12. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Keaton
What on earth is she wearing?
I stared at Layne, who climbed into the passenger seat of my Elysium. Or more so at her dress. Maybe we should’ve established last night what kind of dress she would wear to the funeral.
“This car is wild.” Her eyes glowed as she took in the interior. “Is it custom-made or something? It looks like a Victor, but that’s impossible, unless you bought it off the owner.” When I didn’t answer, she looked at me. Her smile fell. “What?”
“Is this the dress you’re wearing to the funeral?”
“Is it not good enough?” Dark eyes widening, she looked down at herself.
I gave her another once over. The black fabric looked cheap, but not as cheap as the sequins sewed across the midsection like a belt.
“This is the only dress I have,” she continued. “I can change into black pants and a blouse—”
“Nah, you’re good.” To emphasize my words, I started the engine and pulled up to the gate. “This is not the Aston Martin Victor, but the Aston Martin Elysium. Also custom-made. And guess what—it’s street-legal.” Honestly, I was impressed that she knew about the Victor.
“Cool.” Her voice didn’t carry even a fraction of the enthusiasm from earlier, and I felt like a jerk for killing her good mood.
“Like the Victor, it’s mostly a Vulcan underneath.” Maybe I could reverse the damage by giving her some facts. “12V, 868 horsepower.”
Layne sucked in a breath. “868? Geez, that’s more than the Victor has.”
“Quite impressive, wouldn’t you agree?” I smiled to myself, relishing the fact that I could talk about cars with her.
Even more that she approved of my taste.
“It’s a manual,” she said.
“’course it is.” I turned onto the road framed by trees and bushes. “Way more fun. You know how to drive a manual?”
She snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m from Europe.”
Right. Most Europeans drove manuals, although vehicles with automatic transmission were getting more popular.
“Mr. Grady, you have a new message from an unknown number,” Angelique came over the speakers. “Would you like me to read it to you?”
“No, thanks.” Bet that was another threat. Layne might be my wife now, but she didn’t need to know that someone had me in their crosshairs.
“Did your car just say your name?” Layne’s voice oozed astonishment.
“Whoa, hey, her name is Angelique. She has feelings, okay?” I patted the dashboard.
Layne snickered. “I’m so sorry, Angelique. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings .”
“I detect a new voice,” Angelique said. “Who is your passenger, Mr. Grady?”
“My wife, Layne.”
“Understood. Welcome aboard, Mrs. Grady.”
Layne burst out laughing. “You’re right, she does have feelings. Am I getting in the way or something?”
I smirked. Angelique’s voice had indeed sounded a little chilly. “We might have some history.”
“Of course you do.” I could hear the eye-roll in Layne’s tone.
A busy intersection forced me to a stop. I faced her. “You know what’s better than hearing ‘I love you?’”
“What?”
I revved the engine, grinning like a kid on Christmas at the aggressive roar. Man, that sound made my heart rate speed up more than a woman ever could. “Hear that?” I shouted. “Way better than I love you.”
“If you say so,” she said after I’d gotten ahold of myself. A smile graced her lips.
There, that’s what I wanted. Her good mood was restored.
At least for now. Things would definitely change when she met my parents.
Fifteen minutes and a scenic drive through the jungle later, we emerged at the top of the mountain. Saint James Cathedral was one of the most ancient buildings on the island, its stone walls and spires weathered. The monastery Kingsley lived in was to the right, caged in by thick walls on one side, green mountains on the other. Coming up here was like a journey back to medieval times—ancient buildings rich with history surrounded by untouched nature.
The gravel parking lot was packed with luxury vehicles, betraying what circles Uncle Marten had moved in. I stopped at the entrance. “You can get out here. I’ll catch up with you.”
Layne followed my instructions and slid out of the Elysium. I found vacant space all the way at the back, parked, then ambled to her. We were late, but I didn’t give a squat. Uncle Marten’s coffin could be disposed of at the garbage dump, for all I cared.
A few people loitered in front of the cathedral, of which my siblings made up a large part. They were all dressed in black. Wentworth had taken the liberty of wearing jeans and a T-shirt instead of a suit. I wouldn’t have put it past him to show up in his combat uniform. Kingsley’s vacation was over, and he was back in his habit, or whatever that black skirt was called.
“Late as always,” Tatum commented as Layne and I joined them. Inside the cathedral, a voice carried over speakers.
“And you probably camped here overnight so you wouldn’t be late,” I replied dryly.
“Believe it or not,” Wentworth said, “I was here before him.”
I glanced at his black Kawasaki Ninja starkly contrasting the stone walls of the cathedral. “And scored five court dates for speeding?”
The grin that formed on his face introduced his ears to each other. “It’d be a shame to stifle Ginny’s potential.”
Couldn’t blame him. I felt the same way about my Elysium.
I realized everyone was staring at Layne.
“This is my wife, Layne.” I placed a hand at the small of her back.
“It’s good to meet you guys,” she said with a tentative smile.
“I can’t believe I finally have a sister-in-law.” Kimball took a step forward and wrapped her arms around a stiffening Layne. “I’m Kimball.”
Wentworth was next, pulling Layne into a side-hug. “Good to see you again, Holzchopf .”
Weirdly, Layne relaxed into him. Laughed. “Of course Tripp taught you that.”
I ran my tongue along the inside of my teeth. The two acted like long-lost friends. Or like they had history. Did they?
As she greeted Tatum and Kingsley with a handshake, Kimball stepped in front of me and started fidgeting with my tie. Why, I had no idea. It had been fine a moment ago when I’d checked it in the rearview mirror. Nevertheless, I let her proceed.
“Doesn’t exactly fit into your prey scheme, does she?” She pulled the knot tight as if wanting to strangle me. With a catlike smile, she wiped my shoulders and batted her lashes at me. “What are you up to, Keaton?”
“Business, as usual.” I slipped an arm around Layne’s shoulders. “Let’s go inside.”
Climbing the narrow stone stairs, I loosened the tie, then opened the door for everyone to enter. Tatum brought up the rear, and I followed him inside. Incense hung in the cool air, the domed ceiling high above as if wanting to touch heaven. As much as I avoided holy places, I had to admit that all the gold, painted ceilings, and mosaic windows were impressive.
The pews were almost filled to the back, but even if there had been room at the front, I would’ve sat as far away from the priest as possible. I guided Layne to the second to last row and slipped in behind her. Tatum joined us, while Kimball and Wentworth settled in front of us. Kingsley headed for the group of monks across the aisle.
As the priest jabbered on, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the flood of emails and messages. As expected, I’d gotten another threat. I deleted it.
Layne shifted next to me, and I looked up. She had her hands folded over a Bible in her lap, seemingly focused on whatever the priest was saying. Something about God receiving Uncle Marten into heaven. Hardly. The guy wouldn’t make it there any more than I would.
Us Gradys didn’t do religion. Religion was about following rules, and we didn’t follow rules—we made them. Kingsley was an exception.
As if reading my thoughts, the priest’s stern look burned into me like he could channel the fire from hell.
I’m not here of my own accord, pal. The only reason I’d come was Regina. Wasn’t going to give her a reason to pass me over. Yup, I was her cursed slave. But only until Lincoln Grady Distillery was mine.
Or did the priest know about his daughter and me?
I leaned back in the pew. Improbable. If he did, this would be my funeral, not Uncle Marten’s.
Tatum caught my eye. He cocked his head at a guy who’d just entered and hastily dipped his fingers in the holy water to make the sign of the cross. Gordon Godfrey, an LGD shareholder.
“He could take a bath in that stuff and it wouldn’t help,” I commented, turning back to my phone. I knew that wasn’t what Tatum had pointed out. It was about Godfrey’s appearance in the first place—he and Uncle Marten had been at war as long as I could remember. Still, I couldn’t help but mock his hypocritical act. Everyone, absolutely everyone, knew about his affair with Regina. I wasn’t a saint either. Far from it. But at least I didn’t pretend I was one.
“Look who’s talking.” Kimball gave me a taunting smile from the next row.
I put a hand to my ear. “You say something, Mother Theresa?”
Wentworth chuckled beside her and held up a fist over his shoulder. I bumped it.
Sticking her nose in the air, Kimball turned back around.
Layne eyeballed me, her expression unreadable. Hadn’t expected to end up in such a messed up family, had she? Guess she was in for a treat, because this was just the beginning.
I returned to my phone. Replied to another email, but the way Layne vise-gripped her Bible kept distracting me.
Dipping my chin, I leaned in. “What’s up?”
Her gaze darted from the priest to me, then back to the priest. “Why?”
“You’re uncomfortable.”
“I’m fine.”
“What is it, Layne?”
“Just . . . being on the phone in a church is disrespectful.”
Ah, that was her problem. I shut off my cell and slipped it into my slacks. “Better?”
Glancing over, she gave me a smile. “Yes, thank you. Hearing this sermon might do you some good.”
I cocked a brow. Smirked. That’d come unexpected. “I feel offended.”
“Good.”
Now I was chuckling. Maybe Layne wasn’t as boring as I’d thought.
The warning look I received from the priest let me sober a little. Didn’t want to encourage the guy to dig deeper into my persona.
After another twenty minutes of chatter, the funeral finally came to a close. It was time to introduce Layne to my parents.