Chapter 30
“Dempsey Falconer!”
I startled from sleep at the shrill voice shrieking my name out in the hall somewhere. Had I imagined it?
“I hate that name,” I whined, refusing to open my eyes.
Boston’s large body curled around me, the heat of him filling me with bliss. “Take mine then,” he murmured against my hair. “Become Mrs. Dempsey Ivers officially.”
I stretched, the delicious lengthening of my muscles sending me to another level of comfort as I chuckled at his suggestion.
The storm that would cause. The guys already felt all kinds of ways about me being married off to Boston and not any of them, taking his name was sure to hurt them in ways I would never allow.
The bedroom door slammed open, hitting the wall behind it.
My eyes flew wide to find my mother standing in the doorway, her face turning aghast. I’d taken to locking my bedroom door religiously every night since my father had moved in, but I must have been so caught up in Boston I’d forgotten to lock this one.
“The stylist is waiting downstairs to pull outfits for our next photoshoot and you’re up here like this! Why on earth is there a man-mountain in your bed and you’re both unclothed?” my mother asked, her tone sharp.
I half-sighed, half-groaned, too tired to deal with her bullshit this early.
“Can you just say naked like a normal person, Mother? We’re both naked.”
I could feel the annoyance radiating from her. “Why is there a naked man who looks like he’d be better suited to skulking around in dark alleys or staring at himself in the mirror at the gym than sleeping in your bed?”
Boston grunted from beside me in a way that could almost pass as a laugh. A laugh for him, anyway. I’m glad he found my mother’s insults humorous.
I did not.
“Is there a reason you’re in my room interrupting us while we’re trying to sleep?” I snapped back.
Presley appeared at the door, shirtless and in a pair of grey sweatpants. His hair was dishevelled and he had that sexy, half-asleep look about him that made me drool.
He winked from behind my mother. “Hoooo boy, you got busted bad, D.”
I pulled a face at him at his clear enjoyment of this.
“Get dressed and get downstairs right now. Byron will want to speak with you,” my mother said, tone coated with disdain. Then she turned on her heel and disappeared out the door before I had a chance to protest.
Was that my mother’s terrible version of ‘don’t make me tell your father’?
I scrubbed my hands over my face, hiding against Boston’s shoulder in the bed beside me. “I hope you’re ready to join this circus because you’ve just been called upon to perform.”
His arm came around me, his chest vibrating with amusement. “Lead the way, Firecracker.”
Ten minutes later we found ourselves standing in front of Byron in one of the many sitting rooms. This particular one was Byron’s favorite because it was decorated in darker, more masculine colors than the others. God forbid he take up residence in the pastel pink sitting room, how feminine of him.
“Dempsey, your mother is quite distressed to find this…” Byron paused, eyes running over Boston from head to toe.
He was in the same clothes he’d appeared in last night, head-to-toe black and looking like some kind of special ops commander.
“…gentleman being discovered not only inside this house, but in your bed.”
“How did he even get in here?” my mother demanded. “The security staff have no records of logging him in.”
“I don’t know, he’s… talented.”
Dacre smirked from behind Byron, Presley pressing his lips together to stop himself from laughing. Sinclair quirked a brow at my choice of words.
Boston had many talents. Some involved breaking into the Aston Manor, others involved making me come so hard I almost passed out. If Byron pushed me too hard, maybe I’d even tell him that. I was feeling bold today.
My mother crossed her arms over her chest, more pissed off than when I’d tried to drink hard liquor at Dacre’s art show. “Is he your boyfriend?”
None of my step-brothers were laughing now, their expressions flattening.
“He’s her husband,” my father declared, strolling into the room with Mona close at his heels.
My mother spun in his direction, her eyes as wide as dinner plates. “Excuse me?” She turned her incredulous expression back to me, but I wasn’t about to answer her. This was my father’s shitshow, he could manage the explanations.
“Dempsey’s marriage to Boston was organized years ago, you know this, Bea. It was long before you decided to run from me in the middle of the night.” My father’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly on my mother. “This is Boston Ivers.”
She shifted closer to Byron and my father went on, undeterred.
“The deal was called in despite Dempsey’s absence, and the two of them were legally wed in Seattle.”
My mother was at a loss for words for the first time since we’d moved here. “She can’t be…”
My father crossed his arms over his chest. “Would you like to see the marriage certificate?”
I’d actually like to see the marriage certificate, but I didn’t dare open my mouth right now.
“Yes, we would,” Byron piped up and my father pulled up a document on his phone. Byron perused it. “It seems to be legitimate,” he said begrudgingly to my mother.
“That can’t be.” She glanced at where Boston and I stood side by side. “We need to have it annulled immediately.”
“That won’t be happening,” my father cut in. “I indulged your little night-time adventure when you stole my daughter from me to play house with the billionaire, but I won’t allow you to foil my business dealings any more than you already have.”
My mother stood there, aghast and silent.
She had to know that the safety deposit box was gone.
If she’d told Byron everything, he would have sent people to retrieve it, which means they both knew my father had blown up the bank where all the evidence my mother had collected against him all those years was stored.
He had nothing to fear from her now. Not that he’d ever been afraid of anything or anyone in his entire life. Cockroaches didn’t have feelings.
My mother’s mouth opened and closed like one of the fish in the koi pond.
“Besides,” my father went on, waving a hand in our direction. “Look at them. You found them in bed together this morning, the marriage has clearly been consummated and is therefore valid.”
There was a sense of smugness about him as he said it, and I wanted to march across the room and deck him.
Boston’s finger brushed against mine and when I looked up at him, he gave a slight tilt of his head, imploring me to keep calm. I sucked in a deep breath, blowing it out through my nose, and kept my mouth shut.
“Kesia!” Byron bellowed out of the blue, making me jump.
A few moments later, my father’s media advisor strolled into the room. “You called, sir?”
I could have sworn there was a hint of sarcasm to her tone.
“It seems that my stepdaughter has found herself a husband.” Byron looked my way. “A secret one we knew nothing about. Does the press have wind of it yet?”
Kesia checked her notes on her phone. “Doesn’t appear so, no. But it’s only a matter of time, so I suggest we get out in front of it.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” my mother asked.
“We draft a press release stating that Dempsey has quietly married her partner of several months in an intimate ceremony. Have the happy couple attend some upcoming events together. Let the photographers get some pictures of them so they don’t come hunting around the house for them.”
Byron nodded. “That’s what we’ll do.”
“I’ll go draft the release,” Kesia said, shooting me a wide-eyed look as she left the room.
I tried not to smile at it. Kesia had seen it all, it was difficult to shock her, but clearly this had done it.
“So, Boston gets to walk into the gala on Saturday with Dempsey on his arm?” Dacre asked, his envy evident to me and his brothers.
“Yes. He’s her husband,” Byron stated flatly. He turned his narrowed gaze on me and Boston. “I hope you two like each other as much as your father claims, Dempsey, because you’re going to have to make the press believe it too.”