Chapter 32 Fawn #2
His brows pinch above a remorseful expression. “I didn’t come here to put a black mark on your day. Sorry.” He cringes outwardly. “Blesk told me to write it down, so I don’t say anything hurtful. Should always listen to my girlfriend.”
I lift my chin. “We’re incredible creatures.”
A warm chuckle leaves him. “That you are. So, I was thinking, we are kinda like family. In a way. I heard you want nothing to do with him or your half-sisters. Me neither. How about you think of me as your brother? If things had only been a little different, we might both have been Nerrocks.”
This comes out of nowhere.
My throat tightens.
His eyes soften. “Shit, don’t cry.”
I swallow over an insolent lump of emotion. “I’m not,” I squeak, tears filling my eyes as I nod enthusiastically. “Yes. I’d like that. Can we do that?”
“Yeah, you got it, Sis.”
That word lands like a warm blanket cast over trembling shoulders.
Bronson's ‘Sister Fawn’ has always been playful, but this—this carries weight.
Konnor and I share more than just a discarded surname.
We're connected by more than the father who didn’t want us or a mother who died too young.
We are connected by birthdays without presents, by learning to sleep without goodnight kisses, by broken and sewn identities, by scratching for a concept of self.
The word ‘Sis’ from his lips feels like finally being claimed by someone who understands the confusion of identity.
My arms rise slightly before I can think to stop them. "Can we hug, maybe?"
“Yeah.” He stands. “Let’s formalise this.”
Jumping to my feet, we meet for a hug over the coffee table, chuckling softly. “We can practise this. Did I do okay with the whole having company thing?”
He looks at me. “What do you mean?”
“Like inviting you in, offering you food?”
His smile deepens, carving those signature dimples into his cheeks. "You're a natural hostess."
We share matching expressions of resolve as I guide him towards the exit, my mind already racing through my to-do list—cake waiting in the kitchen, needing to pump milk for when I’m at the hairdresser’s and rehearsal dinner.
"Until tonight, then," I say, pulling the door wide as he steps onto the porch, then hesitates.
He turns to face me, the corner of his lips pulling up into a grin—the kind I imagine makes some girls weak in the knees. "Quick question: which is the bride’s side?”
My heart swells. "Let’s say it’s on the left.”
"Well”—he nods—“I’ll have my friends Elise and Jax sit on the bride’s side.”
Pop goes my heart.
I’ve been given some details about what to expect at the rehearsal dinner. Cassidy and Jasmine both helped me pick the menu, being the foodies in my circle. Bronson tried to teach me some Sicilian, though I have already forgotten it. Sir promised to meet me at the door and escort me up.
Kaya's words from earlier today echo in my mind.
" The bride should make an entrance." She'd said it while the stylist pinned our hair into buns, spraying them to smooth, manicured perfection.
So I'm arriving a little later than Sir and the groomsmen, with my bridesmaids—Cassidy, Shoshanna, Blesk, and Kaya—in tow.
I’ve already eaten tapas and downed a few champagnes to ‘relax’ as suggested by Cassidy, when we pull up to the grand entrance of The Main.
“Mrs Butcher,” HJ says, opening our passenger door, wearing a mask of professionalism tonight while the Family circles like sharks, eyes sharp.
What would they make of our friendship? Is it normal for a Don’s wife to have a relationship with her henchman outside of shield and protect? I shrug. I don’t really care. He is my butler rat and that is that.
The girls exit first, their bruised peach-coloured matching dresses drifting in the air, silk caught in a soft breeze.
My pretty heels hit the terrace as I step out of the white stretch limousine.
My ivory mini-dress is modest from high-neckline to the clinging upper-thigh but loses its modesty from there down like a deciduous tree.
The length is daring enough to cause every eye in the valet circle to linger on my legs, which is courageous given who I belong to.
I halt. “Wait. I feel like I’ve forgotten something.” Pausing, I stand by the idling limousine. Why is my brain cloudy and stalling? Why do I feel like I’ve left the oven on?
“It’s the twins,” Shoshanna says, her amber eyes softening on my face.
I tilt my head. “What?”
“Oh, you’re right,” Cassidy agrees, bouncing her gaze between us.
“You haven’t forgotten anything, Fawn. This is what happens when you spend a long time away from your babies.
It’s weird, right? Like we lived our entire lives without them, but now, it feels like leaving a limb at home or something. ”
My twins…
I sigh hard. “Yeah, but they’re okay.”
“They are fine,” Shoshanna confirms, drawing out the word. “Stone and Darius are with a babysitter too. It helps that we have this new dog. Bronson just randomly brought it home a few months back. The kids are obsessed with it so they will barely notice we’re gone.”
Cassidy adds, “Kelly, Mattius, and Clara are with my parents for the night. It feels weird the first few times, but it’s normal. You are more than a mum; you’re also Fawn.”
I shrug. “Right.”
Before me, the hotel literally sparkles against the sun’s descent over the city. The final rays of day create the illusion of gold and gemstones within the steep walls.
"Woah," I gasp.
My eyes widen at the convoy of vehicles—black tinted windows so dark they swallow light, with chrome details catching the sun like knives.
Men emerge in tailored suits; shoulders squared beneath fabric that moves like liquid.
Women glide out in old-money dresses, air whispering against bare legs.
Diamond earrings, gold chains and rings, catch light in violent flashes.
Power has a rippling effect, an energy, I swear it.
It moves the air, shifts it to warn and threaten.
The atmosphere vibrates with this tangible authority, like the skies before a lightning storm.
These strangers—soon to be family?—barely note their surroundings, all educated in practised indifference. Behind them, looming men with earpieces, hands hovering near concealed weapons, two-way radios creating static as they communicate across distances.
Butterflies swoop in my stomach. They used to be constant companions. My friendly winged insects are back tonight in force.
“That”—Cassidy, with her plaster of freckles and clinging innocence, looks almost as overwhelmed as I do— “is the Cosa Nostra, Fawn. I never get used to these events.”
A little deer walks into the wolves’ den, I think to myself. Lucky for me, this fawn has sharpened her teeth on concrete. And close behind me, HJ moves with residual stiffness in his legs, but otherwise still commands the area.
I’m gazing up at the impressive space when the front doors before me swing open to reveal a tall, dark, and dangerous six-foot-five devil in a navy three-piece suit. The suit that I paid for with my shiny black credit card.
Heat pools between my legs when his eyes clash with mine before dragging the length of my body, catching on my exposed upper thighs. His jaw muscles pulse so hard I almost hear his teeth grind.
I blush, rolling my shoulder to hide one pinkening cheek. “Nice suit, Sir. Someone has excellent taste.”
“A little deer.” He pulls me into his chest, his lips lowering to my ear. “Very pretty thighs, sweet girl. I will need them wrapped around my face before the night is through.”
The combination of his rasping voice, demanding words, and that sexy-as-hell suit, does inappropriate things to my temperature. To the place between my legs.
“I’ll be waiting,” I breathe.
He growls, then straightens, looking over the top of my head at the bridesmaids behind me. With a smooth, practised smile—both evil and charming—he nods an acknowledgment to them. “You all look stunning.”
Cassidy picks at her freshly painted pink nail polish, then says, “Frick. I have to stop doing that.” She drops her arms to her sides, flexing her fingers.
Blesk gently shoulder-bumps her. “Food will help.”
Clay smiles at them, then looks at Kaya, his lips thinning. “Try not to burn anything down, Fire Starter.”
She lifts a perfectly plucked brow at him. “I won’t break any laws if you don’t, Mayor Butcher.”
Cassidy stifles a giggle while Shoshanna stares at Kaya with obvious admiration. “Nice lady balls, Kaya,” she blurts out, not the slightest bit wary of Clay, having grown up with him and his brothers. “I like this one. You need a sister-in-law like her, Clay. She’ll keep you humble.”
Clay sighs roughly. “Indeed.”
Staying at my level, so much shorter than he is, I wrap my arm around his forearm to stabilise myself. He pivots and strides into the lobby, guiding me—the girls clipping behind us—across the travertine tiles to the private dining room. I keep my gaze forwards, level.
I cling to his arm as he cuts through the crowd with his presence, not physical form. Every eye follows our party. Clay Butcher doesn't just own this hotel—he owns this city.
And he owns me.
This reminds me of the final scene in Titanic when Jack and Rose descend the famous staircase. Everyone is positioned along the balustrading, a waterfall of people watching them. Eyes bright. Full of wonder. Almost as if they acknowledge that Jack and Rose are the main characters.
Well, the devil’s prototype, Clay Butcher, is the main character in everyone’s story.