CHAPTER 13
NOW
DAPHNE
The elaborately decorated ballroom of The Onyx Hotel is a sight to behold. Thousands of twinkling lights are embedded within the ceiling, serving as a backlight to the canopy of flowers suspended above.
I stand amidst the crowd, faintly aware of my mother’s mindless droning beside me, admiring the beauty lingering just out of reach. It’s almost enough to distract from the less-than-stellar company I’m forced to endure for the evening.
Almost.
“Daphne.” My mother’s sharp tone slices through the serenity of the moment, tearing my gaze from above.
“Hmm?”
“You remember Mrs. Castleback?” She grits her teeth in an unnatural smile, clearly annoyed by my inattentiveness. Yes, because God forbid I offend the woman my mother was talking shit about with my wedding planner just last month. Still, I play the part like the dutiful puppet she expects me to be for the evening.
“Of course.” I turn my attention to the woman wearing enough diamonds to be considered a walking jewelry store. “So good to see you, Mrs. Castleback. How is Emily enjoying married life?”
My question delights her, launching her into an animated account covering everything from her son-in-law’s recent promotion at work to their current attempts to conceive. That’s the key to survival at these things—just keep providing them with opportunities to talk about themselves, and you escape relatively unscathed.
That is, at least, when my mother isn’t attempting to steal that spotlight right back.
“So wonderful to hear Emily is doing well,” my mother coos in a sickly-sweet voice. “Daphne here will be tying the knot later this year.”
“Ah! That’s right. And to a Devoreaux, no less.” Her eyes scan my appearance more closely this time, her slow perusal appraising in nature.
The Devoreauxs are a well-known family in our social circles. Luc’s father is a high-profile accountant who handles the financial portfolios of most of the elite in the city. The status their name holds doesn’t necessarily stem from a place of respect, but rather the fact that he could single-handedly cripple the city’s economy.
Insider trading, tax evasion, embezzlement, fraud—no one in this room is a hundred percent on the up and up, and Elliot Devoreaux is a master at concealing it all. I know he must be great at his job because even Nicky uses him.
“I believe we received your Save the Date in the mail. I was surprised to learn the wedding was happening so suddenly.”
Ah, let the subtle backhanded jabs begin.
“Six months out is hardly sudden, Julia.” My mother forces a shrill laugh. “Plus, Daphne and Lucian have been engaged since last July. They met at Vassar.”
“Is that so?” Julia Castleback feigns a look of confusion. “So strange. I meet Margot for brunch at least once a week and she’s never so much as hiccupped a word about Lucian having a fiancée.”
Her words don’t rile me. Mainly because I know them to be bullshit. Luc’s mother, Margot, can be stuck up, but she likes me and is genuinely pleased with the match. My parents may be insufferable by my standards, but the Burke name is equated with the higher echelon of the social classes. Excessive profanity and daddy issues aside—on paper, I’m a fucking catch.
Well, at least by most people’s standards. Drug-dealing ex-motocross riders, not included.
“Perhaps you need to get your hearing checked, Mrs. Castleback,” I offer in an overly pleasant tone.
“Pardon me?” Her expression morphs into one of offense.
“See? Seems to be a problem.”
“Daphne!” my mother hisses, eyeing me with contempt.
“I’m simply expressing concern for her audiological well-being.”
Mrs. Castleback abruptly takes her leave, muttering something about my distasteful lack of manners in her retreat.
“What is wrong with you?!” My mother grips hold of my arm, her fingers digging into my skin as she drags me off to the side.
“Several things, I’m sure. Though at the moment, my main complaint would be my hair.” I press my fingers to my scalp, massaging slow circles in an attempt to alleviate some of the tension.
“Stop that!” She swats at me, knocking my hands from my head. “You’ll mess up your bun.”
“Good!” I snap. “The stylist you sent to my place pulled my hair so tight, it feels like it’s being ripped from my head. Not to mention this dress you forced me into is a size too small. I’m bound so tight, I can barely walk.” I glance down at the fabric of my red mermaid gown currently forcing my thighs together, binding me at the knees before flaring out slightly to the floor. This baby’s got zero give.
“That dress is a size 4, Daphne.”
“I’m a size 6.”
“Perhaps you should eat less.”
I do my best to conceal the wince her words draw from me as my mind’s temporarily catapulted back to a time of rigorous calorie counting and mandatory daily cardio sessions. Memories of habits I’ve worked hard to leave in the past. My skin’s thickened considerably over the years, but I’m still only human. She turns toward the crowd, allowing my hate-filled stare to bore into the side of her face. It sickens me to know I come from such a vile woman.
I fidget with my dress, silently cursing her existence when the too-tight sensation at my hairline has my fingers returning to my scalp.
She slaps my hands once again, batting them away.
“Goddamn it!” I huff in frustration.
My mother groans in annoyance. “I swear, Daphne, you’re practically feral. You want to act like you were raised by wolves? Perhaps we should toss you out to live with them. It would seem that’s where you belong.”
My lips pull back, baring my teeth in a snarl when a firm but familiar grasp encircles the nape of my neck. Using his grip to maneuver me, Nicky spins my body into his, pressing my chest to his own. He looks over my shoulder, and I follow his gaze to find his eyes trained on my mother who stares back at him, teeth clenched in anger.
Nicky and my mother have never bothered to hide their intense hatred for one another. It’s no secret there’s no love lost between the two of them.
“Daniel.” Her harsh tone has more bite to it than normal. “I’d appreciate it if you’d unhand my daughter.
“Why? You said it yourself, she belongs with me.”
“I beg your pardon?” My mother’s question barely registers as Nicky’s words repeat in my head, each chorus sending another surge of tingles dancing across my skin.
Nicky simply tilts his head back in response, releasing a low howl.
My mother scoffs, storming off into the crowd just as the music changes tempo, abandoning me to the mercy of the big bad wolf with the seductive cerulean gaze.
Perfect / Style by Jonah Baker (Spotify)
Perfect / Style by Jonah Baker (Apple Music)
He stares after her with a smug smirk while he works swiftly to release my hair from the painful confines of the too tight bun. Strands tumble free, each section cascading down my back until the last piece has fallen, bringing instantaneous relief. Threading his fingers through my auburn locks, he massages my scalp, and for the first time in years, I don’t fight the way my body melts into his arms.
“Better?” He chuckles.
“God, yes,” I practically sob, my eyes slipping closed as each stroke of his fingers elicits a more enthusiastic moan from me. “Don’t get any ideas,” I chastise. “I still hate you.”
“I have no misconceptions about that in the slightest, princess.”
“I hate when you call me that.” One of my eyes cracks open to look at him, allowing me to convey my irritation, though this only seems to please him further.
“I’m aware.” He shakes his head with a carefree smile, one that seems surprisingly genuine for an expression that’s typically foreign to him. This moment feels too easy between us, and while it should serve to put me at ease, it has the opposite effect.
I’m able to slip free of his hold with a few calculated shakes. Though to be fair, Nicky doesn’t fight me. He allows me to step back, albeit awkwardly due to my limited range of motion, and as he looks down, his features turn sullen with a grimace.
In one fluid motion, Nicky’s arm wraps around my waist, whisking us into an adjacent corridor away from the prying eyes of the ballroom. Before I’m able to gain my bearings and protest, he’s dropping me down and lowering to his knees.
The sharp intake of my breath cuts through the silence of the dimly lit hallway, followed by the distinct sound of a switchblade snapping open. I freeze, my palms lowering to brace against his strong shoulders.
“N-Nicky?” My voice trembles, my breaths coming in rapid succession when I feel the warmth of his hands reaching under the hem of my gown.
“Don’t move,” he commands as he tugs the flared portion away from my shins, pulling it taut. My curiosity quickly shifts to panic when the sounds of fabric tearing fill the space.
“Are you ripping my dress?!”
“I said, Don’t. Move. Unless you want me to nick you.”
My body stills, fighting back a shiver when the sudden warmth of his skin presses against mine. Nicky’s palm slowly slides up the length of my right leg, traveling higher and higher until his fingertips come dangerously close to juncture where my thigh meets my core. He pauses mere centimeters from my center, lingering briefly before curving his hand around my inner thigh with a possessive squeeze. His grip tightens, bordering on the precipice of pain, but I can’t bring myself to push him away.
This is dangerous. The hallway we’ve chosen offers limited cover with nothing to prevent anyone else from wandering in to find us in this compromising position. All it would take is one of these Real Housewife wannabes to catch a glimpse of us right now, and I’d never hear the end of the rumors. Call me crazy, but if people are going to talk shit about me, I’d prefer it be factual in nature. I was serious when I said I intended to be loyal to my future husband, regardless of whether he’s extending the same courtesy to me or not.
I’m not proud to admit that in my teenage years, I made quite a few regrettable notches in my bedpost. The number is not what bothers me—fuck society and the public persecution of female sexuality, thank you very much—but rather, the individuals. My taste in men tends to be downright atrocious. I swear, if there isn’t a chance they won’t ghost me, mind-fuck me, or emotionally belittle me, then I’m not attracted to them. I don’t have it in me to re-enter the cesspool that is the dating world.
Luc may not be perfect, but in our world, there’s far worse to be had. Yes, he cheats and thinks he’s superior, but that’s no different than most of the men I grew up around. From what I’ve observed, it tends to be the norm. The only real exception I can call to mind is Nicky’s father.
Mitch Conners loves his wife with everything he is. He would cut his dick off before he’d ever use it to cheat. Man’s a damn unicorn in the realm of husbands.
I’m happy to know that kind of love exists for some people; it’s just not in the cards for me. However, I focus on the positives. Luc is professionally driven, and while he works for his father, he’s far from lazy. He is affectionate and has never forgotten a birthday or anniversary. While we do fight, he’s never hit me. And then there’s the fact that we’re sexually compatible.
While the list may not be fairytale material, it’s enough that I can compromise. I want kids one day, and while I would have preferred Luc waited a bit longer before proposing, in the end, there was ultimately no reason to delay the inevitable.
If I wasn’t going to get to marry for love, then practicality seemed like the next best thing.
Nicky shifts, flipping the hand beneath my dress so his palm is flush against the fabric, while the back of his hand rests against the front of my right thigh. I glance down in the darkness, the light from the adjacent ballroom glinting off the steel of his blade as he begins to carefully cut through the fabric.
With the utmost precision, he drags the knife down the length of my leg, his other hand ensuring all the while the metal never touches my skin. When he reaches just below my knees, the resistance gives way to the bottom section he already sliced open.
“There.” He stands up, pocketing his switchblade as he eyes his handywork. “Much better.”
I angle my body toward the light, gasping at the sight of the high slit that now runs the full length of my right leg. The cut is precise, with no visible frayed edges. The knife he carries must be razor-sharp to achieve such results, and the fact he was able to execute such a flawless incision without so much as grazing me speaks to his level of skill with a blade.
Jesus, is there anything this man can’t do?
If nothing else, it’s a million times easier to move in.
“Thank you.” I offer a single gratuitous nod, glancing awkwardly around while he makes no effort to fill the increasingly uncomfortable growing silence. Even when quiet, Nicky dominates the space. His presence is borderline overpowering and has me rushing back to the party before I do something I massively regret.
He follows, refusing to grant me an ounce of reprieve. Desperate to escape him, I stop to scan the crowd for someone I can attach myself to, only to be reminded there’s no one here I like enough to interact with. Except for…
“Where’s your mom?” I ask.
Nicky assumes a casual stance, placing his hands in the pockets of his black dress pants. The movement shifts the fabric of his tuxedo jacket, catching the light and highlighting the faint damask skull pattern woven into the material. Nicky’s dramatic sense of fashion has calmed quite a bit over the years, so the subtle homage to his unique style has me fighting back a smirk.
“Silent auction table.” He gestures with his chin across the room to where the items for bidding are on display. “I promised her she could outbid everyone here.”
“You’re gonna let her blow all your money just for her to give it back to charity, aren’t you?”
“My mother would have to bid on an island in order to put a dent in my finances, and even then, it would have to be a big one. Plus, irritating these pricks is practically sport in my family.” He turns to face me head-on, leaning forward so his eyes are level with mine. “I share in her joy when it comes to this particular endeavor.”
“You’re not hardwired to experience joy, Nick.” Not outside a motocross track, at least.
The muscles in his neck flex, accompanied by the tightening of his jaw, making his sharp angles more prominent. Standing to his full height, he looks down upon me with a narrowed stare.
“Fair enough. I revel in their displeasure. You prefer that answer?”
I huff out a short laugh. “At least it’s an honest one.” Nicky looks to his right, though he doesn’t appear to be focusing on anything in particular. “Speaking of honest answers… what are you doing here, Nick?”
“Pops had to work.” He doesn’t bother to look at me while answering my question. “He asked me to bring Mom in his place.”
I scoff at his bullshit response, shaking my head in frustration before storming off across the room.
“Hey!” Nicky catches up to me in all of three strides, snatching hold of my wrist to thwart yet another escape attempt.
“Why are you lying to me?” I shove at his chest, the action earning me some disapproving glares from nearby nosey spectators.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You actually expect me to believe that your father blew off your mother? Really? In what fucking world, Nicky? Your mother could plan a trip to the seventh circle of Hell and the only question your father would ask would be which sunscreen should he pack.” I rip my arm from his grasp, not bothering to conceal my scowl. “Why are you fucking with me today?”
“Don’t flatter yourself, demon.” His face scrunches up, as though the sheer suggestion I could be the reason for his presence is ludicrous. “I’m here for Ma. That’s it.”
“That’s all it better be.” I seethe through clenched teeth while thrusting my finger in his face. “Because if you’re thinking you’re just gonna stroll back in here and pick up where we left off because you’re suddenly bored, you’re sorely mistaken.”
The chuckle reverberating within him is so devoid of any emotion, it sounds positively heinous. “Is that what you think?” He steps into me, lowering his face to mine. “Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt. Not to mention, there’d have to have actually been something between us in order to pick back up.”
I should be thankful he’s being such a prick. It’s easier to ignore him when he’s cruel. However, the casual nature with which he dismisses our history surprisingly enrages me, causing me to lash out against my better judgement. “Don’t act like if I didn’t give you the green light, you wouldn’t take me up on it. You were ready to fuck me on your mother’s dining room table this afternoon.”
“And then I remembered you’re an overdramatic pain in my ass, and I came to my senses. Gotta love small miracles.”
“I hate you.” My words race out a low hiss, dripping with disdain. Shoving past him, I stride off toward the raw bar, the last place I caught a glimpse of Shannon.
“There you go again, singing my favorite song.” Nicky continues hot on my heels, testing the limits of my sanity.
“Why are you still following me?!” I call out over my shoulder.
“I’m not following you. I’m heading to the hors d’oeuvres to grab a plate. Is that allowed? Or are you calling dibs on all the food for yourself?”
His words strike a chord, echoing my mother’s still-fresh insults. My feet grind to a halt so suddenly, Nicky all but stumbles in effort to avoid slamming into my back. I spin, my body trembling with rage as my fists ball at my sides.
“Fuck you, Nicky.” With as long as we’ve known one another, they’re words I must’ve hurled at him hundreds of times. Though by the way Nicky’s features slacken, I can tell he knows this is different.
“Whoa.” He grips hold of my shoulder, preventing me from turning away. “What was that?”
“I told you. I hate you.”
Nicky’s mouth shifts into a thin line, pinning me with his unimpressed stare. “You always hate me. This is something else. What?”
“I don’t appreciate the insinuations about my weight.”
His eyes go wide before offering a quick shake of his head as though he misheard me. “What the fuck, woman?!”
“Calling dibs on all the food…”
“Yeah, because you’re out here acting like you own the entire direction you’re walking in. That comment had nothing to do with your weight, Daph. Why the fuck would you even think that?” Nicky’s lip curls up, his expression slowly transforming from one of surprise to anger.
My head turns to the side in attempt to escape the weight of his stare, but Nicky isn’t having it. He grips hold of my chin, guiding me back to face him. His fingers shift, slowly caressing my cheek.
“The dress…” I spill the insecurities only he seems to be able to pull from me. “My mother bought it.”
“Explains why it’s a size too small.”
“She seems to believe I am the problem. Not the dress.”
His subtle strokes abruptly stop. Nicky’s hand pulls back, clenching into a fist before releasing the tension and scrubbing his face. “Daph, the average size of the American woman is a 16. If anything, you’re underfed.”
I huff out a poor excuse of a laugh, shaking my head. “I’m sure Lucian would love that wedding present. A wife who suddenly can’t fit into any of her clothes.”
“Lucian’s clearly a bitch.”
“Oh, and you’re not? You telling me you’re better than him because you’d fuck me if I was fat?”
He steps to me, my head falling back to look up at him with a gasp.
“I’m telling you that every curve you add to that sinful body is that much harder I could fuck you without breaking you.” Nicky leans down, positioning his mouth beside my ear. “So, by all means, be a good girl, and go eat up for Daddy.”
He pulls back to reveal a sexy smirk, and I audibly gulp in response.
“You… you said you weren’t interested.”
“I lied.”
I scramble to gain my bearings as my resolve begins to disintegrate. Jesus, has he always smelled this good? Of course he has, it’s fucking Nicky. Stay strong. Stay strong. Stay strong.
“I thought we were giving honest answers tonight.”
“Honest answer?” He cocks his brow. “Sometimes I wonder if you still make that sound. That little gasp when I’d first thrust inside you.” His palm slips along my lower back, pulling me flush with him. “The mixture of euphoria and relief you’d cry out at the feeling of being full with my cock.”
STAY FUCKING STRONG, DAPH.
“I don’t.” The words barely make it past my lips, forced from my lungs as no more than a breathy whisper.
Nicky’s smirk only widens in response.
“Nah, demon.” His eyes trail to the swell of my breasts where my heart’s beating so fast, it’s about to punch through my chest. “You just don’t do it with him.”