Chapter 9
PINS, SHOES, AND OTHER THINGS THAT DROP
RONAN
“Ronan?”
She was looking at me like I was nuts again.
And maybe I was. After all, I’d just flown across the country with plans to ask my accidental wife to become my on-purpose wife (for a few months anyway), and instead of making this insane request like a normal person by, you know, taking her for coffee or something, I’d heard the phrase “cheating ex” and ambushed her and the snide dick standing beside her at her best friend’s rehearsal dinner.
Yeah, it was a lot.
But there was something in her voice that had me out of the hotel bed the moment she ended the call.
She’d gone from open, if sad on my phone screen to the human version of a door shutting in my face.
And it hadn’t been at the memory of her mother’s death or discussing her father’s subsequent abandonment (though if I ever met the guy in person, we were going to have words), but right when she mentioned the fact that she had to sit next to this prick all night.
I just couldn’t let her do it alone.
Right now, though, I was wondering if that was the best idea. Especially since I only knew where she was after secretly stalking her phone’s location.
Everyone was staring. Laney, of course, plus people I vaguely recognized from Vegas, the floppy-haired fucker next to Laney, and several other curious faces on the periphery.
More than one did a double take that told me they had seen last week’s front-page article in the Journal featuring a big fat picture of me and my brothers along with the headline: It’s Anyone’s Crown Now!
The room probably wasn’t as quiet as I imagined, but to me, the whole pin drop thing was a legitimate possibility.
Bravado, Ronan. You got loads of it, and if there was ever a time…
I grabbed Laney’s hand and tugged her close. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late. Traffic was hell getting here from the airport.”
She still couldn’t speak, full mouth opening and closing like a beautiful green-eyed fish.
Simple as it was, her black dress stood out in a sea of pastel-painted bridesmaids and middle-aged women in spring florals. Her hair was fastened in a simple twist that allowed a few free strands to frame that heart-shaped face while she blinked up at me.
God, she was gorgeous. How the fuck had I forgotten?
Answer: you hadn’t, you asshole. It’s why you haven’t stopped thinking about her for the past three days.
“Babe.” I examined her left hand, which was irritatingly void of jewelry. “Where’s your ring?”
That seemed to pull her out of her daze. “I—my—oh! Um, I didn’t want to, um, steal Megan’s thunder.”
“Oh, please.” Laney’s friend, a woman in a carnation-pink dress, stepped forward, grinning as she gave me a wink. “Like I would care about that, Laney. I told you that your husband was more than welcome this weekend. Ronan, good to see you again. Megan, remember? The bride?”
Damn. Laney was terrible at lying, but her friend didn’t miss a beat.
I nodded as I leaned forward to trade air kisses with her. “You too, Megan. Congratulations, by the way.”
“Kev, look. Ronan made it after all.”
An affable-looking fellow next to her blinked at me until Megan shoved him lightly in the side, then shook his head as he figured out his line and held out a hand for a shake. “What? Oh, yeah. Hey, man, glad you could come.”
“Thanks. Glad to be here.” I returned it without letting go of Laney, then turned to take on a few more introductions.
The rest of the bridal party was easy, though I hadn’t met so many girls named after dead presidents since I was in prep school.
Sly compliments and wicked smiles elicited giggles from the three bridesmaids.
Their matching groomsmen were taken in with firm handshakes and knowing glances that in guy-speak meant I recognized our common sexual prowess the same way dogs of the same species knew each other at the park.
People were so fucking predictable.
Except for the one who was still gaping at me with my left arm draped around her shoulders.
“You must be Derek.” I turned to the final member of the group, the smug-faced fucker who looked like a Dollar-Store JFK Jr. “Ronan Black.”
With only a little hesitation, we traded a white-knuckled handshake that lasted a little too long. He pulled away first, flexing his fingers. I smirked as I hugged Laney a little tighter. Two small gestures with big, obvious meanings: Fuck you and she’s mine.
Laney, meanwhile, was still staring at me like I was a ghost.
I grinned down at her. “Ari. Stop looking at me like that unless you want me to throw you over my shoulder. I doubt Megan here would be too happy if I went caveman on her maid of honor.”
The bridesmaids burst into giggles.
“Nah. Laney knows she always has a free get-out-of-the-rehearsal-dinner-for-mind-blowing-sex card,” Megan put in with an enormous grin.
That finally pulled Laney out of her adorable little trance on a choke. “Christ, Megs.”
I had to laugh. Yeah, I liked Laney’s best friend a lot.
“Don’t worry,” I told her. “I can keep my hands to myself until the dessert course as long as this one can make a little conversation.”
Megan grinned even more. “Well, if you need a quick getaway, there’s an emergency exit next to the bathrooms that leads out to a private back alley. After all, you are newlyweds.”
The best part of the conversation was the way Derek looked more and more like a teapot about to shriek with every passing moment.
“Your husband?” he snapped, gaze bouncing between us like we were a ping-pong match. “Laney, is this guy for real? Did you actually get married?”
“Pretty sure we covered that a few minutes ago.” I held up my left hand. “I didn’t get the memo about the no-rings night, but she’s got a matching one at home.”
Okay, so I said it like her home was mine. I also ignored the way it felt completely and entirely natural.
“I—we—” Laney still hadn’t quite recovered her ability to speak. For some reason, the fact that she seemed utterly incapable of guile made me like her even more.
“Ah, babe?” Kevin, the groom, looked a bit confused. “It’s a sit-down dinner. They planned for a specific number, and—”
“Oh, like we would care about that,” Megan cut in. “The more the merrier, especially when it comes to Laney’s new husband.” She turned and gestured toward a harried-looking woman carrying a clipboard. “Darla? Can you ask the restaurant to bring out another chair for one more guest?”
Darla seemed less than pleased. “It’s a prix-fix menu, Megan. I’ll see if they have enough, but we rented out half the restaurant.”
“I’m happy to compensate fairly for the extra effort.” I pulled a business card from my pocket and slipped it to the planner.
Her eyes bugged as she read it over. Maybe she wasn’t a Journal reader, but she knew the name, just like most people in this country. “Yes, sir. Mr. Black. I’ll relay the message.”
“Laney,” Derek tried again. “Who exactly is this guy?”
It was the sound of his voice, or maybe just that entitled tone, that finally yanked my girl out of her daze (and also made me want to haul this asshole out of the restaurant and teach him a lesson on appropriate tone of voice for speaking to Delaney Fisher).
Jesus Christ. I was Ronan Black. I was a lot of things, but protective had never been one of them.
What was this girl doing to me?
“Ronan and I are just going to take a second,” she informed everyone, including her ex, before stepping out from under my arm.
It was everything I could do not to tuck her right back in. Her curvy, compact body just fit there, and I didn’t care for this sudden empty feeling without her.
Instead, I allowed her to tow me through the restaurant and down a hallway past the bathrooms.
“Looking for the emergency exit?” I joked. “I think Megan was just baiting your ex, but I’ll take you up on the offer if you—”
“Shut up.” Laney whirled around. “What is wrong with you?”
I held my hands out. “Doctors have been trying to figure it out for years, but no one has a clear answer. Best guess is some form of complex PTSD with a dash of a personality disorder or two. Why do you ask?”
Laney pursed her lips in a way that was very distracting. Goddamn, they were suckable little candy drops. “What are you even doing here?”
I ignored her question in favor of getting a better look at her.
With a draping neckline and calf-length hem, her dress wasn’t remotely as revealing as the green thing she’d worn in Vegas, but it fit her like a damn glove.
“Has anyone said you look fucking stunning tonight? Because you do. That dress, seriously. Chef’s kiss. I knew you were beautiful, but—”
I was interrupted when Laney shoved me against the wall with a strength that I wouldn’t have expected from someone that small. Like a flea, this one.
“Cut the crap, Ronan. You might be able to charm Megan’s bridesmaids with cheap compliments and dumb jokes, but none of that works on me. I’m not asking again—what are you doing here?”
We stared at each other for a long moment, and I decided not to question why Tinker Bell calling me on my shit was the biggest turn on I’d experienced in probably ten years. Maybe ever.
“I—” I opened my mouth, armed with another joke, but something in those deep green eyes stopped me. I exhaled under her touch. “I came here for you. Obviously.”
She removed her hand from my chest and stepped back. “Why?”
I wanted to grab that hand and put it back. Something felt wrong when we weren’t touching, though I wasn’t ready to figure out what.
Instinct is a funny thing.
“I was in town on business. Was planning to find you tomorrow, but decided I didn’t want to wait that long.”
That adorable scowl returned. “What business?”
“Wife business.” I scowled right back and was rewarded by her mouth falling open again. I smiled. “If you keep looking at me like that with your mouth half open, I’m going to have to kiss you. Fair warning, Ari.”
To my disappointment, her jaw closed with a snap. “You are incorrigible.”