Chapter Thirty
In which this is fucking hilarious.
Violet…
"It's time."
Cruise Director is back and the stylists move away, tidying up their hairspray and lipsticks. Rose and Iris look at me, waiting for me to tell them everything will be okay. That I have a plan.
Pulling them close, I whisper, "Stay smart, don't let your fear make you miss an opportunity to run. I…"
I can't save them.
"I know we will find a way out of this. I love you, and I believe in you."
A hand wraps around my arm, yanking me away and I spin and hit the guard across the face. Oddly, it helps. The burn on my palm is energizing. "We're coming. Don't fucking touch them."
The mansion feels different today. Claustrophobic, and crowded.
There's easily twice the number of guards, most of them hard-faced and scarred.
I see tattoos and guns poorly hidden under suit jackets.
Glancing out the windows as we're hustled along, I see teams of men patrolling the grounds, and guarding the gate.
There's a ballroom in this mansion, of course.
It's festooned with flowers and if it wasn't my wedding, I might think it was pretty.
The huge french doors leading to the terrace are open and the sun is glimmering off the waves.
Mother Nature is on The Chad's side, because it's a beautiful afternoon.
A crowd of expensively dressed guests are outside, drinking and chatting as if watching women get married into slavery is a lovely weekend activity.
The strains of music from a string quartet float in the warm breeze.
The elegant moment is marred by more guards - at this point, they're outnumbering the guests.
We're herded back to the study at the end of the hall, Colin and his two buddies are there in tuxedos, holding their signature glasses of scotch.
Another man is sitting at the desk, going through some paperwork.
There's no Jack huddled in the corner pretending he's invisible this time, but there is another man here, short and round, his expensive tuxedo not hiding his paunch.
He has the dark, clever eyes of a sewer rat.
He glances over and bursts into loud, hearty laughter. "There they are! You're right, Ashford. Lovely girls, worth all this trouble, eh?" His laugh is jarring in the quiet room. The Chads only chuckle in a languid sort of way, like their lungs forgot what actual good humor feels like.
"Emiliano, these are Jack and Poppy's girls." Colin walks over to take my hand, I instinctively pull back and he grips it tight enough to grind my knuckles together.
Don't fight it. He'll hurt Rose or Iris.
"Ladies, this is our star investor at Pinnacle Ventures, Mr. Emiliano Morales."
This is Morales, the man who tried to flatten Roman and me into paste with that monster truck? The drug dealer that the Morozovs want to wipe out of existence? The avalanche of thugs roaming the estate make sense now, they're his people.
"You scrub, scrub my money and I turn you from millionaires to billionaires," Morales says, finishing his drink. The Chads wince slightly at his comment. So gauche to speak of money.
"We'll see you out there," Colin says, his whitened teeth flashing so brightly that the glare makes my pupils contract.
Morales strolls out onto the terrace, Colin closing the door behind him. "Let's get this paperwork out of the way."
The man at the desk taps a key, printing out an official-looking document. "Mr. Cavendish, you'll be first."
Rose's "fiancé" snaps his fingers at her. "Come dear, time to sign the marriage license." She gently pulls her hand out of mine and walks over to him, placid and blank, taking the pen and signing it.
Out of time out of time… My terrified voice circles my mind like a mouse on a wheel.
"Mr. Kennedy, you're next." The clerk tidies the papers, laying them in front of him gently.
Iris doesn't wait for his order, gliding over, hand shaking as she signs.
The clerk's rapidly typing on the keyboard, a little frown creasing his brows. There's a helpful beep! from the laptop, but it's not delivering good news, because his frown creases his entire face. He taps a couple of keys. Another beep.
"What's the holdup?" Colin says impatiently. He checks his watch. "The guests are waiting." He gestures at me without looking. "Violet, over here."
I move quickly because I want to know what the problem is, because the man is sweating, even in the chilly air-conditioned study.
His fingers are flying over the keyboard as he opens one window on the screen, then reduces it and opens another.
I've signed enough New York City forms to recognize their paperwork.
"Mr. Ashford, there seems to be a problem," he stammers, not daring to look at Colin directly.
"What."
It's one word, dropped like an anvil and it shakes the clerk to his bones.
"Miss Monroe is already married," he says, spinning the laptop to show us the screen. "There was already a license created in her name, signed, officiated and dated four weeks ago."
Colin's mouth tightens. "To whom?"
"It's- the groom's name is Roman Morozov."
Something snaps and I howl, laughter ringing around the room and I can't stop because this is fucking hilarious.