4. Royce
These nuptials would be the death of me.
Beer in hand, I stood off to the side and leaned against the window, watching people mingle across the large terrace that overlooked the Atlantic Ocean. The breeze carried the soft tones of Chopin through the air—Willow’s favorite composer. We always joked that beer and Chopin went perfectly together, yet she wasn’t drinking beer today. Since I’d arrived, she’d stuck only to sparkling water.
Her fiancé, on the other hand, was on his fourth glass of whiskey.
“Engagement party,” I muttered under my breath, scoffing.
I didn’t like it. Not. At. All.
As much as Willow was my rescue from a clingy girlfriend, I was hers to call upon when she needed saving. We were each other’s plus-ones for all the annoying events we had to attend.
My best friend belonged to me. No man had ever lasted long enough to be a threat.
Until now.
My gaze found the couple across the terrace, standing with some idiot who kept kissing Willow’s hand and beaming at her engagement ring.
If I were her man, I’d punch that motherfucker in the face.
I groaned inwardly, scolding myself. I had to stop thinking this way. My eyes locked on her petite frame, and my chest squeezed at the idea of losing her.
At five foot three, Willow was every man’s wet dream. A knockout and so fucking beautiful it hurt to look at her sometimes. She was the perfect blend of both her parents—Portuguese mother and French father. Her Portuguese heritage shone through her deep chestnut hair, which was tied back today, her auburn highlights glistening under the afternoon sun. She was blessed with beautiful ivory skin, light freckles across her narrow nose, and a slim body with curves in all the right places. And then there was her smile, the kind that blinded everyone around her.
The girl had grown into a woman who would put any man’s sanity to the test.
My thoughts flickered to that day in my living room, the credits of a movie I didn’t watch a second of rolling across my TV. I wondered if she thought about it as much as I did, if she wished that night would have taken a slightly different turn.
But then we probably wouldn’t have the friendship we had today.
Willow’s melodious laugh snatched my attention back to her and her fiancé. They stood closer now, with a different couple, and I listened to her recount her romantic proposal in vivid detail.
I’d heard it before, of course, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to throw up a bit in my mouth. Apparently the fucker sang the question like some kind of musical. I’d rather shut my dick in a car door than do something so publicly humiliating.
I glared at her fiancé who’d been glued to Willow’s side for the past hour like a damn blood-sucking leech. I was pulling at all my willpower here, fighting the urge to kill a man who’d done no wrong.
Well, aside from touching my girl.
All in all, it was a happy day. The birds chirped and kids ran around the caterers’ legs, laughing and smiling. All the while, I silently prayed, inviting a goddamned thunderstorm. In fact, it’d be the perfect day if lightning struck the fucking fiancé and gave Willow a break from his octopus hands.
Sailor—Willow and my sister Aurora’s best friend—appeared next to me. “Hey, Royce.”
“Hey.” I wasn’t in the mood for company.
“I bet you’re proud, huh?”
Narrowing my eyes on Sailor, I snapped, “Why?”
She blinked, confusion crossing her face.
“Well, you introduced Willow to Stuart.” Ah, yes. Then there was that. Stuart might’ve been a buddy once, but he was now my number one enemy. If only I could go back to that night and ignore his interruption. Send him and that fucking pineapple cake packing. Instead, idiot me invited the fucker into my penthouse and let him join us for dinner.
“They look so in love,” Sailor purred, as if she were egging me on. My grip on my beer tightened, threatening to shatter it into a million pieces. “You probably know they’re planning on expediting the wedding.”
I whipped around to face her. “What?”
My outrage drew a few curious gazes, including from Willow’s parents, who were making their way toward me. Fuck!
“You didn’t know?” Sailor questioned with furrowed brows. “I thought you two shared everything.”
“Apparently not,” I grumbled dryly.
“She probably planned to tell you today. The wedding’s happening tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I hissed in disbelief. “Why the fuck would they do that?”
She shrugged. “I guess they’re eager to make it official.”
I couldn’t ask her any more questions because she turned to greet Willow’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Auclair. So nice to see you again. Retirement suits you.”
Mrs. Auclair chuckled in that melodious way her daughter had picked up.
“Retirement in Portugal suits us,” she answered. She turned her eyes—the same unusual color as Willow’s—my way with a puzzling look. “Royce, is something wrong?”
Everything was wrong, starting with that ring on Willow’s finger. “No, Mrs. Auclair.” I shook hands with her husband. “I must agree with Sailor. You both look well.”
Sailor excused herself just as Mr. Auclair slapped me on the back. “It’s the air here, son.”
He’d always called me that. Would he call Willow’s fiancé that too? Shit, why was I jealous?
“Maybe I should consider moving here, then,” I joked, but something about my words had Willow’s parents exchanging a glance.
Someone switched up the music to some rap song, and the atmosphere changed instantly. Willow’s parents and I turned to glare at the culprit, finding a swaying Stuart issuing instructions to the DJ with an arm strung lazily over a waitress’s shoulders. Was this asshole serious?
My gaze flicked to Willow, whose attention was on my sister and her family. Her white top bared her smooth shoulders, and tiny diamonds glittered on her ears. Almond-shaped eyes twinkled as she smiled at something her uncle said, and her lush lips broke into a smile. As I stood here admiring her long hair falling in loose waves around her heart-shaped face and down her back, it occurred to me that she already looked like a bride.
I exhaled deeply, my heart squeezing painfully.
“Royce, can I beg a favor?” Mr. Auclair’s accented voice pulled my attention back to him and his wife, the latter eyeing me with worry over the rim of her glass.
“Sure.”
Mr. Auclair cleared his throat, glancing around us uncomfortably. “Can you…” He fiddled with his cufflinks and shifted on his feet.
Intrigued by his state of obvious stress, I gave him my undivided attention and patiently waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, his wife chimed in, “We think something is wrong.”
“Like what?”
“We’re not sure, but something’s off,” Willow’s mother stated. “You’re Special Forces?”
“Was.”
“Did you serve with Stuart?” Mr. Auclair asked.
I shook my head. “He was an Army Ranger, I was in the Marines, but we occasionally crossed paths.”
“He’s too old of her,” Mrs. Auclair said as she downed her drink, her critical eyes on her future son-in-law. I would have agreed with her, but that would make me a hypocrite because Stuart and I were the same age.
Willow’s father let out an exasperated breath. “No, it’s not that and you know it, mon chéri. It’s the fact that Willow is hiding something.”
Now that was something I agreed with them on. In the past month, Willow had grown more distant. None of my surveillance details had flagged anything. I’d scoured our message thread for any red flags, but aside from her becoming distant, I had nothing concrete to point to. I’d come up empty.
“What makes you say she’s hiding something?” I asked. I wasn’t dumb enough to tell them I suspected it too. If it turned out to be nothing, they’d be left disappointed.
“He’s forcing her to push up the wedding. Why the sudden rush? Willow initially said she wanted a long engagement.”
My brain ticked off all the reasons someone would expedite a wedding, and one stood out above the rest. I didn’t like it.
“Did you ask her?”
“We did,” Mrs. Auclair answered. “She just said Stuart wants it and that it’s for the best.”
“They’ve only been dating three months,” her father hissed. “It shouldn’t be like this.”
“Shhh.” Mrs. Auclair blushed as she scolded us. “She’s coming.”
“Say you’ll talk to her,” her father whispered. “You’ve known her longer than that idiot.”
I fucking loved her parents. “I’ll see what I can figure out,” I assured them both right before Willow joined us, her face slightly flushed. She seemed agitated.
“Hey, you three,” she greeted us. “Why does it look like you’re up to something?”
“Because we are.” It felt right to speak the half-truth. The full truth would sound a little different: We’re trying to figure out how to snatch you away from that fucking asshat.
Willow grimaced, glancing around erratically. “Have you seen Stuart?”
“Oh, sweetheart, did you lose him already?” Mrs. Auclair questioned. Willow blushed a deeper crimson, her décolleté blotching, which was a sure sign of agitation.
“Maybe we should delay the wedding,” Mr. Auclair blurted.
“Don’t be silly, Papà.” Willow stopped looking around and her lips thinned. I followed her gaze to where Stuart appeared, his hair a mess. It took exactly five heartbeats before the very same waitress appeared behind him, and my suspicion flared red hot.
Stuart staggered over and snaked a hand around Willow. She stiffened at my side, and my icy expression alone should have been enough to kill him on the spot. Much to my regret, it didn’t.
“Here you are,” he drawled. “I was looking for you.”
“You found me.” Willow couldn’t hide the apprehension in her body or voice, not from me and apparently not from her parents, who sneered at Stuart. They must have also seen him with the waitress and put two and two together.
“My parents want to speak to us,” he drawled, smiling like a fucking fool.
You’d be smiling like that too if she were marrying you, the devil on my shoulder whispered, but I promptly gagged him.
Willow flashed him a strained smile. “Let’s go, then.”
“Você n?o pode falar com eles mais tarde? Mal vimos você esta semana.” My Portuguese was rusty, but I could piece together enough to understand that Willow’s mother wanted more time with her—that neither of her parents had seen much of her this week. Mrs. Auclair wasn’t happy. Apparently the Harris bunch insisted Willow stay at the same hotel as them this week despite her parents having a house here.
“Desculpe, M?e.” Willow reached out and squeezed her mother’s hand gently, her expression softening into one of reminiscence.
“Ah, Willy.” Fuck, I hated that nickname. Judging by their expressions, so did her parents, and so did Willow. “The correct way to pronounce it is de-co-lpe,” Stuart corrected her.
My shoulders stiffened.
“Willow’s Portuguese is as good as your English.” My tone was as dry as the Sahara Desert. “She’s fluent in both, so I’m fairly certain she knows the proper way to pronounce it.”
Willow smiled sweetly, her eyes narrowed on her future husband, and she added, “I like how you started Rosetta Stone this week and you’re an expert already.”
Obviously Stuart missed the heavy sarcasm in her tone because he leaned in and brushed his lips over hers. I was shocked when Willow didn’t punch him, and instead rolled her eyes.
Then the asshole dared to squeeze her ass, and a growl vibrated in my throat. A goddamned growl. What the fuck was I? A dog? Nevertheless, I wanted to go for his jugular and tear him apart. Or maybe just shoot him and kidnap the bride.
Now that would liven this party up.
I tuned the rest of his slurred words out. As much as it would satisfy me, I couldn’t risk murdering him right here in broad daylight.
Willow’s vibrant green eyes darted to me, and instantly, all my focus was on her. She reached for my hand and squeezed it, whether in admonishment or asking if everything was okay, I didn’t know.
“Royce, you good?” she asked, settling my internal debate.
“Splendid,” I retorted wryly. “The better question is, Willow, are you okay?”
Stuart snickered and I flicked him a glare, but before I could say anything else, he pulled her along.
“M?e, want me to?—”
“Don’t worry about us,” Willow’s mother urged. “We’ll be okay here with Royce.”
“But if you need us, you know where we are,” her father chimed in.
My best friend’s eyes locked with mine, and so much of the sparkle I was used to seeing in her eyes had dimmed. I didn’t like that at all. Fuck, she was mine to protect. Stuart was all wrong for her. I needed to watch over her.
I opened my mouth to protest, but Willow cut me off. “I’ll see you later. Yeah?”
She gave me a pointed look and I nodded. But Willow’s annoyance didn’t escape me, nor did the hissed “Stop dragging me, I’m coming” that was directed at her fiancé.
Thanks to my… surveillance, I knew which hotel Willow was staying at, and as I watched the newlyweds-to-be scramble toward Stuart’s parents, I decided I’d crash her “night before the wedding.” I had to talk to her.
“See what I mean?” Mr. Auclair said once they were out of earshot.
Before I could reply, his wife added, “If you want to… beat him up or… take her away and make her see reason, we won’t object.”
Did I just get a carte blanche to whisk their daughter away into the sunset?
Then she smiled sweetly, slipped her hand into her husband’s, and walked away, leaving me staring at their backs with my jaw on the perfectly manicured lawn.