Cocky Brutal Sinner (House of Cards #4)

Chapter 1 – Beau

BEAU

T he whole world has turned pink and gold, the bride’s two favorite colors.

The sunset outside the windows casts the wedding guests in warm light, augmented by strings of twinkling lights.

Gigantic bouquets of blushing flowers spill over every table, and champagne glasses glint in every hand, including mine.

As I glance down at my drink, the tip of a bottle appears—a server smoothly tops me off, not spilling a drop.

Before I can thank him, he’s already whisking off to refill glasses at the next table.

The service, like everything else, is perfect.

That impresses me more than anything else at this multi-million-dollar affair.

Good servers are harder to find than a truffle at a tree farm.

I should know—I’ve been staffing my restaurants for years.

Next to me, Luke Windsor, one of my best friends, flips through a small stack of index cards as he mutters to himself.

“…known Nate since high school…never thought he’d find someone like Cat…”

I nudge him with my elbow. “Enough freaking out. You got this, dude. You’ve been practicing this speech for weeks.”

“I just don’t want to mess up.” Luke sighs. “I might only ever make one of these speeches, thanks to this whole rotating system.”

After a considerable amount of infighting among our group of five friends, Nate, the groom, officially developed his wedding roster based on a complicated point system I can’t begin to understand.

All I know is that he’s labelled us all his ‘best men’ but we’ve each been honored with specific duties, and Luke is the lucky bastard stuck giving the speech.

“Come on, let him practice.” Our friend Ryan claps me on the shoulder. “Let’s grab some bacon-wrapped scallops before they run out.”

I groan. “What a cliché. Every wedding has bacon-wrapped scallops.”

“Because they’re delicious.”

“Cat and Nate should have consulted me about the menu,” I grumble. Yes, bacon-wrapped scallops are delicious, but at least add a little fig or some maple syrup. Something to dress it up.

As we cross the room, I catch sight of her out of the corner of my eye. I don’t turn to look, not with Ryan right beside me to notice it. But I don’t need to; my peripheral vision is exceptional. It should be…after developing it for the last several years to do just this—see her without looking.

Outside the kitchen, we find the last groomsman, James, waiting for a server to emerge.

“Trying to score some scallops too?” Ryan asks.

“I want to see if they have any Saltine crackers for Maura,” he says. “She needs something to settle her stomach.”

Ryan and I nod seriously. Neither of us exactly knows what a pregnant woman needs, but I’m not about to question it.

“I can’t believe that two of us are married now,” Ryan says.

James raises his brows. “When are you joining in?”

“Pippa and I are very happy without rings and a fancy piece of legal paper, thanks. She’s the one , but it’s just a formality, and we agree there’s no rush.” Ryan raises his glass to his girlfriend across the room, and Pippa sticks her tongue out at him.

“So it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that your Dad can still hardly stomach the idea of you two being together?”

James elbows me and I realize now was not the time to bring that up, but I genuinely want to know because if Jack Archer can get used to the idea of his son dating his stepdaughter, then maybe…maybe I could have a real shot someday, too.

Fuck, this wedding has me all emotional and shit. I take a bigger swallow of my champagne as Ryan clears his throat.

“That might be part of it,” he admits. “When I marry her, I want it to be perfect. Not tense and awkward as fuck.”

“Fair enough,” Luke says.

It’s hard not to look at the fucking stunning bridesmaid standing with Pippa, but I manage it, looking around until I find the bride and groom instead.

Cat and Nate move through the room hand in hand, stopping by each table to greet the guests. Cat glows with joy, her wild blonde curls picking up the golden light. Even the perpetually grumpy Nate has a smile on his face.

It’s hard to believe these two managed to find each other. Nate was born with the silverest of silver spoons in his mouth, while Cat had a less lucky childhood. It’s pure chance that they even met, let alone fell in love. That’s enough to make anyone hopeful.

What makes it even better is the feeling that my family is growing.

Not my blood family, which is…complicated.

No, it’s the found family of my best guy friends and their partners.

I feel the safest and most myself with this family, and nights like these remind me why I fought so hard to keep my place in it.

But every family has rules, even this one.

Don’t be an asshole for no reason.

Don’t blow off poker night.

Don’t fuck your best friend’s little sister.

They’re unspoken rules, but they’re real. It should be easy to follow them, and most of them, I do. And the one I don’t? Let’s just say I’ve gotten very, very good at not getting caught.

Tonight, though, I’m struggling to fight the urge to look over at the bridesmaids.

Correction: I can’t stop staring at one bridesmaid in particular.

The one whose long brown hair hangs in loose waves down past her shoulders, instead of in her usual messy bun stuck through with chopsticks or pens.

The one who looks just as devastating with her black-rimmed glasses on as she does now with contacts.

She never wears heels, and tonight is only a slight exception to her rule.

While the other women have stilettos and high platform chunky things, her heels are only a couple of inches high, but they make her legs look like they go on forever in that fucking dress.

I lick my lips, appreciating the way the pretty fabric hugs her waist and pushes her tits up. How her eyes light up when she smiles and laughs at something Pippa says, and brushes a loose strand of hair from her cheek.

Stop it , I mentally chastise myself, dragging my attention from her and covertly checking to make sure no one noticed I was staring. Luke wandered away to practice his speech some more so I’m safe as far as he’s concerned, at least.

A server emerges with a tray of scallops, and Ryan pounces, sweeping five of them onto his hors d’oeuvres plate. I give the server an apologetic smile before snatching my own bite. It’s sweet and salty, and I have to admit it’s delicious, even if it’s basic as hell.

“Oh thank god, food,” Cat says, dragging Nate over to the tray. She pops a scallop in her mouth and groans. “I haven’t eaten since they put on my make-up for photos six hours ago. I’m starved.”

The champagne glass in her hand is empty, I notice. The server assigned to her must be falling behind. I snatch a glass from a passing tray and hand it to her. “Here. Can’t have the bride going thirsty.”

“Thanks,” she says warmly as she takes the glass, but she doesn’t take a sip. “Is Luke still freaking out about his speech?”

“If by ‘freaking out’ you mean ‘obsessively muttering in the corner,’ then yeah, he’s freaking out,” Ryan says, and Cat sighs.

“We should probably go tell him it’s going to be fine.” She sets the champagne down on a side table and takes Nate’s hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

I shake my head as Cat stalks across the room toward the best man. It’s typical her. Even on her wedding day, she’s thinking about how to make other people happy.

Once James has procured Saltines for Maura and Ryan has downed a few dozen scallops, we all move to the front table for dinner and speeches. Thanks to god and seating charts, I find myself next to the one person I never get to sit by, and I know it’s going to be so damn hard to play it cool.

“Hi,” Brinley says as she slides into the chair next to me.

She immediately turns away to chat with Pippa, but I don’t care.

Not when her knee brushes against mine under the table.

Not when she’s so close I can see the freckles across her nose under her makeup.

As the summer goes on, those freckles will multiply and spread across her cheekbones.

I spend most of the dinner discussing interior design with Maura, who’s sitting on my other side. I’ve been thinking about doing a refresh on the Terrace interior, and as an artist, Maura has plenty of ideas.

There’s no rule about talking to Brinley, of course. It’s just too risky. Too revealing. The bridal table is right at the front of the room, and there are too many eyes.

She reaches for her water glass, and the backs of her fingers sweep against my hand.

She should be more careful—she knows better.

Luke’s speech is a distraction because it’s fucking terrible. His delivery isn’t the problem—he’s as smooth and charming as ever. It’s the writing, which hits every cliché in the book. Webster’s Dictionary defines love as affection and tenderness felt by lovers …

Brinley groans when he starts reading an honest-to-god poem that somehow manages to rhyme wedding with bobsledding .

“What was he thinking with this poem?” she mutters under her breath.

I lean over and murmur, “I think he was hoping this would be his big William Shakespeare moment.”

Brinley’s hands fly to her mouth as she tries to hold back her snorting laughter. That shouldn’t be sexy, but with her, somehow it is. Warmth radiates from her skin, her bare arm and shoulder just inches from mine.

I can’t help it. I’m just too fucking aware of her. I lean an inch closer, letting my breath fan over her ear. A shiver runs through her and her shoulders stiffen.

“Not here,” she whispers. Then she turns fully away from me to whisper to Pippa. She’s right. Fuck, get it together, Bishop.

But I don’t want to be careful. I want to get under that dress more than I want my next breath.

Which is exactly the kind of attitude that gets you caught. I fucking know better.