Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Promise
I’ve already changed into the sort of sundress that would work perfectly well on the island of Nantucket, and it’s just right for the oceanfront country club that we’re visiting today.
Apparently, that’s where I’m getting married.
Now I stand near the men’s dressing room at Brooks Brothers looking at Angel, Gunner, and Axel in the mirror.
I’ve covered up their neck and hand tattoos and trimmed their hair.
Well, Axel’s and Angel’s hair anyway. I’ve chosen blue shirts over white, so the cover-up doesn’t rub off them and onto their shirts, and I’ve gone with open collars instead of ties.
It suits them better and today is not a formal occasion.
But they still don’t look right.
I frown in the mirror, looking between the three of them.
It’s Gunner who speaks first. “Now I look like a fucking cupcake.”
That makes me smile a little bit, my eyes meeting Angel’s in the mirror. He smiles back. “That’s what Rock calls Promise. A cupcake.”
Gunner grunts as he tugs uncomfortably at the suit jacket. “I know.”
One corner of my mouth turns down. The fit of each of the jackets is exactly correct. But the coats aren’t hanging right.
From my left, I see movement and turn to see a man walk into the store. He’s dressed like he belongs here.
Perfectly coifed hair. Italian loafers and a plastic, very white smile to match. He catches sight of me and his smile grows, his shoulders expanding straighter.
Angel sees him too and rumbles, deep and low, sounding more like a predator than a man.
And that’s when it hits me. All three of the brothers stand wrong.
They stand and move like men used to maneuvering through the slums of New York, not like the ones who saunter down the streets of Nantucket.
And some of their swagger is good. But they need to learn how to shave the edges off their style. Take some of the aggression out but leave the confidence.
I meet Angel’s gaze in the mirror and smile, his gaze narrows at me in suspicion.
Standing up on tiptoe, I reach over his shoulder and gently touch his chin. Slowly, I pull the angle down a few degrees.
Then I point to Axel. I touch my own chin and use my other hand to lower my jaw too. He gets the message. “Gunner, lower your chin a little.”
Next, I use the toe of my high-heel shoe to kick Angel’s foot in a few inches, so his stance is less wide. Men don’t stand that wide in suits.
Gunner and Axel do the same.
I point to the man now browsing the racks.
“He looks like a puff,” Gunner rumbles.
I frown before I hold out my hand for Angel’s phone. “Nineteen ninety-five,” he says as he hands it to me. I take a beat, staring at the ceiling for a second, trying to decide what I’ll say. Finally, I start to type.
Men in my father’s circle are wolves in sheep’s clothing. They are filthy predators, but they hide it under affable smiles and easy grace. They are confident but usually have the control not to be openly aggressive.
I hand the phone back to Angel, who reads the message to his brothers.
Axel softly curses as I slip on a coat from one of the racks. It’s way too big, but I show them several moves. How a man would unbutton his coat and place a hand in his pocket to look more casual. How he’d take his jacket off and drape it on his arm.
Gunner goes to run a hand through his hair, and I reach for his hand to stop him.
The second I touch him, he snarls and I pull my hand back like I’ve been burned. Taking Angel’s phone again, I type:
Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch. But you shouldn’t touch your hair. In a world where men care about their appearance, they would never touch it unless they were nervous. It’s a sign of weakness.
“You’re fucking shitting me,” Gunner spits. “What else?”
“She can explain more in the car. We’re already late.” But Angel is looking at me with a sharp appreciation that both makes me hot in all sorts of strange places and also makes me the tiniest bit nervous.
Yesterday his appreciation was all sexual. But his gaze now… I’m more than just a toy or a distraction. I’m a tool.
Is that good? Should I hope that I prove valuable enough to win Angel’s allegiance? Or am I fooling myself that he’d ever choose me over my powerful father?
It’s more than I should hope for. My silence has been my only successful power play and Angel is breaking it down. Together, the two of them could destroy me.
We leave, the brothers still wearing their suits, Angel carrying the bags from our other purchases.
I bought a silk wrap in a pale pink that should make the wedding dress my father sent work. There is no way I could get another gown of that quality on such short notice. And wearing quality is part of the image.
The fact that my father tried to change our look makes me certain he’s trying to paint both me and Angel in a negative light.
What I don’t understand is what he gets out of that.
Just an excuse to remove me from the light? It would help if I knew what Angel wanted out of the agreement with my father.
But now isn’t the time to ask any of those questions. The brothers already think I’m working some other agenda. Does exposing my father have the power to hurt Angel?
My guess, he’s leveraging my father’s position, and he would not wish to be part of my plan.
I spend the car ride continuing to coach Angel, Axel, and Gunner.
Angel starts a group chat so everyone can read the texts. I give them tips as best I can.
We finally reach the country club, my nerves jangling as Angel hands me out of the car.
It isn’t the idea of performing in front of the cameras. Even getting married tomorrow doesn’t bother me.
But my father’s goals, they scare me a great deal. And the brothers…they aren’t helping my nerves either.
The more I talk, the more agitated Gunner seems to get. He keeps swearing, scowling at me, and going to run his fingers through his hair only to ball his fist and slam it down on his own thigh.
Nipping my lip, I look at Angel, who is watching Gunner with the same skepticism I feel. I tap him, and he swipes the phone so that I can type a message.
But I go back to the notes that are just between the two of us.
Tell Gunner to be like me. Silent. Tell him to act like he’s at a funeral.
Angel nods as he reads and then hands the phone to Gunner. Gunner reads it too and his shoulders unwind with clear relief.
I place my hand through Angel’s arm, pasting a smile on my face as my father walks toward us, a parcel of reporters behind him, the event coordinator to his right.
She’s attractive enough and looks like she’s no more than ten years older than me.
I can tell by the way she sizes me up that she’s attracted to my father. He’s probably sleeping with her and it’s how he got the venue.
She is of no concern to me. If she wants to get in bed with a snake, that’s her funeral.
My father hesitates for the briefest moment, a dark expression shuddering his face as he takes us in.
I knew he sent those clothes on purpose. Whatever his plan, I’ve wrinkled it.
But I don’t gloat. One should never provoke a reptile. Instead, I dip my chin, my smile dimming, as my fingers tighten on Angel’s arm.
But my fiancé doesn’t respond. Doesn’t touch me back or acknowledge my fear. He keeps walking, a slight tensing of his muscles the only indication that he felt my reaction.
“Don,” he rumbles, doing a decent impression of a plastic smile. Even his accent is smoother. “Good to see you.”
My father’s smile slips a little more. “And you, Angel.”
Angel doesn’t even look at me as he shifts me to his other side and then falls in step next to my father. I’m glad to have Angel between us, but I’m a doll again. Just a prop meant only to look pretty.
Even Angel’s body has grown more rigid, creating distance between us.
I look back over my shoulder, Axel and Gunner doing their best to walk the way I taught them.
I look forward again, smiling automatically when a reporter calls for a picture.
“Let’s have one of the father and daughter duo,” another calls.
Angel hands me over to his other side, my father’s arm wrapping around my shoulders as we both smile.
I don’t feel in these moments. I just turn off. It’s like my voice…
My hands are folded in front of me as we adjust angles for whoever wants a picture next.
“Promise, how did you and Angel meet?” one of the reporters calls.
I look to my father, surprised. I expected there would have been a press write-up already with all the details. It’s always this way, but even more so now that I don’t speak.
He smiles back at me with a wicked glint in his eyes. He’s trying to trip me up.
“We met in Don’s office,” Angel says smoothly. “Love at first sight.”
My father’s tongue clicks. I just hear it over the oohs and aahs of the reporters.
“There will be time for more questions and pictures after we finalize the wedding walk-through,” my father calls to the crowd of men and women here to cover the event. “There are refreshments while you wait.”
My brow furrows. There are moments where it feels like he’s selling this wedding to the press. A fairy tale where Promise is on the mend. And then there are others where he seems to be setting us up to fail.
I don’t like it at all.
What’s my father’s worst possible plan? Best to start there and begin working up the chain from worst to least.
The wedding planner slithers up next to my father as the press leaves. “Shall we show them the venue, Donnie?”
I keep my face neutral as he answers, “Let’s, Tricia.”
We’re taken over to an outdoor tented area for the ceremony that overlooks the water, and then we’re brought inside to the reception room, large enough to hold five hundred.
I have no idea who has been invited.
I look at Angel, but he doesn’t return my gaze. In fact, he hasn’t looked at me once since we stepped out of the car. The planner prattles on about the floral arrangements and the napkin color.
I am sure everything will be perfect. She’s aiming to please. Just not me.
“And I know you don’t have many guests,” the planner says to Angel with a smirk. I wonder what my father has said to her about Angel? Whatever it is, I know it isn’t good.
But he doesn’t respond, instead he glares at her in a way that makes her blush, and then he pulls out his phone, texting someone.
There is a long silence, but despite my best attempt to meet Angel’s gaze, he ignores me. I hear the planner snigger, and I know she’s noted my groom’s lack of attentiveness. Turning away, I scan the room, attempting to find some place to focus my attention.
Subtly, tucked in the corners, are security cameras.
Angel pockets his phone. “On my side, my four brothers will be there. In addition, Rush and Killian Smith, along with Mason Kincaid will be attending, with their wives, of course.”
“Smiths and Kincaids?” my father murmurs, the awe in his voice usually only reserved for the Kennedys or the Clintons.
Tricia looks from my father to Angel, a newfound gleam in her eye.
I don’t know who Mason Kincaid is, but I know the Smiths.
New York has been abuzz since the real estate tycoons arrived, snatching up major projects in the city.
To know that they are known enough to Angel that they’ll attend the wedding…
No wonder he’s stopped paying attention to me.
He’s got other allies besides me and my little lessons on decorum.
Coupled with his familiarity with my father…
I am suddenly feeling smaller than I’ve felt in a really long time. Angel has people coming to this wedding, a plan, men he’s relying on that include his brothers who stand behind me like two centaurs. My father will fill the rest of the room, and I have…no one.
I turn my head to the side, trying to collect myself, but I’m struggling. The truth is, while I think about revenge, I’ve been fighting this past year just to live.
But it always feels like one step forward and two back.
No one asks me who I might want to attend my own wedding. I consider tapping Angel’s arm, but I’m not sure he’ll respond.
He still hasn’t looked at me. It’s clear in this meeting, I am his very last priority.
“Did you like the dress?” the planner asks me with a smirk. Did my father tell her to choose something that I would not like? Or is she just laughing at the fact that I didn’t get to pick it myself? My hand slips from Angel’s arm as I look out over the water.
How peaceful would it be under the waves?
I have a moment where I think I might like to just give up. That would be a form of control. Picking my own end…
My father wraps an arm around Angel’s shoulder. “How do you know the Smiths and the Kincaids?”
I watch them walk away and I know that whatever war I was trying to wage, I am losing. Not just losing, I’m not even on the battlefield.
That’s when a hand nudges me on the back. I look back at Gunner, his amber eyes covered in his brown contacts making him look more…human. “Keep up, blondie, there is still a lot of game left.”
I assess him for a moment, trying to determine his motives. I have no idea if he’s taunting me or encouraging me, but either way his words stiffen my spine. I start following my father and Angel, knowing that I need to keep fighting.
Because Gunner is right. This game isn’t over.
And even though I know I’m not going to win, I made a promise to keep fighting.