Chapter 53
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Romeo
By the time Father Benoit finished making it legal, Mama had cried twice, Aunt Marabella had cried once while denying the accusation, and Gator had somehow turned the Bourbon Bar into a reception without ever admitting the women had taken complete control of his establishment.
The place was packed. Food covered nearly every available surface, music rolled through the room beneath overlapping conversations, and Bourbon Kings were drinking beside the Sons of Hell like they hadn’t started out on opposite sides of a pissed-off grandmother with access to a private jet.
Kids had taken over the dance floor before most of the adults finished eating, and every few minutes somebody moved another table because apparently Mama and Aunt Marabella still weren’t satisfied with what they had accomplished in a handful of hours.
I barely noticed any of it.
My wife was dancing.
The word had been circling my head since I slid Granny’s ring onto Fiona’s finger and Father Benoit pronounced us husband and wife.
It didn’t feel strange. That surprised the hell out of me.
I’d expected some moment when reality hit hard enough to knock the breath out of me, but mostly it felt like the world had finally caught up with something I had known for almost a year.
Fiona was mine.
More importantly, I was hers.
She had kicked off the shoes Mama brought her and was barefoot in the middle of the dance floor, her ivory dress moving around her legs while she held Charlie beneath his arms and spun him in a circle.
His laughter carried over the music as his feet flew out behind him, and Fiona laughed with him until she had to slow down before they both ended up on the floor.
A crowd of kids danced around them—if what they were doing could be called dancing.
Cameron appeared to be directing most of it with the authority of a tiny dictator while two younger kids ignored him completely and made up their own moves.
Charlie wriggled until Fiona put him down, then immediately grabbed both of her hands and began jumping in place.
I couldn’t look away from her.
Yesterday, Charlie had been Fiona’s nephew in my mind. I knew his face from the pictures she sent me and the stories that slipped naturally into our conversations. I knew she loved him. I had always known that.
Now I understood what I had been looking at all those months.
Fiona’s entire face changed when she watched him.
There was no regret there. No longing to rearrange his life or take something from Frank and Claudia.
The fear she’d carried into that bedroom when she finally told me the truth made even less sense while I watched her now.
Frank was several feet away with Claudia tucked against his side, both of them watching Charlie with the easy attention of parents who knew exactly where their kid was without needing to hover over him every second.
Fiona fit into that family exactly where she wanted to be.
She had given Charlie parents.
Then somehow life had given her a way to stay close enough to love him too.
At fifteen fucking years old, my wife had understood something about love that grown adults screwed up every day. Sometimes loving somebody meant choosing what was best for them even when it cut you open.
She had been afraid I would think less of her for that.
That still made me want to find every person who had ever made her believe love came with that kind of judgment and introduce them to the unpleasant side of my personality.
“She needs to know.”
King’s voice came from beside me.
I didn’t look away from Fiona. I’d known he was nearby. Hard not to notice a man that size moving through a room, especially when he had spent the last several hours watching me like he was waiting for the marriage certificate to dry before beating my ass.
“I know.”
King stopped beside me at the edge of the dance floor, a beer in one hand.
He wasn’t wearing the expression he’d had when he stormed into the bar behind Granny, but I wasn’t stupid enough to mistake that for forgiveness.
He was tolerating me because Fiona had married me willingly and because there was a bigger problem sitting somewhere outside this room.
“When are you planning to tell her?” he asked.
Fiona lifted Charlie again when he reached for her, settling him against her hip before swaying with him to a song neither of them was actually following. His small hand disappeared into her hair, and she smiled as she untangled his fingers.
“When she’s ready to fuckin’ hear it.”
King turned his head toward me. “Romeo.”
I finally looked at him.
“Not fuckin’ now, Montclair.”
His jaw tightened, but I didn’t give him time to start whatever argument he’d brought over here. I understood why he wanted Fiona told. I knew exactly what Sylvia St. James represented and how dangerous ignorance could become if Fiona didn’t know enough to recognize a threat.
None of that changed what today had already asked of her.
“It’s my goddamn weddin’ day.” I kept my voice low enough that it stayed between us despite the music.
“Yesterday, she walked out of work and some motherfucker tried to rape her. I took her away from everythin’ she knows because leavin’ her in Rosewood felt like puttin’ her back in reach of another bastard I’d already failed to stop once.
Then I find out the danger ain’t finished because there’s a woman out there who’ll come after her for a name Fiona doesn’t even know belongs to her. A name that isn’t even hers.”
King’s expression hardened at that, but he stayed quiet.
I looked back toward the dance floor. Fiona had Charlie tucked against her shoulder now, whispering something that made him grin before she lowered him to chase the other kids. For the first time since I pulled into that parking lot, there was no fear in her face.
“She told me about Charlie this mornin’ because she was terrified I’d look at her different when I knew,” I continued.
“Then she married me while half of Rosewood stood around decidin’ which one of you got to kill me first. She’s had enough shit thrown at her in twenty-four hours to bury most people. Look at her now.”
King did.
Fiona was laughing at something Cameron shouted while Charlie danced beside her with absolutely no rhythm.
“She’s happy,” I said. “Let her fuckin’ have it.”
King took a drink from his beer, his eyes staying on Fiona.
I could see the argument still sitting there.
He was president of the Sons of Hell, and Fiona belonged to his people in every way that mattered long before any of us knew she had blood ties to the Silver Shadows too.
Protection wasn’t something men like King set aside easily.
Neither was I asking him to.
“One night,” I told him. “Tomorrow, I’ll tell her what she needs to know. Tonight she gets to be my wife without findin’ out her entire goddamn identity is different from what she believed yesterday.”
His gaze shifted back to me. “You understand Sylvia won’t care that you’re on your honeymoon.”
“We ain’t goin’ on a honeymoon.”
“That supposed to make me feel better?”
“No. Just correctin’ the record.”
The corner of his mouth almost moved.
Almost.
“She needs enough information to understand why everybody will be watching her,” he said.
“And she’ll get it. Tomorrow.”
King studied me for several seconds, probably weighing whether he wanted to push. Whatever he saw made him take another swallow of beer instead.
“Fine.”
I raised an eyebrow. “That easy?”
“Don’t mistake me letting her enjoy her wedding for agreeing with your bullshit.”
“There he is.”
His eyes narrowed.
I smiled.
“I still owe you an ass beating.”
“You and half the room.” I rolled my eyes as I lifted the beer to my lips.
“I’m not getting in line.”
“Take that up with Granny.”
That actually made him laugh, though it was little more than a breath through his nose. He looked toward Fiona again before stepping away. “Tonight.”
“That’s all I’m askin’.”
“Tomorrow, she gets the truth.”
I nodded.
“I’m on to your bullshit now, Romeo. I need the actual fucking words.”
I smiled and shook my head. “I swear on my life, Fiona will get the truth tomorrow.” I made the sign of the cross over my chest and that seemed to appease him.
“Asshole.”
Or maybe not.
King walked back toward his wife, leaving me alone at the edge of the dance floor for approximately twenty seconds before another problem approached from my left.
Georgie.
I immediately took a drink as he sidled up beside me.
“Not fuckin’ now.”
He stopped beside me. “I haven’t said anything.”
“You don’t need to. I know that face.”
“What face?”
“The one that says you’re about to threaten my life because I married your little sister.”
Georgie frowned. “I have several things I could threaten.”
“Save the creative shit for tomorrow. I’m havin’ a nice day.”
That earned me a glare.
I went back to watching Fiona.
Georgie stayed beside me long enough that I knew he wasn’t leaving without saying whatever had been eating at him.
His resistance to this marriage wasn’t personal in the way most people might assume.
Well, some of it was. Georgie had disliked me since last Christmas.
But underneath the bitching about Fiona’s age and my reputation was something I understood.
He loved her.
Eventually, he looked toward his sister too.
“If you hurt her—”
“It’ll never fuckin’ happen.”
He turned toward me, probably irritated that I cut him off before he finished the threat. I didn’t care. There were promises a man made because somebody demanded them and promises that had existed long before anybody thought to ask.
This was the second kind.
“You don’t know that,” Georgie said.
“I know I’ll never be the reason.”
His expression changed slightly.