CHAPTER FIVE #2
“Perfect,” she says with a girlish grin, obviously swept up by his charm. “I’ll be sure he’s ready. You kids get going now.”
Wells chuckles. “Thank you, Theresa. Nice meeting you.” He steps out into the hall while I give my father and her one last hug.
She squeezes me tight. “That’s a handsome friend you got there. Enjoy these days, Ivanna. I’m taking good care of your dad.”
“I know you are, Theresa. Thank you.”
I’ve barricaded myself in my room at Wells’s house— my home now, I suppose—ever since he left me here with my suitcases and boxes.
It might be rude to be hiding, but I need a little time to process everything that’s happened.
My father’s reaction was strange, much like my mother’s was, and yet my gut tells me that look he flashed me was him assuring me, so I’m going to embrace this odd turn of events. I trust him.
There’s a knock on my door, startling me from my dazed unpacking and hectic thoughts.
“Come in.”
The door swings open, Ty looming in its place, flaunting a buoyant smile. “Hey, Freckles.”
Freckles. These guys like their nicknames, don’t they?
“Hungry?” he asks. “We’re ordering pizza.”
Sliding the last of my tops onto a hanger, I head toward the walk-in closet. “Yeah, I could eat.” I hook it inside and emerge a bit lighter. “I’m happy to buy tonight.”
He furrows his brow. “Not a chance. It’s move-in day. Our treat.”
“That’s very kind,” I say, dropping into the oversize lilac chair, soothed by the velvet texture. “But unfortunately, I can’t come out there until you’ve proven you accepted your challenge.”
“Right.” He lowers his voice, like a kid keeping a secret. Cute. “Wells as a movie character? James Bond is the first who comes to mind.”
“Pierce Brosnan. GoldenEye ?” I confirm.
“Exactly.” He bobs his head, clearly pleased we’re on the same page.
“Aww. That’s a sweet dose of hero worship and fitting, but too easy. I expected more.”
He laughs, his temple falling against the arm he has perched on the door molding. “You got a better one?”
Of course I do. “Clooney. Ocean’s Eleven . Danny Ocean, the brilliant, suit-clad leader of con artists, swindling millions from the unlikable and suspicious casino owner.”
His eyes narrow with a mix of humor and respect. “You’re too clever for your own good, Freckles. You win.” He jerks his head out to the hallway. “C’mon.”
We make our way out back to a charming stone patio, and Ty points to a golf cart. “Hop in, and I’ll show you the grounds before the sun sets.”
“That’s right. This was the next time promise.” I jump in the golf cart, and Ty takes off.
We pass a sparkling turquoise two-lane lap pool that dips into an oval lounge area, complete with a tranquil waterfall. Off to the side, there’s a quaint campfire area, and beyond that, a man-made pond is surrounded by vast shade trees and vibrant jade-green grass. They’ve thought of everything.
“This is all incredible,” I commend him, captivated by the tranquility. “There’s a small pond behind my house. I’ve always loved the way the moonlight dances on the water. Do you guys entertain a lot?”
“Not really.” He grins, boyish and lopsided, like he’s holding something close to the vest. “We use the pool every day until the weather doesn’t permit, so we’ll be draining it any day now.
Wells loves the pond too—usually drinks a morning cup of coffee out here.
And we build a lot of fires. But what’s coming up is my favorite. ”
He drives on, flying over some uneven terrain with a teasing glint as we jounce. My lively response ricochets around us, the thick wall of trees whispering of that enchanted-forest energy I was hoping for.
“Whoa. What the hell is this?” I shriek when a massive obstacle course comes into view beyond another set of trees. It reminds me of one of those warrior mud runs—walls to climb, sandpits to crawl through, bars to swing from, ropes to scale, and tires to flip. Who has this in their backyard?
“This is where we train.” He points to an area that’s shrouded in trees. “There’s a shooting range and knife throwing targets over there.”
“Jesus,” I gasp. “What are you training for?”
“Anything. The unexpected,” he quips. “You were running the day we met, right? You can’t tell me this doesn’t look more fun.”
“I love to run, the peacefulness of it.” My head shakes in doubt. “I’m not sure I could hack it out here though.”
“We’ll have to work on that then. We do have several different mile runs mapped out that I can show you. But it’s late, and the guys are waiting to eat, so it’ll have to wait.” He makes a U-turn, taking us back to the house.
There’s a lot to learn about these guys, and I have a feeling I haven’t even scratched the surface.
Wells and Liam are waiting on the patio when we return.
No pizza in sight. The sun is low in the sky, casting a dusty-mango-colored glow—a photographer’s golden hour.
And these men certainly provide portrait-perfect subjects.
Ty and I plop down at the table with them, just as some guy bursts through the French doors.
Gage maybe?
“What’s with the flashy-as-fuck car in the drive?”
That would be mine he’s referring to, but I can see his monster of a vehicle parked in the side driveway from here.
“As opposed to that inconspicuous matte-black six-wheeled Jeep Apocalypse?” I chirp, which causes Ty to clap with a chuckle while Liam and Wells both sport sexy smirks, but also inquiring eyes. “What?” I shrug. “I know cars.”
“Who the hell—”
“Ivanna Kingston,” I say, rising to cut off his rudeness with my hand out in greeting. “I’m … Wells’s fiancée.” Second time I’ve said I was engaged today, and it’s still an out-of-body experience. “You must be Gage.”
He shoulders past me, ignoring my cordial gesture, his booming tenor filling the outdoor space with a rattle. “The fuck is she talking about, Wells?”
So, after nailing it with the first two friends, I suppose it would’ve been too easy to win over the third in the first meeting.
But this is a strong reaction. I’ve barely spoken.
Maybe he’s on roids. He’s huge, bronze, bald, tatted, and angry.
Like he ate Vin Diesel and assumed his identity. I think Ty will appreciate that.
Wells’s face grows serious, his eyes screaming with a warning of sorts. He stands, stepping into his friend, his voice so icy that it chills me. “As Ivy said, Gage , we’re engaged. Congratulations is the appropriate response.”
“That’s right.” Liam lights a cigarette, pulling a deep drag while the silent, heated testosterone party carries on in full force. His eyes illuminate with mischief right alongside that glowing cherry. “When is the big day?”
I shoot a glance toward Ty, who offers me a subtle let-it-play-out shake of his head. But Wells never takes his eyes off Gage, so I answer Liam’s antagonizing question. “We haven’t set a date yet. ”
Maybe I’m overstepping here, mentioning the impending marriage at all, but Wells met my father and set a weekly appointment for us to return without consulting me, so it would seem fiancée liberties are up for grabs.
“So, no plans were discussed?” Liam twists toward Ty with that question, eyebrows bouncing with clear menace. Ty chuckles, nodding as Liam says, “Vegas here we come.”
That could be fun. I’m not a huge Vegas fan. Plus, it’s the only city I’ve ever been to, so going back isn’t thrilling. But I won’t comment either way because by the looks of things, this marriage puts Wells in a tight spot for some reason.
He glances at me, eyes roving over my face with an unexpected compassion. “No. New Orleans,” he states.
I’ve never been.
An excited smile breaks across my face, so I swiftly roll my lips in, but not before Wells catches it and winks.
Gage mumbles, “New Orleans,” under his breath, momentarily pacified by the suggestion. “La Lune Noire?”
“Yes.” Wells nods.
The black moon.
I have no idea what that means, but I don’t care. Getting out of town while also commencing this marital obligation is exactly what I need. And these guys, while intense, seem like they know how to have a good time. A bright spot in an otherwise overburdened day.
Wells sits back down, as if there wasn’t some crazy, anxiety-provoking altercation seconds ago, sips his scotch, and turns his leer on Liam. “Where the hell is the pizza?”
“How the fuck would I know?” Liam barks.
“Because you were the one I told to order it, jackass,” Wells snaps.
So, the hostility hasn’t quite passed after all.
“I respectfully disagree, Chief. You had me handling financials while we discussed eating pizza tonight, but—”
“I’ll take care of it.” Wells whips out his phone .
Ty laughs, Gage fixes himself a Knob Creek Bourbon on the rocks at the patio bar, and Liam snuffs out his cigarette, eyes trained on me.
“It seems as though our girl here knows cars, gentlemen. Shall we?”
All four guys escort me over to the massive garage, where I’m rendered completely speechless for a full minute by, essentially, a warehouse full of unbelievable vehicles.
But then I find my words. “Holy! Fuck!” The whole structure quakes with the thunder of their laughter while I begin my rant. “A ’67 Shelby Cobra. Real or replica?”
“Real.” Wells beams, proud, like he was yesterday when he brought me to see the house.
“Jesus, and a 1970 Plymouth Road Runner. My father loves this car. A 1956 Porsche 356 Speedster. A Ferrari GTO 250—1963 or ’64?”
“Impressive, Freckles.” Ty chuckles. “It’s a ’64.”
“My father is a car enthusiast, which is why I own the flashy-as-fuck Ferrari Roma in your driveway.” I throw a mocking scowl at Gage, who doesn’t seem so sure of me yet, so I go back to ignoring him. “But this is insane. A Bugatti Chiron? What in the actual fuck?”
These vehicles are worth millions and millions. I mean, the McLaren, the Aston Martin, the GranTurismo, and Audi R8 are all cars my friends or their parents own. My father has an Aston Martin V12 Vantage. But a Bugatti Chiron is a three-million-dollar car.