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“I like both, but I’ll stick with the more ladylike one. Paolo it is,” Paige says. “Thank you for joining us.”
The chair is in the center of the room. An effort to make me uncomfortable? Not sure. I slide into the armchair. The room is warm. The fire crackles in the fireplace. Too warm. I tug at the collar of my shirt.
If I was the one running this meeting, I’d get right to the fucking point. Unfortunately, I’m not the one in charge. So, I sit, wait, and politely participate in the small talk I normally try to avoid.
Bronson says, “I was catching Paige up on the latest mission and how well it went.”
I nod. “Yes. Thank you.”
Paige eyes me up and down. “Is that a new suit?”
I give the collar another tug. “Sure is. I saw the tailor at Daughtry’s recently.”
“Have you chosen a paint color for your townhouse renovation?” she asks.
I was supposed to redo the home I was given when I moved in. Make it my own. Haven’t touched it. Redecorating is not my thing.
“No,” I say. “I’m kind of lost. Didn’t know there were literally fifty shades of gray.”
Bronson narrows his gaze at me. “Have Charlie take a look at it.”
Charlie, the family’s unofficial interior decorator. Paige nods in agreement, her dark hair bobbing. “She’s the best. She can help you with the whole project.”
“Will do. I’ll give her a call.” My stomach is tying in knots.
What could they want? I think of Rowan and his finger pointing. I glance down at Paige’s hand. She wears her blue diamond engagement ring on that finger. God, I hate anything to do with love.
“Did you get the casserole Charlie sent you?” Paige says.
The thought of food turns my stomach right now. A ring. Tess. Matchmaking. “Yes. The beef Stroganoff she left on my doorstep was delicious. She’s welcome to cook for this old bachelor anytime.”
“Bachelor,” Bronson says. “The perfect introduction to discuss the actual topic we’re here to talk about. Marriage.”
“Marriage,” I repeat. A bitter taste finds its way into my mouth.
“Marriage.” Paige beams at me.
“Got it.” I run down the list of dating couples from the family, trying to think of who might be close to tying the knot. “Whose marriage?”
Bronson stares intently at me. He studies my face before he speaks. The tension in his gaze makes cold prickles of sweat nip at the back of my neck.
"Whose marriage?" I repeat.
The silence in the room pushes down on me like I've been holding a boulder across my shoulders.
Can’t. Breathe.
Bronson leans forward, elbows on his knees. "We all know the Bachman family is known for love, loyalty, and marriage," he says finally. "We believe it’s best for each of us to have a partner in this life, to help keep us strong. Grounded. We want to talk to you about our daughter."
I nod but stay silent. He's going to say they've found a match for his daughter, Paisley. That he needs me to head up security at the wedding.
That is what Bronson is about to say.
It better fucking be what he's about to say.
The two of them are staring at me so intently, I know they didn’t bring me here to plan a mission.
I know what is coming, and yet the moment is surreal. Out of body. Like it's not me they're talking to. My mind goes hazy, my heart hammering out of my chest.
