Marrying the Silver Fox (Forbidden Kings #17)

1. ANDIE

I consult the clipboard in my hand, running my pen along the tick-box list I’ve been working my way through all morning. Okay, the flowers are out, the band is ready, the guests have been seated…it looks like everything is running exactly as it’s meant to, thank God.

It doesn’t matter how many times I do this—there’s always an edge of nervousness on the day of the actual nuptials, and I don’t think that’s ever going to change.

With this much money on the line, I don’t think it should, frankly.

The cash that people throw in my direction to make their dream weddings happen…

I want to prove to them that I’m worth every cent.

I know I am. And I know that one wrong move could send my business tumbling from the pedestal I’ve worked so hard to put it on, and I’m never going to let that happen.

I crack open the door that leads to the room where the ceremony is taking place—a grand ballroom, part of the gorgeous 1920s art-deco hotel where the event is being held—and cast my gaze around to make sure everyone is in place.

Any minute now, the bride will be walking down the aisle, oohs and aahs filling the air as they see her dress for the first time.

I even helped her get into it earlier this morning, closing one eye so I could actually do up the tiny white hooks on either side of her corset.

The bride is Natalie Filandro, the daughter of one of the most powerful businessmen in the city. She’s a little younger than me, just turned twenty-five, though her soon-to-be husband is almost twice her age.

To be honest, I’ve stopped letting myself be shocked by the age gaps in these relationships. God knows I’ve done enough of these weddings, and I know better than to raise an eyebrow at something like that.

I mean, yeah, it’s not exactly what I would have pictured for a woman like Natalie, but the upper crust in this city are far from normal.

Marriages are as much a matter of making business deals and securing family connection as they are romance and lifelong love, and the weddings are part of that too.

A chance for the families to show off how much money they have as they rent out the most expensive venues, pay for the best caterers, and hire the greatest wedding planner in the city—if I do say so myself.

I duck out of the room and turn to head upstairs so I can find Natalie and bring her down to the ceremony.

I’ve checked in on her a couple times this morning, and to be honest, I couldn’t help but notice how nervous she was.

Not that I blame her. I mean, she is going to be standing up in front of hundreds of people and pledging her love to this man, photographed more today than she ever will be in her life, the pictures spattered all over the society pages of the biggest newspapers in the city.

The way she was looking at herself in the mirror this morning as the makeup artists and hairdresser fussed over her, it was impossible to ignore the drained look in her face, the distance in her eyes.

But I’m used to seeing that. Cold feet are normal, that’s what I always tell my brides.

I can’t count the number of women who, when faced with the reality of going out there in front of a crowd, find themselves a little overwhelmed.

It’s a lot of pressure, more on the bride than anyone else.

If they don’t look like a damn princess by the time they step out into that aisle, they’re going to be side-eyed for the rest of their lives.

The grooms get a pass, because they’re not supposed to look pretty—they’re supposed to provide, to show that they’re capable of giving their wife-to-be a life worthy of their pseudo-royal status.

Not that anyone would say any of this out loud, of course.

But then, they don’t need to. It’s impossible not to see it, with the amount of time I’ve spent around these people.

The little things that they think go unspoken, I’ve had to learn in intimate detail so as not to make a mess of my place here.

I didn’t grow up in the heart of all of this, like so many of them did—hell, if they knew what my childhood was actually like, I doubt they would let me so much as set foot in their homes for fear that I might make off with the silverware.

They just assume I’m one of them, and I’m not exactly going out of my way to argue with that.

I head up the large, sweeping staircase that leads to Natalie’s room, tucking my pen over my lapel and placing the clipboard aside on a small end table at the top of the stairs.

I catch sight of my reflection in one of the large windows that looks out onto the perfectly kept garden beyond, and quickly smooth my hair, tugging at the jacket of my cream pantsuit to make sure I look decent.

While I’m not technically part of the bridal party, I try to match the colors they go with so it looks as though I belong here.

The only way I can make sure things run smoothly is if I blend into the background, and besides, it gives me an excuse to actually pull something cute out of my closet for a change.

Once I’m sure I am passing as decent, I hurry down the corridor toward Natalie’s room. I pause outside, lift my hand, and tap my knuckles lightly on the polished dark wood. “Natalie? Can I come in?”

No reply.

I frown, and this time, knock a little harder. “Natalie, hey,” I call to her. “Is everything alright?”

Still no response. She must be in the bathroom or something. Is she panicking, freaking out about the fact that she’s about to walk down the aisle after all this time?

I have to admit, in the short time that I’ve spent with her and the man she’s supposed to marry, I haven’t noticed much chemistry between them. In fact, she seems a little nervous around him, hardly daring to look at him when they’re together.

I don’t know much about him, but it’s clear he has a certain power and influence in this city, if this wedding is anything to go by.

He’s funding the whole thing—I’ve seen his name on every check I’ve received so far, Nikolai Artesco.

Not from around here, at least originally, but hey, as long as his money is good, nothing else matters to me.

I push open the door a little further and poke my nose in, looking around, expecting to see the en suite door closed. But the room, as far as I can tell, is empty. I step inside, frowning, something prickling at the back of my neck as I try to make sense of it. “Natalie?”

I call her name again, but there’s no response. And I’m starting to get a bad feeling, starting to get a really fucking bad feeling, about what the hell is going on here.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up, and I move into the room, hurrying over to the bathroom and opening the door—I don’t mind invading her privacy if it means getting her down the aisle on time, after all.

If people are kept waiting too long, they’re going to start whispering, wondering if she got cold feet or dipped out on the whole thing, and I can’t even imagine what that would do to my reputation.

For everything else that I do to keep these events running smoothly, the most important part is actually getting the damn bride down the damn aisle, and if I can’t do that, then I’m in serious trouble.

I make my way around the room, as if Natalie might suddenly spring out from under the bed to reveal herself. I pull back the covers, open the wardrobe, peer out the window, everything I can think of.

But she’s gone. Nowhere to be seen. The bouquet that she’s meant to be carrying down the aisle—tulips, pink and white, a match for the flowers woven into her headpiece—is sitting on the dressing table, abandoned.

The last time I saw her, she was staring at herself in this mirror as the makeup artist dusted a tasteful amount of pink blush onto her cheeks to disguise how pale she had gone, but now?

Now, it looks like she has vanished off the face of the goddamn earth.

My head spins, the walls closing in around me. No. No. This can’t be happening. It just can’t. None of this makes sense. Why would she vanish like this? On the day of her wedding? With all the guests gathered downstairs, waiting to see her marry the man who’s meant to be her husband?

I take off around the hotel, zooming past staff members and caterers and waiters who all stare at me as though I’ve lost my mind.

Shit, maybe I have—that’s kind of what it feels like right now, as I do my best to hunt down my runaway bride before she can make a mistake that she won’t be able to come back from.

I’m already imagining everything I’m going to say to Natalie when I find her—it’s not worth it, just think about how much you love him, how good your life is going to be together…

I can convince her, I’m certain of it, I just need to figure out a way to do it before everything falls apart at the seams.

I rush around the entire hotel, up the stairs and down again, pulling open the door to every room I can find. When I come across a couple doors that are locked, I sprint down to reception, breathlessly tapping the bell until someone comes to see what has me in such a state.

The receptionist turns the corner, staring at me in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“I need the keys to every locked room here,” I tell her. “All the ones on the third floor. Any one that isn’t taken by a guest of the wedding?—”

She shakes her head, crossing her arms at once. “I can’t do that,” she replies, and I part my lips to protest, but she continues before I can. “And besides—the rooms on the third floor are all closed for refurbishment. Nobody’s in there, I can promise you that.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, gritting my teeth. Fuck. Fuck. She is really gone.

But she can’t have gotten far, right? I mean, not wearing that dress, surely.

She must have screwed up in some way, left behind some small detail of where she fled to that I could use to bring her back.

I don’t know where the hell she might be, who she would have turned to in order to get out of this mess, but honestly, it doesn’t matter.

I need to find her and get her down that fucking aisle now.

I turn away from reception, casting my gaze across the entrance lobby—and my eyes fall on Luna, one of the bridesmaids. She’s fiddling with her flowers as she waits for some direction on what to do. I race to her side, grabbing her arm, and she turns to me, looking surprised.

“What is it?—”

“Where’s Natalie?” I demand, and she wrinkles her nose at me in confusion.

“Natalie? What are you talking about?”

“Where is she?” I press as best I can. I can’t let this shit get away from me.

I need to figure out where she is, and fast.

Time is counting down. I can already picture the guests in the main hall starting to get antsy, glancing at their watches, leaning over to one another and exchanging pointed whispers about where the bride has managed to get herself off to.

“I have no idea,” Luna replies. “I thought she was getting ready. Is she?—”

“Where are the rest of the bridesmaids? The rest of the bridal party?” I demand. I know I’m being rude, but I don’t have a second to spare right now, and I’m not about to play nice when I know that everything is on the brink of falling apart.

Luna shrugs. “I thought you were supposed to know,” she replies, her voice laced with a dismissiveness that I try not to let get to me.

I know that she’s right. I am supposed to be the person keeping this all under control, making certain that everything runs exactly as it’s supposed to, and I’m rapidly losing control in a way I don’t know I will be able to make right.

I head off to find the other bridesmaids, and soon discover them hanging outside the main hall, waiting for their cue to go in. I interrogate them hurriedly about where Natalie has gotten to, but none of them seem to know a thing.

To be honest, it doesn’t come as that much of a surprise.

These people might make up her bridal party, but I don’t think any of them truly know her.

When it comes to choosing bridesmaids, it’s practically like a political party nomination, and they all seem more focused on what they can get out of the event rather than being there for a beloved friend getting married.

I scour the hotel one last time, and then, finally, I come to a halt at the top of the stairs, right next to the spot I left my clipboard.

I look down at it, at every item I neatly ticked off before the event actually started.

I didn’t even think to make a note of sending Natalie down the aisle—I mean, I felt like that part went without saying, right?

But now, here I am, standing around with the harsh realization that I’m not going to be able to pull of the most important part of this event.

Clouds swim at the corners of my vision, and I take a deep breath, trying to gather myself.

I need to speak to the groom.

Hey, maybe they ran off together to elope or something, and all of this isn’t a total mess—I mean, sure, they’ll have let down their guests, but at least I won’t have to explain the truth of what’s happening to him.

It’s that hope I cling to as I make my way toward the groom’s hotel room, and prepare to deliver the news that no man wants to hear.