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“I think I know why Bishop doesn’t want us to get married.”
Gabriel’s hand shakes when he reaches it up to swipe another tear from my face. “Why?” he asks, barely audible.
“Because, he’s Tennyson’s father.”
Chapter 38
Gabriel
The world’s on fire and no one can save me.
It’s been three hours, forty-five minutes, and three seconds since Clementine dropped a bomb on me.
Tomorrow, I’ll be married. Tomorrow, Clementine Bright will be my wife.
The only woman I’ve ever loved will be mine.
Only, this isn’t a sweet victory. It’s a tragic ending to an all too-consuming love story.
The moment Clementine told me Bishop Blackstone was Tennyson’s father, I was enraged. I sent her crying from my office, my own heart completely shattered.
I couldn’t even look at her the same.
I couldn’t look at myself either.
The powerful realization of how much I love her slammed into me the moment she called me an asshole and left.
I’ve been debating now for three hours, fifty-two minutes, and eighteen seconds on whether or not I should chase after her. I’ve been trying to think of the right words to say to her when I do. Because, of course, I will chase after her.
I love her.
“We’re all set for tomorrow,” Dean says, entering my study, taking a survey of the room. “Whoa, what happened here?” His eyes land on the remains of my shattered glass of Woodford’s Reserve bourbon on the floor.
“Bishop is Tennyson’s father.”
“Holy fuck.” Dean shuts the study door and then runs both hands through his short-cropped hair. “I’m bumping up the security.”
“It’s already as bumped as it can be. Did you find Bishop? Ronin said he’s planning something for the big day.”
“Listen, Gabe, it’ll be fine. The second we see that asshole, we’ll get him.”
“Shoot first, no questions later, right?”
Dean smiles. “Exactly.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to make sure everything’s all set for tomorrow.”
I nod as he leaves the room.
Before I head off to bed, I debate on seeing Clementine. I walk down the hallway, knowing she’s probably worried about tomorrow.
With all the shit going on, my main concern shouldn’t be if she’s pretending with me, but it is. I want to know when I kiss those rosy lips if her moans are real or fake.
I stand at Clementine’s door, wondering if I should knock or head to my own room. I even raise my hand, balling my fingers into a fist to rap on the door. I drop my hand.
I decide it’s better not knowing.
