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“It’s way too sexy. I’ll have my hands up your skirt in two seconds flat.”
My eyes flick to the receptionist as she looks away, mouth pursed, and red heat drifts up my cheeks.
I grin at him and raise my eyebrows, and he closes his eyes and groans, leaning in to sniff my neck, lips brushing my skin.
“I’m not taking advantage of you this weekend, Kate,” he mumbles. “I swore I’d be on my best behavior.”
I pout at him, and he steps farther into me and slides a hand around my waist. “I’ll just imagine what’s underneath.” He whispers right by my ear. “I’m only just managing to keep my hands off your ass.” He peers down the front of my dress, and I grin, shivering a bit when his fingers make contact with the edge.
“Kate?”
The voice of my younger sister echoes behind me, and I spin round in Fabian’s arm, taking in Georgia’s bouncing brown curls and broad smile as she heads across the lobby. A strapless cream lace evening gown clings to every curve, red shoes flashing beneath its long straight skirt. I step forward to pull her into a warm hug.My family ally. Thank God.
“Are you trying to upstage the bride?”
“As if. Have you seen Cassandra’s dress?”
I catch a glimpse of her expression as I draw back: Her eyes are big and fixed on Fabian over my shoulder. I immediately step to the side.
“Fabian, this is Georgie, my younger sister, and …”
I’ve been so caught up in seeing Georgie that only now do I notice the man behind her, and now I’m gaping. He’s the most straitlaced person I think I’ve ever seen. Good-looking in that way a lot of preppy guys at college are: soft wavy blond hair, clean-shaven, polo shirt, taupe chinos. The kind of guy I would never have pegged for her. No wonder my parents were quiet about this relationship; I’ll bet they’re secretly smug their wayward daughter is with someone so wholesome.
Georgie clocks me staring at him and steps back quickly too. “This is Brad,” she says, beaming, and I almost laugh. Even his name is straitlaced.
Perfect white teeth flash at me, and two very clean-shaven dimples pop out, and now I see why my sister is interested: He’s devastating when he smiles. But he’s a puppy next to Fabian, who is looking more and more like the wolf Jo said he was.
“Great to meet you, Brad,” I say, holding out a hand, which he clasps in a jock-like shake.
“You and I have some catching up to do,” I lean in to whisper to Georgie, my eyes widening meaningfully, and she laughs.
“Definitely,” she says, raising her eyebrows at Fabian.
“Where is everyone?” I peer behind her, as Fabian shakes hands with Brad. But she’s still focused on Fabian and smiling widely, and I have seen that smile throughout our whole childhood; it appeared on her face every time my mother, fists clenched like she wanted to hit her, confronted Georgie in our family kitchen. She can see how much trouble Fabian is going to cause: It’s coming off him in waves. She gestures vaguely toward the back of the hotel, eyes dancing.
“Somewhere near the bar outside, I think,” she says.
“Let’s go find everyone then,” I say, looking up at Fabian as he gives me a reluctant half smile, rubbing a hand around the back of his neck, and I’m warm with the idea that perhaps he cares about this.
To start off with, my family is unfailingly polite to Fabian. Apart from a flicker of an eyebrow from my mother, and my father spinning his drink in his hand and quizzing Fabian about what he does, both their faces are like masks. My brothers, however, stare at him in undisguised glee. He cottons on to my father’s prejudices about success and money pretty fast, and he starts talking to him about his love of alcohol and how recreational drugs aid relaxation. Seb winks at me with a broad grin as he keeps refilling everyone’s glasses.
My dad’s face turns redder and redder, and he gets more and more strident while Fabian dodges questions about his job and his lifestyle.
“So, tell me more about this company you work for—Xeracorp?” Fabian says, knocking back another whiskey Seb has placed in his hand.
I blink at him, but his gaze is trained on my dad. I’m sure that my father hasn’t mentioned Xeracorp at any point in the conversation, and although I briefed Fabian on my parents on the way up here, I didn’t talk about my dad’s job. He’s a successful corporate man through and through, and his chest puffs out as Fabian tilts his head toward him. When he begins to ask my dad about overseas contracts, I tune out.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Javier, in a sharp dark suit and shirt, working the room with his fiancée, Cassandra. She’s gorgeous in that plastic way: contoured makeup; fake blonde hair, perfectly styled; immaculately manicured; thick penciled-in eyebrows. I look down at my torn, unpainted nails and slide my hands behind my back. As they approach us, her long black lace dress swishing around her ankles, she’s all simpering charm, saying how delighted she is to meet Javier’s family, her red claws curling into his arm. But she’s also clearly not the owner of the ass he was squeezing earlier on.
My father turns away from Fabian, face clearing as he asks Javier about his work on Wall Street with drunken bonhomie. I groan inside. Tod coughs into his drink. Javier is a patronizing pain in the ass about his role as a corporate raider, and he straightens and launches into how much he’s earning in a loud voice. My eyes skim around the room, clocking all the rich bankers. Fabian must be hating all this.
“You see, Tod? Seb? All the money you could be making?” My father booms, slapping Javier on the back. He can be snide at times about my mother’s propensity to encourage us into medicine, but we’re not exactly in a poorly paid profession.
Fabian’s tension radiates through my dress at my side, and I steal a glance at him. His eyes are fixed on Javier, color high on his cheeks like he’s seen a snake. Something is working behind his neutral expression.
As if realizing he’s the subject of scrutiny, Javier’s eyes stray toward Fabian, scanning over the tattoos escaping from the edges of his sleeve before asking, “And what do you do?” in the kind of hard, flat tone that suggests he really couldn’t care less.
“Amphetamines mostly,” Fabian says in a drawl, and Javier blinks for a second as heat begins to build under his already flushed cheeks.
