar should be here in a few hours to start your dress.”
“So soon?” Ruby asked, keeping her gaze locked on the bits of breakfast she’d pushed around her plate instead of eating.
“It’s Tuesday,” Ingrid said. “Saturday is only four days away.”
The clock was ticking for Elskov. If the Americans were right, and he had no reason to doubt them since their information in the past had always been spot-on, the exchange was supposed to have happened this week. The question was, had the wedding moved the timeline up or pushed it back? Either way, he didn’t have time to waste on flowers and ribbons.
“Mom, you know you’ve always been so much better at all of this planning than I am,” Ruby said. “I’d like to be able to show Luc a bit of the island, not to mention take a shower, before Antoine and everyone else shows up and things get crazy.”
Disappointment and hurt flashed across Ingrid’s face but disappeared almost so fast, he could convince himself he’d been mistaken if it hadn’t been for the way Ruby flinched next to him. The door opened, and a painfully thin man with sharp, glaring eyes and a murderous expression walked in. The Sparrow was back and he was pissed.
…
Ruby should have expected it. The Sparrow wasn’t one to pussyfoot around anyone, not even her father. That made him not only rare but a one-of-a-kind commodity on Fare Island. Add to that the fact that he was the closest thing she’d ever had to a protector, and she couldn’t do anything but sit there with her mouth sealed shut as he stalked into the dining room.
The Sparrow took one look at all of the wedding paraphernalia and let out a snort of disgust. “I don’t like it.”
Her mother sighed. “Now, Hamish.”
Hamish? She’d grown up with the man and had never known his first or last name. Everyone simply called him the Sparrow—except, it seemed, for her mother.
“I know it’s not my place to say, but somebody has to.” Like always, his gaze pinned her to her spot. “I thought you were getting out. Marrying this one just pulls you in even deeper.”
Not telling him this was her escape from this life seemed like a betrayal, but she couldn’t, not yet, maybe not ever. The guilt stole the words from her mouth.
“You say that as if you don’t appreciate the kind of life we live,” Lucas said as he toyed with one of the emerald fabric swatches with his unchained hand, letting the silky material slide through his large fingers.
Everything about him seemed calm, from the placid look on his face to the nonchalant slouch of his shoulders, but it was a lie, a con. The orgasm last night and all the talk of the wedding must have twisted together inside her because despite the visual proof to the contrary, she couldn’t help but feel the conflict pulling at Lucas. He may not think he was a good man, but he was an honorable one, and the lies he had to tell were starting to take their toll. It must be difficult to only see in black and white in a gray word like theirs.
