Chapter 2
GRIFFIN
“Hey!” Eli says, popping his head out of the flap of the groomsmen’s tent as I approach. “Where the hell have you been? We’re about to start!”
I ignore my brother’s question. “I’m here now.”
For our client’s protection, no one in my family knows much about what I do for work, so Eli doesn’t blink when I don’t offer more of an explanation. It’s out of the question that I would say anything about staring at a beautiful woman, either.
I follow Eli inside. Though he has three groomsmen, I suss out right away we’re the only ones in here, which is good. The less chit-chat the better.
“At least you’re dressed,” Eli says. “Jude showed up in sweatpants. We had to witness him changing right here in what’s supposed to be my sacred space.”
I roll my eyes, but he’s grinning as he fusses with something at his back.
“Fuck,” he says as his cummerbund falls off on one side. He yanks it back into place, pulling the band at the back too tight.
“You’re making it worse.”
“You think you can do better?”
I let out a long-suffering breath and go over to him.
“Take your jacket off.”
Eli huffs, but I don’t miss the relief that crosses his face as he tosses it onto a chair.
“Hey, thanks for showing up,” he says as I make a finger swirl in the air to get him to turn around.
“You think I wouldn’t show up to your wedding?”
“No. But I know you do important shit, so thanks anyway.”
I say nothing, just yank at the cummerbund’s strap.
“Ow. Do I want to know why you know how to fix one of these things?”
“Nope.”
“Course not.”
His tone isn’t annoyed so much as resigned.
Even when we were kids, I preferred the company of an old radio I could take apart or my fishing rod and one-man tent to my rowdy family.
It’s pretty much true today, too. Not that I don’t love the shit out of them.
But now sharing isn’t just something I prefer not to do.
Eli tugs at his bowtie. “This thing’s too tight.”
He’s nervous. I cinch the band at his waist. “I know you’re not nervous about getting married.”
Eli lets out a frustrated sigh. “Obviously. It’s just all the secrecy.” Clearly he’s relieved to get to talk about this. “I never thought I’d have to screen my wedding guests three times. I barely got her team to agree not to make everyone sign NDAs.”
I grimace. He doesn’t know I strongly suggested not waiving NDAs to her team lead after looking over the security plans. He’d agreed with me.
“So what are you worried about?” I ask, tucking the band in place.
The question’s not flippant. People think I’m lucky when I correctly predict results—political campaigns, movies, relationships—with surprising accuracy.
But it’s not surprising, and it’s not luck.
It’s paying attention. Sometimes hunches turn out to be paranoia, but the seeds of problems can be found before the problems arise if you look hard enough.
“Honestly? I’m worried about the most important moment of my life being blown up by tabloids,” Eli says.
Done with the cummerbund, I hand him his jacket. “That it?”
“And Reese, being safe,” he admits. “But I’m always worried about that.”
Eli’s fiancée is a folk crossover singer, and her latest record recently went platinum.
“I don’t have much control over the tabloids,” I say. “But the second part’s under control today.”
My brother meets my eye with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
Reese’s already got a good team, but he knows I’m the insurance policy. I won’t let anything happen to any of my loved ones or theirs.
“Heyooo!” A deeply annoying voice cuts through the tent.
I have to fight to keep from rolling my eyes at our other brother Jude—the youngest of the three Kelly boys.
I also have to fight the smile wanting to arrive on my lips at the sight of him.
Despite his personality being my polar opposite—a.k.a.
he’s a motormouth who’s never without a grin on his handsome face—I do love the little fucker.
“Come here, big guy,” Jude says, throwing his arms around me.
I don’t bother hugging him back, but I’d never tell him I don’t mind his exuberant affection.
To a degree. He finishes with a punishing clap on my back that nearly makes me wince.
Jude used to play pro tennis, and that arm is still in good form.
“You done yet?” I grumble.
“I guess so. So you guys are friends again? Eli looked about ready to kick your ass a minute ago.”
“Untrue,” Eli says, shrugging his arms into his coat.
Jude laughs. “I told him you’d knock him on his ass before he even got started.”
“I wouldn’t do that.” I pour a glass of water from the icy jug on the side table. Jude reaches for an apple from a plate full of fruit. But of course he pulls one from the bottom so they all go rolling everywhere. I have to catch a couple before they roll off the table.
“Sure you would,” Jude says, not even noticing. “You kicked mine.”
I set the apples back in the dish. I did kick his ass last Christmas, sort of. He was being an oblivious tool about his now girlfriend. “Well, I wouldn’t do it on his wedding day.”
“Would you two quit talking about kicking my ass?” Eli says.
“You wanna role play?” Jude asks him. He snatches the paper Eli’s pulled out of his pocket from him.
“Hey, those are my vows!”
“Exactly!” Jude says. “Reese!” He makes his voice all passionate-sounding and claps his hand over his heart. “I knew you were the one for me the first time we had a clandestine affair after my messy-ass divorce!”
“Jesus, Jude,” I say, shoving at his shoulder. He stumbles sideways, and the apple goes flying. I swipe it out of the air and toss it directly into the trash.
“Hey!” Jude cries while Eli shakes his head.
“Don’t talk to our brother like that on his wedding day.”
“It’s not far from what I was going to say anyway,” Eli says. “Honestly I’m just surprised he knows what clandestine means.”
“You wouldn’t know clandestine if it whooped you in the ass,” Jude says. The two of them start their usual friendly bickering.
While they’re occupied, I wander back to the entrance, peering through the tent flap. Those two will still be going at it in the seniors home over the backgammon table.
It takes me a minute to spot her. Everyone’s wearing bright clothes for the summer wedding, so the pink of her’s doesn’t immediately stand out, and we’re behind and slightly to the left of all the chairs, so everyone has their backs to us.
But when I do, I frown. She’s sitting next to my dad, chatting easily, her hands gesticulating wildly.
I can see her profile—she looks perfectly fine now. Like a regular social butterfly.
Then she turns, looking over her shoulder, almost directly at me.
I suck in a breath, nearly dropping the flap, even though I know she can’t see me in the dark of the tent.
Those high cheekbones complement a pointed nose and chin, and her pink lips, glossed to a sheen, are full and smile so easily, like it’s the way her face would prefer to rest. There’s a familiarity to her I didn’t notice before.
Is she a movie star or something? There are a few of those around.
I don’t think so. I hate that I keep telling myself to look away, and I keep fucking staring.
Pretty doesn’t interest me. Interesting interests me.
Strength interests me. The women I gravitate to are almost always either tough-as-shit professional law-enforcement types who know the no-strings-attached drill, or curvy diner waitresses who look at me for a bit of short-lived fun, knowing there’s no staying over.
This woman looks like she coined the term high maintenance.
Her whole existence screams never worked a real job and “ew, dirt!”
But then Dad starts saying something, and she turns back to him.
The smile, while still there, loses just a bit of its luster.
Sure, he can be a bore and a half, but I can tell it’s not him.
There’s a stiffness in the way she holds herself, like she’s prepared for a surprise, and her eyes dart over her shoulder every so often, like she’s expecting someone.
Someone she doesn’t want to see.
That’s all I’m interested in. Whatever deeper thing is going on.
Then Dad says something that makes her laugh.
She throws her head back, exposing her neck. Her perfectly manicured hand comes up to her chest. My stomach lurches as Dad grins, pleased as hell with himself.
I actually grumble out loud. “The fuck, Dad?” I want to storm right out of this tent and demand he sit six rows back. Better yet, I want to pick him up and reseat him myself.
Then I give my head a shake. When in the flying fuck have I ever been jealous of my father? Or anyone, for that matter? The feeling is as foreign as a knife in my side.
I’m about to turn away, but she reaches over Dad’s lap, and I feel steam rising up so fast I swear it’s going to shoot out my ears. But she’s just lifting a hand up to high-five Jude’s nine-year-old son. Cap blushes as she tucks his dark hair behind his ear. I don’t blame him.
“She’s pretty, right?” Jude says, appearing beside me. His mouth is full of a bite from a new apple.
Heat rises in my neck. I don’t ever let people sneak up on me like that.
I was caught out.
Pretty doesn’t begin to cover it. I grunt. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Her name’s Sasha,” Jude says, reaching the core of the apple. “I can introduce you if you want. Nora invited her because she’s obsessed with Reese’s music.”
Nora. Jude’s girlfriend.