Chapter Twenty-Three
In which Kai and Luna are “For the Arts.”
Luna…
Kai is already gone when I wake up.
No note. Angus and Ian smile and shrug helplessly when I ask them if they know the whereabouts of my new spouse.
Irritably, I cook a ham and cheese omelet and French toast, making up plates for my two guards. They tried to refuse the first time I made them a meal, but I argued - successfully -that if they were tasked with the most boring job on the planet, watching me, they should at least be fed.
“Do you really not know where he is, or are you just not telling me?” I ask Angus, who is the more easily swayed of the two.
“Mrs. MacTavish-”
“Don’t call me that. My name is Luna.”
“I dinna know where the Boss is, but if I did, I’d still tell ya I dinna. This is standard protocol.” He looks apologetic as he says this, but I’m still pissed off.
“Even MacTavish wives don’t have a right to know?” Folding my arms, I hold his gaze. I’ve done too many stare-downs to blink first.
Angus’ expression goes from firm to vaguely guilty to acutely uncomfortable. When he finally opens his mouth and I think I’ve got him, he stuffs in an entire slice of French toast, chewing vigorously.
“This is such bullshit!” I stomp through Kai’s palatial townhouse. There’s nothing to clean, every surface is polished and shining. I’ve already cleared up the breakfast rubble.
Remembering his mention of a rooftop garden, I lope up to the third floor, looking for a roof access. The door is bolted shut with another one of his high-tech scanner things. “Seriously?” I shout to the ceiling, “Where the hell am I going to go?”
“Why are you so upset?”
Kai is leaning against the railing, eyeing me with a frown.
“Ohmygod!” I slump against the wall, my hand on my chest, willing my heart to slow down. “Why do you do that? You have to stop sneaking around or you’re going to give me a stroke. No worries about Armstrong murdering me, you’ll do it yourself with your unnatural stalking skills.”
There’s a brief flash of something over Kai’s expressionless face when I call him a stalker, though it’s gone again in an instant. “Ian says you’re looking for me?”
“Yeah, I know you’re out there, living your best villainous life, but I’m not used to sitting around. I need to do something.”
He does that elegant brow-raising thing he uses to convey disbelief and indifference. “Ya have access to all my books, the electronics, and the internet. The gym is right across from your bedroom. Are ya remembering that I’m doing this for your safety?”
“If you’re trying to sell that we fell in love and got married after a whirlwind courtship, doesn’t it look weird that you’re keeping me locked up in your house?”
“We haven’t started using that cover story, lass. Ya do have your first chance to try it out tonight.” He holds up a garment bag. “We have a party.”
“Actually, why is it that we’re trying to pretend this is a love match? Don’t gangsters still have arranged marriages? I thought Sloan said something about that at girl’s night.”
Kai chuckles quietly. “Sloan and Ethan? That one’s a love match. Well, it is now, at any rate.”
I wait, but that’s the extent of what he’s willing to share. Ian is driving us tonight and there’s another SUV behind us. I would probably be meaner to Kai for his high-handed bullshit, but the dress he brought me is almost unreasonably beautiful. It’s a dark blue-green like the shades of the ocean, ankle length with a long slit up the right side. The halter top cuts a little low, but the girls are contained as long as I don’t do something drastic.
Then, there’s the issue of my new husband in a tuxedo. Sweet, baby Jesus I almost hate this man. No one has the right to look this good in black tie. His tuxedo is simple and obviously custom-made because shoulders as wide as Kai’s do not fit in an off the rack suit.
“Again, why are we trying to sell this as a love match?”
“There are arranged marriages in most crime families, but the MacTavishes dinna do that,” he says. “There will be fewer questions about this union if people believe it’s a love match. Less probing.”
“Probing?” That sets me off into a round of giggling. “Now all I can think about are little gray aliens with guns at an illegal poker game.”
With a put-upon sigh, Kai says, “The more questions people have, the more they’ll check into your background. So, kiss me a couple of times, let the media arseholes get a picture and they’ll move on.”
We pull into the venue and I’m already shaking my head. “You said this was a small party!”
Even I know about the Kelvingrove Museum because I read an article in one of the gossip magazines in London about a Duke’s daughter having her wedding here. It’s a magnificent stone mansion with a row of cool little turrets lining the roof. Expensive cars are dropping off expensively dressed people for what is clearly an expensive as hell event.
“You’ll be fine,” he says unsympathetically. “There’s usually a shite tonne of lights when ya get out of the car and people shoutin’ questions. If ya look down for a moment, the lights won’t blind ya. Just keep a smile on your face and hang on to my arm.”
“I thought you meant a party party, like a bunch of people at a pub or something.” I’m close to whining and I’m not proud of it, but this is insane! I’m used to working this kind of event, carrying around a tray of crudités or champagne. Not swanning up the stairs like I’m one of the Beautiful People.
“You look regal,” he says, holding out his hand to help me from the car. His onyx wedding band glows slightly in the reflected light. “We’re in this together, aye?”
Reluctantly putting my hand in his, I sigh. “Aye.”
The fundraiser is “For the Arts,” which is as wishy-washy and non-specific as an event can be when no one really cares about where the money is going and they’re here just to be seen.
I can practically smell the entitlement and tax evasion from here.
“Where does the money really go?” I ask Kai.
“To the Arts,” he smiles cynically, “Dinna ya see the sign up front?”
He’s guiding me around the massive entryway. It’s three stories high with hundreds of Japanese paper lanterns and origami birds dangling over us. The curved ceiling glitters with gold leaf, and the guests around us glitter too, burdened with an unimaginable amount of jewelry. Necklaces with diamonds as big as grapes, rings so enormous that they must weigh at least as much as the skeletal socialites wearing them.
The memory of the mansion, crowded with that pack of cruel, spoiled monsters rises up with a vengeance, and I stop, trying to catch my breath.
Kai’s arm slides around me. “You are the most beautiful woman in this room,” he whispers, “and everyone here knows it.” Weirdly, his words push away the memory of that night, and I straighten my spine. His fingers slip just under the back of my dress, stroking my skin. “There’s my bride.”
“The happy couple at last!”
It’s Michael. I remember him from the rescue. He’s also in black tie and accompanied by an older man who must be his father. He’s wearing the hell out of his kilt in the MacTavish tartan and every man who glances over looks like they wish they’d worn their kilt, too.
“Luna,” Michael says, “this is my father, Cormac MacTavish, Chieftain of our clan. Da, this is Kai’s new bride, Luna Jones MacTavish.” He raises his voice as he says this and I can hear a couple of muffled gasps behind me.
“A pleasure,” Cormac says, kissing my hand. He’s looking me over carefully, no doubt wondering how this looks to the outside world, how a poor girl from Iowa got hitched to his nephew.
“This is Luna?” A gorgeous redhead comes up behind them, smiling at me approvingly as if I’ve done something more notable than stand here. She has an American accent and it’s nice to hear it again. “I’m Michael’s mother, Mala.” She takes my hands in both of hers. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”
My shoulders sag a little in relief. “Yes. So much extra. Of everything.”
Mala laughs, but not unkindly. “Scots are passionate. And loud, very loud. Fortunately, they pursue life and love with just as much passion, which mitigates the loud part.” She takes two glasses of champagne off a waiter’s tray and hands one to me. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you since I heard about how courageous you were on the island.” Her voice instantly drops on the last three words.
“I didn’t feel very brave,” I whisper back.
She’s so pretty, she doesn’t even look old enough to be Michael’s mother, but the gentle squeeze she gives me is definitely maternal. For a moment, I can remember the feeling of Mom’s arms around me, but it’s insubstantial, like a ghost of a memory.
“You saved your friend. You fought back,” she says quietly. “Do you know how many people in that situation would have just fallen apart? You were amazing.”
I don’t feel amazing, but Mala’s boost gives me enough confidence to smile and nod after Kai introduces me to rich person after rich person, looking like crows with their black clothes and their curious, glittering eyes.
“How did you two meet again?”
This is the third time this woman’s asked me, she’s been chattering at me and subtly moving enough to step between me and Kai, who’s talking to her husband.
“Aye, I’ve been dying to hear the story.” Her friend joins us. They’re both platinum blonde, both in their early fifties, I think, with enough plastic surgery to pass for forty.
“As I’ve said, we met in London. I lost my backpack and he helped me find it,” I repeat our cover story. Again.
“Well, how long ago was that?” Rich Broad #2 asks petulantly. “Because he was dating my Laura only a few weeks ago.”
“Hmmm,” I nod, smiling sweetly. “I can understand your disappointment. Kai is the total package, isn’t he?”
“Ladies, I see you’ve met my beautiful bride. I do need to introduce her to a few more people.” Kai moves in, steamrolling over all their attempts at conversation and hustling me away.
He kisses the top of my head. “Ya looked like you were done with those two.”
“Thank you,” I agree fervently. “I don’t know how many mothers’ hopes we crushed tonight, but I almost enjoyed it.”
“For the record, I never dated her daughter. Laura showed up at my place one night last autumn, claiming that her car wouldn’t start and asking for a ride to her place. She was mighty upset when I had Angus drive her.”
I suddenly realize he’s led me to the middle of the dance floor, and the orchestra starts up again.
“No!” I hiss, trying to pull away. Kai’s got me locked down, gripping my hand in his with his arm pressed firmly on my back.
“Aye,” he says, “you’ll be fine.”
“I can’t dance to this music!”
My swine of a husband pleasantly ignores me, leading me around the vast expanse of elaborate marble tiles, moving flawlessly to the music. Thank god he’s a strong lead because I’m tripping over his feet, and he lifts me just enough each time to make it look like a turn.
Sweating under the lights, I lean at an unnatural angle to avoid knocking into another couple as they swoop too close. I don’t dare look anywhere but at the center of Kai’s chest. I’ll bet everyone is enjoying the spectacle, watching a MacTavish getting trampled on by the rhinoceros-like moves of his date. Finally, blessedly, the music ends and there’s polite clapping as I scuttle off the floor.
“You owe me after the most painful ten minutes of my life,” I say, squeezing Kai’s fingers as hard as I can. “Get me out of here!”
Laughing, he pulls me down a dim hall and into another room. The chandeliers are dark, the only illumination is from the little lights on the glass display cases.
“Where the hell are we?” I can’t take my eyes off an enormous display of stuffed lizards.
“The Creatures of the Past exhibit,” he says, pulling me behind a glass display of fish fossils. His hands cup my face, forcing me to look up at him. “What lesson do ya want?”
“What?”
“You’re a bonnie thing and I want to kiss ya,” he says, his breath warm on my skin. “Tell me what I can teach ya next.”
Excellent, another opportunity to get a concession from him. Still, I’m surprised by what comes out of my mouth. “Ballroom dance lessons.”
“That’s really what you want? Not learning how to fly a helicopter or private cooking lessons with a Michelin-starred chef?” Kai draws his head back, leaving an inch of space between our lips.
“I want to learn how to ballroom dance,” I say stubbornly. “I’m not going through another dance floor debacle like that. You clearly learned in like, finishing school or whatever they do for rich Scottish kids. So that’s what I want.”
It seems the memory of his own childhood lessons is making Kai even less enthusiastic. “How about I take ya to Paris instead?”
Paris sounds pretty good but I’m not willing to concede. I’ve done enough of that in this deal. “Ballroom dancing. The foxtrot, the tango, whatever the hell that was in there. You dragged me around the floor like I was an elk you just shot.”
Kai gives me his half-smile, tracing a rough fingertip down my bare shoulder. “Wrong, ya pulled the dance off beautifully.”
“So, you don’t want that kiss. Okay.” Stepping back, I watch his supreme desire to not teach me ballroom dance warring with his intent to kiss me.
“Not so fast,” he grabs my waist, pulling me back against him. “Two hours of dance lessons.”
“An hour a night for a week,” I bargain. “I pick things up pretty quick.”
“Done.”