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“Fuck,” I hiss.
This shit started only after I chose to marry Claire. What if it is him? “But what pony would he have in this race?” I ask. “What does it hurt or help to have Parker find out about her parents’ killer? How would he know about Uncle Dean?”
“I have no fucking clue. Not a goddamn one,” I whisper. “How did he get hooked up with the family in the first place? Who did he go to for the loan?”
Hendrick doesn’t answer me, mainly because he likely doesn’t know. I mean, if I don’t know, then neither does he. “Meeting at Dad’s after this shit,” I state.
I’m not even going to ask him. We’re having a fucking meeting to discuss this. Tonight. Leaving the party, I decide to do a little research of my own. All the players I have on my radar are at this party, so I’ll be able to get some shit done.
I’ll be able to fucking snoop.
ChapterFourteen
CLAIRE
Silence greets me,but I slowly walk down the aisle, and the music starts playing. I’m by myself. Thankfully, my father didn’t make a scene when I said I wanted to do this alone, probably only because my mother wanted him to walk her down the aisle, ensuring that she received his full attention.
It’sherspecial day, of course. At least that’s what she would have everyone think, as she’s been the center of attention for this entire event. It should bother me, but it doesn’t. My mom has always been this way. Both of my parents have, really. They are so self-absorbed that nothing else in the world matters.
Especially not me.
There is no groom waiting for me at the end of the aisle, and I know that should upset me, but I still feel nothing but relief at the fact that he’s not here. Maybe he won’t show up tomorrow either and this whole nightmare can just be over.
Once the rehearsal portion of the evening is over, I glance at my phone to check the time. It lasted much longer than I thought it would. It’s been a few hours. I’ve talked with everybody I need to, and Parker has kept an eye on me. So has Brenda.
Brenda.
I don’t know if it’s because she’s a counselor, but she’s easy to talk to and likable. So likable. I know that if I am forced to stay here, at least I have Brenda and Parker. They have both been so warm and welcoming, more so than my own mother has ever been.
I move to the wall, lean against the most shadowed space I can find and just watch. People-watch. I love watching people. Observing them tells me everything I need to know about a person.
But my focus tonight is on Coleman’s family. They’re lovely. I didn’t think it was possible. I assumed they would be more like mine. That they would be assholes, money hungry, and so self-absorbed that nothing else mattered and they would do anything to get what they wanted,onlywhat they wanted.
However, the Hamiltons are not that way. They love their sons. They smile and laugh. They have friends and family. Lots of aunts and uncles, a million cousins. And all of them… it’s clear they adore.
It’s beautiful, really.
And as terrified as I am of the man who has chosen me to be his bride, I can’t help but wonder if he’s possibly not too bad. If his family is this wonderful, how can he be horrible? My heart slams against my chest at the idea of staying with this man.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I frown as I lower my gaze to my device. It’s an unknown caller. I’ve never received a text from an unknown number before. Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I slide my thumb across the screen.
UNKNOWN: YOU LOOK SEXY AGAINST THE WALL.
Who is this?
UNKNOWN: MEET ME IN THE BATHROOM.
Lifting my gaze, I glance around the room, but everybody is doing their own thing. There are people dancing, some are eating, others are drinking, but nobody is staring in my direction or looking at their phones.
I only debate for a moment. I am too curious and my body far too achy not to find out if my stranger is waiting for me in the bathroom. Moving quickly, I make my way down the hall and slip into the bathroom.
I’m surprised because it’s so dark in here. When I open my mouth to ask if anyone is there, a voice calls out and instructs me to lock the door.
I know that voice.
My midnight stalker.
“It’s you,” I state.
