CHAPTER TWENTY #3
Nigel shakes his head, regretful. “Given his emotional attachment, I do not believe that’s wise. I have witnessed Miss Whitfield’s powers of persuasion. It is entirely plausible he might try to assist her escape.”
Shit. I can’t argue with that.
My brother is Mr. Fix-It, and Fiona’s got him wrapped around her manicured fingers.
God, this is so fucked up.
“All right, listen up, gentlemen. There is no way in hell I’m letting that deranged Barbie doll marry my brother. I’ll go along with this undercover cop show, but only until they break out the wedding rings. If your police buddies haven’t shown up by then, I’m taking the law into my own hands.”
I hold up my taser. “And by law, I mean arson. I’ll burn that overpriced Dream Doll Tent to the ground before I let that she-devil say ‘I do.’”
Nigel processes my threat. “I find your terms entirely acceptable, Miss Brinkman. Though I believe it won’t come to that. Law enforcement is scheduled to arrive momentarily.”
“You better be right, Lord Britchybottom, because I’m not bluffing.”
“Understood,” Nigel declares. “Now, we must all execute our performances flawlessly. I shall resume my hosting duties with Miss Von Cashmere. Mr. Sterling, you should mingle amongst the guests in your customary manner. Miss Brinkman, I beg of you, stay out of sight, but stay close.”
We all bob our heads together as though we’re accepting assignments in a wedding heist movie.
“Mission Save My Brother from Marrying a Felon is officially a go.”
Nigel extends his hand toward me. “The remainder of your confection, if you please. We mustn’t risk another outburst from Miss Von Cashmere.”
I groan and hand over what’s left of the cookie. He exits, Miss Muffy perched on his forearm.
Bryce turns halfway out the door then hesitates. “I didn’t treat you the way you deserved. I’m sorry for everything. My world taught me that people like you were beneath me, when actually, Petra, you’re above us all.”
My stupid eyes want to water, but hell if I will let him see me cry. I snap back, “You don’t get to rewrite the ending to make yourself feel better. Stay the rich asshole you are, a man I can hate from across the damn country. Okay?”
He exhales. “That’s fair. I guess this is goodbye, Pip.”
I bite down hard then flash him a smile that feels like barbed wire. “Good luck ruling the world. I’ll be expecting my monthly credit card bills from your family’s bank. See you never, Moneybags.”
The door clicks shut with a ferocious finality, leaving me with one soul-crushing realization. The man I love is out of my life forever.
***
There’s nowhere to hide in this boujee tent.
Outside was easy, but inside I’m a walking contradiction of white lace and black leather.
Security guards are clocking every step I take.
Servers stare like I’m a stray cat in the wrong neighborhood, and wealthy guests stop mid-mingle, as if they’ve never seen a leather jacket before.
I duck behind a fruit tower overflowing with velvet-skinned plums, glistening blackberries, and succulent figs. I snag a few grapes as I sweep the altar area for the best place to stake out.
Option 1: Behind the floral arrangements? Too obvious. Not with this white dress I’m wearing that screams “Wedding Crasher.”
Option 2: Near those industrial AC units humming like angry wasps? Too loud. The noise would drown out the vows and I’d miss my cue .
Option 3: Sit in the back row like a civilized human? Too exposed. If Fiona sees me, she’ll cram her bouquet straight down my throat.
My best bet is to hide in one of the oversized white curtains wrapped around each tent pole. If I wedge myself in just right, the folds should swallow me whole. Combat boots and all. Probably.
So that means I have to get as close to the altar as possible.
Silver trays rest on a nearby table, loaded up with on-call champagne flutes for guests. I grab one and hold it high, like a shield, as I weave between clusters of old money and new hair plugs.
“The jet was detained for maintenance , so we had to fly commercial. The trauma.”
“Our nanny quit , can you imagine? I had to make my own coffee, like an animal.”
“… rained the entire week in the Maldives. I told the staff to fix it, but you know how unreliable they are.”
“We didn’t even want to go back to the Amalfi Coast, but the yacht’s a write-off, so what could we do?”
A guest grabs a flute from my tray, and I glance away to avoid eye contact.
That’s when I see her.
Lois Brinkman, my beautiful, smiling mom. I wish I could give her a hug.
Minus the punk rock flair, I’m her mini-me—same stubborn jawline, same full lips. Her silver-streaked hair is in a no-nonsense bun, with a simple blue dress that stands out in the ostentatious crowd. She oozes maternal wisdom (which I could really use right now) .
And she’s talking to Gavin. Shit .
“I keep calling her, Mom,” he says. “It just rings through to voicemail every time. What if she’s hurt? What if—”
“She’s probably nursing her pride,” Mom replies. “You know how she gets when she’s embarrassed.”
I hold up the full tray and move closer, behind a spectacled man checking the DOW on his phone. It’s risky, but I can hear better. I promise myself I’ll only stay a minute.
Gavin runs a hand through his styled hair, messing it up in a way that’s very unlike him. “I shouldn’t have brought her to Mexico. It was a mistake. Casa Cashmere, forcing her to work with me all summer… I put too much pressure on her.”
“You were trying to help her find her footing.”
“Was I?” he mutters. “Because she looked at me like I was Dad.”
“You are not your father, Gavin. That bastard betrayed us. You fight for the people you love.”
“Then why does it feel like I’ve lost my sister?” His voice cracks like he’s twelve again, asking why Dad didn’t want us. “She should be making fun of my tux, threatening to object during the vows. It feels wrong getting married without her here.”
Stop it, bro. You’re going to make me cry.
“She’s been my responsibility since Dad left,” he says, voice thick. “I’m supposed to protect her and make sure she never feels abandoned again. But what did I do? I told her she was embarrassing and to leave.”
The guilt in his voice kills me.
“You’re her brother, not her father, and Petra loves you. She always comes home. ”
Gavin nods, letting out a deep sigh. “Fiona’s dad isn’t here yet either. We’re both missing somebody important. I’m not big on superstitions, but maybe this wedding is cursed.”
Mom laughs gently. “Okay, stop giving yourself an ulcer. Nothing is wrong. Loosen up and let yourself be happy today, son.”
She pulls him into one of her trademark bear hugs, and I bite my lip to stop it from quivering.
This is going to destroy him. I was so hellbent on taking Fiona down, I forgot that the shrapnel’s going to pierce Gavin’s heart too.
Still, allowing him to marry a con artist is not an option.
“Esteemed guests, kindly take your seats,” Nigel announces. “The ceremony shall begin momentarily.”
The crowd starts shuffling to their designated zones, and I see my opening.
Front-row curtains, the perfect vantage point.
I ditch the tray and make my way to it while everyone’s distracted.
I settle in, wrapping myself in the silky fabric like a moth claiming its cocoon.
As I’m tucking my boots behind the too-short curtain, a familiar voice startles me.
Reginald Sterling.
I peek through the fabric gap and see Bryce’s parents locked in a heated whisper-fight right outside the tent.
“You let him dump Amanda? Do you have any idea how that looks?” his mother Judith hisses.
Whoa, hold up! Bryce really did break up with Amanda?
Judith continues, “You did remind him, didn’t you, that if he doesn’t make this work with Amanda, he’s cut off from the family.”
Reginald smooths down his tie. “I talked to him and made things crystal clear. The situation is handled. ”
“How exactly? The gossip mill is churning with tales of him canoodling with the Brinkman girl. The sister.”
“It’s handled, Judith. Bryce understands his responsibilities. He has the ring, and he knows he has no choice in the matter. He will propose to Amanda tonight, and then this indiscretion will be forgiven.”
Holy shit, they’re forcing him to get married. That’s some Bridgerton-level manipulation.
Bryce is still an asshole, but at least he’s not a cheating asshole.
A soft piano melody begins, joined by the warm, low hum of a cello. Through the small opening in the curtains, I see the altar. As rehearsed, Hana is the first to sashay down the aisle, eyes already shimmering with happy tears.
The crowd “oohs” and “ahhs” when Miss Muffy trots down the aisle with paws of confidence. She’s wearing my peach bridesmaid’s dress, altered to fit her pint-sized form. Her tiny tiara glitters under the chandeliers.
Damnit. She wore it better!
Finally, Echo steps into view, with Fiona gliding beside him like a bridal grim reaper, beautiful and deadly. The guests rise with murmurs of appreciation as Fiona meets my brother. Gavin stands gallantly at the altar, the personification of a romantic hero in every way.
The police should be here by now.
The ceremony is flying by. No sooner has Hana wrapped up her reading of “Love is patient, love is kind” when Gavin starts his vows.
“Fi, you hold a permanent seat on the board of my heart. And I vow to keep showing up—even when the market’s down. ”
I need a plan! I can’t reveal the truth about Fiona’s crimes without tipping her off. If she smells trouble, she’ll scurry away with Echo like the roaches they are.
Fiona’s already reciting her vows. “You are my timeless piece, my Rolex watch. I want to be your forever plus one.”
They’re almost to the kiss. Do I really have to blow this up myself? Where the hell are the cops? There should be sirens and a raid happening. Somebody should’ve burst in shouting “Hands up!” already.
“We will now exchange rings,” the officiant proclaims.
FUCK.
That’s when I hear it—my personal soundtrack kicking in. The opening guitar riff of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation” blares in my head like it did in high school, and suddenly I know exactly what to do.
I’m going to let every rich prick in this tent believe I am the reckless, chaotic screw-up they always assumed. I’m going to give them a show they’ll never forget.
This is something I can't come back from. Something only I can do.
They will whisper. They will clutch their pearls. And when I’m done, there will be no doubt I don’t belong here. No chance to ever be respected, much less accepted.
Bryce will see me and finally understand—we were never meant to be.
But this isn’t about me.
I’m doing this for my brother.
Time to live up to my reputation.