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The hum of his purring engine announces his arrival before I see him fully. I’d be silly to think he’d be a gentleman, park, and open my door. His brownish-orange Jaguar F-Type pauses next to me, and as if hearing my thoughts and laughing at them, he lies on the horn and yells come on from the still rolled up window.
Climbing in his car, I frown at the butterflies I feel being so close to him. Unlike his office, getting in his vehicle closes us into a small space not created by him grabbing me to inflict his special brand of torture. His sexual warfare. He has me so confused, constantly taking me from pissed to horny to pissed and horny.
Making sure my dress doesn’t get caught in the door, I shut it and quickly put on my seatbelt since he’s already speeding into motion.
“This is some bullshit, I’m on the way to be the best man for an arranged marriage that my friend doesn’t want with my fake ass fiance in tow.”
His words rumble out of his mouth as if I’m not there and he’s thinking out loud. I’ve just gotten into his damn car and I already feel forgotten. Oran just talked all that shit over the phone and now I’m just part of his car interior.
The feeling didn’t fade, but once we arrived at the wedding, I had other thin
gs to focus on. My trained eye rakes over the details. Checking out my sister’s handiwork. Since my dad left me incommunicado, my younger sister, Esme, had to take over my position and head coordinator to get the event done. She did a wonderful job layering the charcoal and wine in a way that had the deep reds popping off the gray. I’m glad to have a younger sister with similar taste and interests because Oran’s dad and mine could have fucked me over royally with this wedding. No one wants to be known as the person who tanked the Bishops-Hanlon wedding, even if the bride and groom have murder fantasies about each other.
Esme’s light-brown eyes connect with mine from across the room. Her eyes are filled with emotion, but she gives me a secret smile before moving to the next item. I blink a few times to pull my emotions in check; I refuse to cry publicly. My dad knew that even if I decided to remain homeless, not being able to talk to my sisters would be torture. He was right. Esme wanted to fight him on it, but I told her to let me handle it. I did not want her meeting my same fate. She took my dilemma as a cautionary tale and is planning to not be shut down so easily as I was in case my dad gets another bright idea for his second daughter.
I can feel my parents looking at me from their seats. Tilting my head, I give them my attention for a beat then opt to sit next to a crestfallen Eli. If I’m out, I’m out. No point in pretending all is well with the LeClaires.
Oran stands at the front chatting with a stressed out looking Jagger since he’s the only member of the wedding party. Both men are wearing all charcoal with wine pocket squares. Jaggers rich brown hair contrasts with Oran’s almost black strands, but both look rakish and dangerous despite the stoic wedding.
The music starts and Ainslee trudges in like she’s walking the plank to her death. Unconsciously, my hand flies to my chest in empathy, I may not be in love like she is with Eli, but I know how trapped she feels. My heart breaks with hers as she pauses to look at him through her veil but continues to her future husband.
Despite my turmoil, a smile twitches at my lips when they shove the rings on each other’s fingers. I bite my lip to hold in a giggle when they refuse to kiss, but end up silently laughing when they fight and Jagger escorts Ainslee out in a headlock.
For a moment, my mirth helps me forget my own troubles. Instinctively, I lock eyes with Oran’s amused ones as he follows them down the aisle, for a moment, I think just maybe we could get along better, then his amusement falls behind his usual mask and the lighter version I used to know is gone again.
* * *
Oran
I’m happy to be back in the office after pretending for a day and a half that my mouth didn’t water when I spotted Karessa outside of the hotel. She looked sultry yet elegant in a sheer and tulle dress about a shade off from being my favorite color. The long tulle skirt flowed around her legs and body as the slight wind blew. Once I was closer, I could see the dress better and my reaction to it was so unexpected I’d dropped back into the asshole she’s used to seeing. I don’t have time for distractions and I don’t want a fucking wife.
Her leaning over to open the door drew all my attention to the damn-near sheer bodice that appeared to be two panels of tulle crossing each other. The sheerest piece of tulle covered her stomach, and my desire to touch her was so great that the moment she got in my car, I burned off.
The wedding wasn’t anything less than eventful. Once I realized Jagger and Ainslee ran away, I’d parked at the bar and talked business with some colleagues and caught up with people I rarely see - anything to ignore how Karessa floated through the ballroom like a regal queen. She looked so beautiful with her hair down and flowing, I almost left her there.
“We hear Karessa has been staying in a hotel,” I hear the person I’ve been avoiding say
Elmer Hale stood in my door with his salt and pepper hair, looking polished yet ruthless as usual. His retirement hasn’t stopped his meddling or his greed. Like a cartoon villain, he has a master plan that no one else sees. His desire to own all the real estate on Founders’ Island is ridiculous when the stuff we own keeps me more than busy.
“So? I never said I was getting married. You shouldn’t be talking since you’re the man who made her homeless.” I gripe while reading over some paperwork.
I’m not surprised when he comes in to sit, but I am surprised that a second person joins. Sitting back in my chair, I start a stare down with Dondi LeClaire.
“Is this what you want? You want to tie your daughter to me for life knowing I’m not a nice man? How will your princess survive?”
Movement in my peripheral means my dad is staring at LeClaire, daring him to back out. My dad tries to be a bully, but he’s not a Bishops, he will harm no one physically for financial gain, he’s game is mental warfare. And that’s how I got a fake fiancee. He found a chink in LeClaire’s armor and exploited it. Elmer doesn’t give two shits about me getting married, he wants what he can gain from the union.
“Silence,” I say. “So whatever bullshit my dad fed you, gives you the justification to sacrifice your princess? Bankrupt her, leave her homeless and hungry, then marry her off to a man who doesn’t want to be with her?”
Hurt flashes behind LeClaires steady gaze. He doesn’t break his regal demeanor, he still relaxes in his chair with his right ankle resting on his left knee. Dondi keeps his graying hair cut low with his waves brushed back. He is a lighter brown than Karessa, but the family resemblance is still there. He shakes his foot, his navy and khaki diamond sock peeks out from under his khaki chinos and his tented hands stretches his navy blazer. His gaze moves past his manicured fingers and back into mine. His brown eyes have tells. That’s how he lost. Silence stretches. I try to search his soul for his reason to betray his daughter. There’s something I’m missing, but I don’t like it. The LeClaires are the nice family, sometimes the spokesperson for the Island since Dondi has the best tact. I expect this from my dad and the other families, but not the LeClaires. They always looked so in love the few times I’ve seen them out, that they were my fantasy family when my dad was being an asshole.
Dondi betraying Karessa feels like a betrayal to my younger self. There’s something in his look that tells me there’s more to the story, something he’s not planning to share with me.
“Oran, she’s a sweet girl with a gentle soul. She’ll be a good wife,” he tells me instead.
“You have less than three weeks to decide, either you marry her or-” My dad’s voice is firm, I don’t give a fuck.
“Or what?” I’ve thought of everything; combined through all of it, yet I still cannot find the other shoe that’s supposed to drop. I’m tired of it. I just want him to show his hand.
