Chapter 30
MAYBE A BLACKENED SOUL CAN NEVER BE CLEAN
RONAN
Idon’t know a lot of dudes who spent much time imagining their weddings, but if they did, I doubt it would have looked like this.
At eight o’clock on Friday evening, the ballroom at the Martin was packed like a sardine tin.
Three hundred of Boston’s upper echelon, including Blackguard board members, investors, industry elite, and the arm candy they brought with them, all puffed up with their own self-importance as they attacked the raw bar and compared stock portfolios.
In other words, it was my worst nightmare.
Not that any of them besides the woman with me knew it. If I had a dollar for every time I heard some variation of, “Try not to go too crazy at your own wedding, Black!”, I’d be a billionaire all over again.
“And who, exactly, was that guy?” Laney asked after one such exchange where a James Snowden III made only slightly veiled jokes about that time we did speed balls at his sister’s prom along with an even more poorly invitation to repeat the experience tonight.
I’d put him off but felt sick to my stomach.
Odd, considering I probably would have jumped at the chance a month ago.
But Laney’s hand in mine was a connection to a life I was so close to having, and all the James Snowden IIIs in the room felt like specters sent to hold me in the underworld I’d inhabited for so long.
Douchebags, one and all. And I had been one of them, hadn’t I?
“He’s no one,” I murmured to her as I nursed my second scotch of the night. I’d saved up my drink limit for tonight. “Don’t worry. They won’t remember your name, and most of them will forget their own by the end of the night.”
She chuckled, but couldn’t quite hide her concern. “And these are your friends?”
I shuddered. “No, Ari. I don’t have friends. I have vultures. Except for you, of course.”
She gave me that look, the one that somehow managed to be sympathetic without pitying me. It was the one that made me want to find the nearest coat closet and fuck her senseless, but it also made me feel seen. Like it tied my guts into knots and made chest feel like a sponge being wrung out.
Hence the need for the coat closet.
God, she was beautiful. Kate and her team had done right by her this afternoon, returning to the penthouse with a whole other array of gowns that were less Paris Fashion Week and more Midnight on the Mediterranean.
Laney had chosen a more subdued green dress that was draped over her shoulders toga-style, her dark hair loose in waves that were back from her face by gold bands.
With minimal makeup and subtle gold jewelry, she looked like a Greek goddess come to life. I couldn’t stop staring.
“You all right?” I asked before she could answer me. When in doubt, deflect, deflect, deflect.
“Oh. Sure.” She looked slightly confused. “I’m just here for the free food.”
It was a sad attempt at levity for my sake. She could obviously feel my stress.
“And your—” I glanced at her neckline, hovering just over her heart. “Did you make the appointment?”
She bit her lip, avoiding eye contact.
“Laney.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve had two weeks, and I’ve seen two more episodes during that time,” I pressed. “I’m starting to feel like a nagging mother hen. Baby, you need to take care of your health.”
I didn’t want to press her, but the girl obviously had an issue with doctors.
I understood it had something to do with her mother getting sick and the discovery of Laney’s heart condition at the same time, but even just a quick Google search had informed me that the procedure she needed would be a relatively quick fix.
She just needed to see the doctor and schedule it.
“We’ve had a lot to do,” she said. “I’ll do it on Monday.”
I tugged on her hand. “You promise?”
She sighed but nodded. “Yes.”
“Good. Otherwise, I’m going to sic Ruth on you, and you know she doesn’t let anyone get away with anything.”
Laney blanched adorably. Clearly, Ruth intimidated her as much as she did me. Brendan knew what he was about when he hired that woman.
“Come on, Ari.” The servers were starting to bring out the salad courses, a clear sign it was time to find our seats at the family table. “Time to find my family and eat. Brace yourself.”
I thought I heard her murmur something like, “I always do,” but couldn’t quite make it out as we wove our way across the ballroom. My father was waiting for us at the long table at the front, seated at the center as if this party were actually thrown in his honor, not ours.
Typical.
Most of my family had already joined him there.
Brendan and Simone were down at the end, happily on the family periphery now that Brendan was no longer the chosen one.
They were making polite conversation with Shea and her date, a kid I recognized from Andover, whom Mac was giving a death stare from his position at the wall behind her.
On Dad’s other side sat Liza and Liam, besides three more empty seats for the two of us and Owen, who was busy arguing with someone on the other side of the room.
“Is that Jenny Churchill again?” I asked Liam as Laney and I sat down beside him.
Liam leaned out of the way while a server set down his wedge salad. “Yep. She came as someone else’s date, apparently. He’s reacting about the way you’d expect.”
“You mean masking his jealousy by accusing her of sabotaging the family?”
“Well, did you see what she wrote about the upcoming board meeting?” Liam pulled out his phone and swiped to the story. “It’s basically rumormongering, and the worst of it is about him. He’s right to be pissed.”
I glanced at the headline.
IS BLACKGUARD PLAYING MUSICAL CHAIRS WITH CEOS AGAIN?
I frowned. “Well, that’s just unfair. We had one turnover.”
“Yeah, but look what she wrote about Owen and Shea.”
I scanned the rest of the article and found the part he was talking about.
Brendan Black’s sudden resignation from Blackguard after only two months prompts the inevitable question: what if it happens again?
While Ronan Black, despite a hedonistic reputation, is obviously competent with business, should he also decide the position isn’t for him, would either of the remaining Black siblings be able to handle the pressure?
If the board has to choose between a war veteran with a history of mental illness or a dilettante who has yet to prove her mettle in the world of business, it might be time to look behind the Blacks for stewardship of one of Boston’s biggest job creators.
“‘History of mental illness,’” I repeated. “Ouch. Although I don’t come off great here either.”
Liam snorted. “She basically says you have a lot of game. I wouldn’t worry about it, especially since you and Laney are putting on this show.”
“What show?” I asked meaningfully with a quick glance at Laney, who was wrapped up in a conversation with Violeta about feathers or something equally vapid. Thank God she hadn’t heard.
Liam grimaced and mouthed “Sorry” before setting himself to his salad just as Owen arrived, trailed by Jenny.
“Owen, I asked you a question. Is your official comment ‘no comment’?”
He flopped into his chair with a grunt. “That’s my official comment to you vultures for the rest of time.
But especially to the ones who fake a date to my brother’s wedding reception just to score a byline.
Consider everything you see here tonight and everything you might witness from me or my family off the fucking record. ”
Jenny crossed her arms and bent across the table to look Owen in the face, giving my brother a view of her ample cleavage that he couldn’t quite keep from looking at.
“You can’t hide from me forever, Owen. This is my job, and I have a responsibility to report what the movers and shakers of this city are doing to its economy. ”
“It’s an invasion of privacy,” he retorted.
“It’s the free press, even if billionaires prefer to control their narratives.”
“So, we’re villains because we prefer accuracy over speculation?”
“If that was the truth, you’d give me something accurate to report instead of shutting me down.”
By this point, they were both leaning far enough across the table that their noses were nearly touching.
“Whoa,” Laney murmured as she glanced between them.
“Seriously,” I replied. “You guys want a room so you can fuck and get it over with? Again, I mean?”
Both of them glared at me.
“Ronan, don’t think I won’t kick your ass just because it’s your wedding,” Owen snarled. “Talk about her like that again, and I’ll drag you into the alley.”
I snorted. “I’d like to see you try.”
Laney was shaking her head, even if she was hiding a smile. Call me crazy, but I think my girl kind of liked my sense of humor.
“You’re terrible,” she murmured in my ear.
I turned to nip her on the neck. “I’m observant. And you love it.”
She didn’t argue.
Owen and Jenny, however, continued theirs.
“Excuse me, I don’t need you to come to my rescue.” Jenny stood tall. With heels, she had to be close to six feet, nearly tall enough to look at my brother eye to eye if he were standing, and more than enough to loom over him when he was sitting.
“Oh, so now I’m in trouble just for being a gentleman?” he retorted, shoving back up to stand. “Damned if I do, damned if I don’t with you, aren’t I? Same as fucking ever.”
For whatever reason, that really pissed Jenny off, enough that suddenly she was vibrating. “You… you… asshole!”
With that, she whirled around and stalked away, leaving Owen to watch her go and looking curiously like a puppy that had just been kicked. I wasn’t sure any of the Black children were capable of shame—it had literally been beaten out of us—but his expression was the closest thing to it.
“Owen.”
Every one of us swerved at the sound of our father’s voice, rough and deep from the center of the table.
Owen turned. I had to respect him for meeting Dad’s eye. Most men couldn’t manage that even under the best of circumstances.