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Chapter Three
Beckett
Ashely pulls me down a hall, away from the crowd. She glances up at me through her heavily made-up eyes. She always wears too much makeup when she’s stressed.
Growing up with so much responsibility on her young shoulders, she was stressed a lot. There were a few years she went through a raccoon-eye phase, heavy black liner outlining her blue eyes, as well as a red lipstick phase.
“Boston can not know about this,” she tells me for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. She makes one word into two. “Can not.”
“I know.”
She hisses in a whisper loud enough for anyone within a mile radius to hear. Getting loud—another thing she does when she’s stressed.
She stares at me with her baby blues. Hard. “I’m serious. And it’s not just Boston. No one can know about this.”
“If you don’t want anyone to know about this, then maybe you should keep it down, Sis? You’re practically yelling.”
She blinks her thick lashes, darkened with many coats of mascara. “Sorry. You know I can’t be quiet when I’m upset.”
“Yeah. I know,” I say.
She knows she’s loud when she’s stressed. Should I finally tell her she wears too much makeup when she’s upset? I don’t know why she puts that crap on her face. She’s so pretty. She doesn’t need that stuff.
She straightens the hem of her teal ball gown. “Do I look all right at least?”
I take her in. She’s tiny, all curves and ash-blonde curls. Tonight, she wears a gown made by a designer whose name I probably can’t pronounce. She’s obsessed with fashion and always dreamed of owning the wardrobe she’s now acquired since becoming a Bachman.
I think when you grow up as broke as we did, you spend a lot of time daydreaming about nice things.
She’s a natural beauty in no need of the paint she’s caked on her pretty face. “I like you better without the makeup, but yeah, you look gorgeous as always.”
“Brothers. What do you know about makeup?” She rolls her eyes at my comment about the makeup but then tosses me a grateful look, pink coming to her cheeks from my compliment. “Thanks, though.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip as she scans the room, most likely looking for her husband, Boston.
“You sure you don’t want to tell him?” I ask, knowing he’s on her mind.
“Yes! Of course, I’m sure.” Her eyes flash with concern. “Are you kidding me? What part of can not do you not understand?”
“I don’t understand why you keep saying it like it’s two words,” I say. “Can you just say ‘can’t,’ like a normal human being?”
She ignores my teasing, shaking her head. “He cannot find out.”
I think of the enormous secret we’re keeping from my brother-in-law slash best friend. My stomach sinks. “You know he’s going to kill me if he ever finds out about this,” I say.
“Makes two of us.” She crosses her arms over her chest, her eyes darting around for spies. “We just have to be discreet. He can—”
“Not. Yeah, yeah. I get it.” I grab a champagne from the tray of a passing server, wishing it was an ice-cold beer. I take a sip. Not my taste but I’ll take anything to dull the tension right now. “Can we at least try to enjoy ourselves tonight? It’s not every day we get to celebrate such an awesome surprise.”
“You’re right…” The tension leaves her face, though I know it’ll be back in a moment. A smile comes to her hot-pink lips, thinking about the announcement she’ll soon be making tonight, the one she’s gathered everyone here for and kept them in total suspense for. “I’m so stinkin’ excited—even with all this crap going on. It’s going to be an epic night.”
I wrap an arm around her, pulling her into my side. She’s so short I have to lean down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m so proud of you. You’re going to be great.”
She gives my ribs a squeeze. “Thanks, brother. Couldn’t do it without you by my side. I’d be a wreck.”
“Between you and me and Boston and the entire Bachman family, I think we’ve got this.”
Charlie comes rushing up, sleek brown hair flying behind her. She’s dressed in a one-sleeved black gown, a big pink flower pinned to the material on her right shoulder.
