Say You Will (Trust & Tequila Book 3)

3. Henry

three

“Does anyone actually like this shit?” I mutter.

My personal assistant, Spencer, a curly-haired ginger with milk-pale skin and chronically florid cheeks, dogs my heels as I stride through the Hunter-Lund wedding reception.

“I do. It’s understated elegance,” he says in his crisp British accent.

“There’s nothing understated about it.”

Looming above us, silk-swathed rafters feature massive chandeliers dripping with Austrian crystal. Elaborate gold candelabras lord over every table, and if I never see another red rose in my life, it’ll be too soon.

Perfume, flowers, food, cologne, music, talking, laughing, the scrape and clink of flatware against plates. People getting too close to me. All that smiling, most of which can’t possibly be real.

I instinctively scan for threats. The sheer size of the assembled crowd makes the back of my neck itch. “How do you not feel suffocated?”

As I search the Park Avenue hotel ballroom for her, Spencer trips along behind me. “I don’t think most people would. Now, regarding your search for a bride, I’ve taken a few moments to . . .”

I stop short and lose the thread of Spencer’s words because there she is.

Franki Lennox is here. Until I’d laid eyes on her earlier in the church, I’d thought she was still in California.

Before the wedding ceremony, I hadn’t seen her in four years, nine months, and twelve days. And then there she was, standing at the front of a cathedral in a black bridesmaid dress with a bouquet of flowers in her hands.

Following the ceremony, I lost her briefly when she disappeared with the bridal party for whatever it is that happens in the time between the wedding and reception. I’ve found her now, and I’m not losing her again.

I drink in the sight of her. The shape of Franki’s face has changed, and her body looks subtly softer. Her light brown hair now has streaks the color of caramel popcorn that shimmer under the ballroom chandeliers. Her eyes have the same sparkle.

Spencer pushes his tablet into my line of vision. “As you can see, I’ve—”

“What are you doing?” Interrupted from my musings, I turn my head toward Spencer and lift an eyebrow. “Your workday is over. Come to think of it, do you even have an invitation to this wedding?”

He yanks his collar away from his neck. “I’m not here as a guest. You don’t attend social gatherings, as a rule, and it will likely be some time before an opportunity to meet so many women at once is available to you—”

“Stop. Go”—I wave a hand and shake my head in exasperation—“enjoy the party. Have a drink. Do whatever it is people do at these things.”

“I understand that, typically, this would be a non-working event. However, given your recent decision to find an appropriate bride, I’ve assembled a list from the guests in attendance here tonight. This is the perfect time to meet some of these women in an organic setting and establish—”

“I don’t want to see it.”

“I’ve already spoken with several potential brides. Brittney Belgoise is first on the list. She’s five-foot-eight and has brown eyes. She’s agreed to dance with you.”

When Spencer attempts to show me his tablet once more, I lift my upper lip in disgust. “Brittney Belgoise?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“She’s perfect,” Spencer protests.

“She’s hideous.”

“She’s extremely symmetrical and has an Instagram page with over a million followers lauding her attractiveness.”

“I said I wanted a woman who didn’t need attention. You’re not finding her on a Google search. Give me that list.” I snatch the iPad from his hands.

His face falls as, one by one, I delete the names as I read them.

“Absolutely not. . . . No. . . . Never. . . . Are you joking? I said ‘gentle.’ That woman would castrate a man with a spoon in his sleep if he pissed her off.”

Finally, after deleting all fifteen names from his list, I type my own choice into his tablet.

Francesca Louise Lennox

He looks over my shoulder at the screen. “Who is that?”

Nodding in her direction, I say, “The bridesmaid on the end. Right there.”

“I didn’t notice her.”

“That makes no sense. She’s the most interesting girl in the room.”

“Oh, wait. She’s in the extended security circle. Standard monitoring for friends of the family. One of your sister’s friends?”

“Yes. She’s the one.” She’s the one. Sunny without being irritating. Not too talkative, but never mopey or silent.

Lacey Montgomery, wearing a black cocktail dress that clings to her like Saran Wrap, sashays toward me.

Pretending not to recognize the look of welcome in her eyes, I turn my back on the woman and face Spencer directly. “Did you tell all the women on your list that I would be dancing with them?”

“Yes. Of course.”

“I’m not. Fix it. Now.”

Eyes wide, he sputters.

Lacey claws her fingers into my bicep and purrs into my ear. “A little birdie told me you were looking for me.”

Nothing for it now but to brazen it out, I turn to Lacey with a manufactured look of mild surprise.

Her pale skin shimmers, as though she’s been dusted in an ultra-fine glitter, and her teeth are straight and white. They remind me that Franki once had braces. Lacey’s dark blonde hair flows all over her head in a curling lion’s mane.

I have only a passing acquaintance with this woman and no interest in her, whatsoever. Frankly, I’m surprised she approached me, even with Spencer’s prompting. I’m a dick and everyone knows it. I am, however, a dick with a massive bank account.

I move my lips into a smile. “I believe there’s been a misunderstanding.”

At my words, she drops her own smile, and her brow furrows. She smooths long, wavy hair back behind her shoulder. I can acknowledge that she is, indeed, quantifiably beautiful, intelligent, and by all evidence, socially adept. She’s also the correct height and has brown eyes. But she’s not Franki.

Lacey looks toward Spencer, who has buried his nose in his iPad. Then she lasers her focus on me. “I thought you were interested in getting to know me better.”

She walks her fingers up my lapel. “I’m very interested in getting to know you.”

I brush them away. “Why?”

She blinks, her mouth dropping open before she says, “You’re very attractive.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“I’ve, er, heard nice things about you.”

Beside me, Spencer chokes, then clears his throat.

“It sounds as though you have me confused with my brother, Gabriel. He is,” I search the ballroom. When I find Gabriel, I place one hand on each of Lacey’s shoulders and steer her in his direction. “Right over there. He’s chatting with someone right now, but don’t let that stop you. The more the merrier.”

I give her a gentle shove. “Go get him, tiger.”

She stumbles away, then pauses to look back in confusion. I mime walking fingers, and she turns back, straightens her shoulders and saunters forth to flirt with my brother.

As soon as I’m confident she’s really gone, I turn my attention to Spencer. “Remind me again why I haven’t fired you.”

“Because you appreciate my enthusiasm and attention to detail.” He reaches into his suit jacket, extracts a sealed antibacterial wipe packet and hands it over. “Also, I’m the only assistant who hasn’t cried.”

I rip open the packet, deposit the torn packaging onto his waiting palm and wipe off the gold shimmer I picked up from Lacey’s shoulders. When my hands are clean, I give him the crumpled wipe, lift my glasses, and rub the bridge of my nose. “Go deal with these women without causing some society catastrophe that my grandmother will need to discuss with me.”

“Right away.”

“And Spencer?”

“Yes?”

“No other names. I’m done with my search.”

His face glows with excitement. “Really? Do I get to plan the wedding?”

“Leave.”

“Leaving.”

A shot of tequila is in order. Not because I’m nervous. I’m not the kind of person who gets nervous. I deal with life and death situations as a matter of course. I’m a successful businessman. I’m not afraid to talk to a woman. I’m thirsty.

Shoving one hand in my pocket, I twist the fidget spinner I keep there and head for the open bar. One shot. Then I’ll say, “Hello, Franki. It’s been a long time.”

She’ll smile and say, “It sure has. How are you, Henry?”

After that, I’ll ask her to slow dance.

Sweat prickles at my temples, and I dab it with a logo-emblazoned bar napkin. Why is it always so damn hot and loud in these places? At least three different perfumes clash in the air around me. I sniff my own arm where Lacey touched me. Shit. She pressed her entire front against my side when she approached me. Glitter sparkles on my jacket sleeve, and I smell like a woman. Fuck me sideways.

Where was I?

Dancing. At which time I’ll talk with her and discover her current situation. If financial recompense isn’t enough incentive, Franki may be willing to help an old friend out as a favor.

After we dance, I’ll secure a meeting with her tomorrow. I can easily imagine the reactions of my friends and family if I tell them I secured her agreement to be my wife in twenty-four hours, but the clock on those shares is ticking.

Besides, it’s not really twenty-four hours, is it? Franki and I have ten years of friendship and nearly five years of at-a-distance monthly reports on her welfare. Not that Franki knows I’ve been monitoring her. I did my best to give her as much privacy as I could while maintaining our family”s standard security protocols. That doesn’t mean I didn’t perseverate over each and every report when it came in.

At any rate, when there are whispers that a lucrative property is about to come on the market, do I wait around for a bidding war, or do I get in there and make it mine before anyone else even realizes what they’re missing? The answer is “I make it mine.”

The blonde bartender smiles. “What can I get you?”

“A shot of mezcal.” A deep breath through my nose. “Make that two shots.”

I turn back toward the dance floor to keep an eye on Franki. When I scan the area near the head table, I realize she’s moved from her original location. I can’t lose track of her.

There. She’s turned slightly away, standing in a corner near the edge of the dance floor. Her silky-looking gown fits her like a second skin.

I have the strong urge to take off my jacket and cover her with it. Not because she isn’t gorgeous, but because, if I still know her at all, she despises the cut of that dress.

Flicking the fidget spinner in my hand, I give myself a silent pep talk. I can do this. It’s just talking to her. She won’t not like me anymore because five years have passed.

Her tinkling laugh rings out as she speaks with someone out of my view, her companion hidden from me behind a towering display of roses.

The man moves in closer, and I catch a glimpse of a tuxedo-clad arm. Then, wide shoulders. Pretty-boy features that belong on a male model come into view. A flirtatious smile plays on his lips as he stares at Franki’s mouth. With a casual hand, he brushes back wind-swept brown hair that he’s styled that way on purpose. His eyes are the exact same shape as mine, but green, rather than blue.

Then my brother’s hand is on my future wife’s lower back.

“Here you go.” Two shots land on the bar, but I’m already gone.