Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
They wandered around St. Patrice, doing nothing to hide their activities from the guy Damien sent to watch them.
After buying a few small souvenirs, they met up with Rodrigo and Katrina at the boat, acting like excited friends as they chatted about their fictitious tourist trip to the island.
The journey to Wedding Island seemed to go faster on the way back, and it wasn't long before they were in their room, preparing for dinner with Violet's family.
Max felt wired. He wanted to scream from the rooftops, tell the world he'd been right, and now he was this close to catching a monster. Only, in his experience, it was when you got close to your goal that things went badly wrong.
Still, he could taste the end. Years of tracking down every tiny lead he could find on Damien Poole was finally going to pay off.
He'd be able to write his story and get justice for his friend, for all the people Damien had hurt, and he might even get his job back too.
Just one more day and it would all be over. He could hardly wait.
Except…
The end of the mission meant his time with Violet was coming to a close too.
And that didn't sit well with him. He watched as she finished getting ready for their evening.
She wore a simple dress made of mushroom colored satin that flowed over her curves and flared out into a full skirt ending at her knees.
The color made her skin glow and her hair shimmer.
To his surprise, she'd applied lip gloss, taking her time to get it right, as though she wasn't used to wearing it.
And then she'd produced a necklace from her bag.
"Here," he said, coming up behind her. "Let me help."
Without a word, she handed him the necklace and then swept her long straight hair out of his way. Max glanced at the golden chain and found it held a little charm showing a dove in flight.
Violet saw him looking at it. "My mother gave it to me years ago. She thought the dove might remind me to be at peace and not get so agitated all the time." She caught his eye in the mirror in front of them. "It didn't work."
"It's pretty." Max fastened it around her throat, feeling the smooth heat of her skin beneath his fingers as he adjusted the necklace. It gleamed against her olive skin.
Her thick black eyelashes drifted down as she reached onto the dressing table for another chain. Without asking, she turned to him and held it out, presenting her wrist this time.
Max fastened the thin bracelet around her delicate wrist. This held a few small charms, all on the same bird theme as the necklace.
"It's my mum," she said. "She used to call me her little bird because she said I was always flitting about when I was a kid. Now, I get charms for every birthday."
"It's cute," Max said, rubbing his thumb over the inside of her wrist, and hearing her breath hitch as he did so. "I don't see you as a bird," he said thinking about it.
"No?" she whispered. "What do you see?"
"A formidable she-wolf, the skilled protector of the pack, honorable and fierce.
She relies on no one but, if you're lucky, she might deign to grant you permission to get close.
Then, if you do, she will be ferociously loyal, yet soft and loving.
" He nodded, certain of the imagery. "Yes, you're a lone wolf. Terrifying and beautiful."
He held her wrist, so fragile yet so powerful, in his hand as he stared into her dark unreadable eyes.
"Max," she whispered.
For a moment, it felt as though the air between them was speaking words they couldn't say, in a language they didn't know.
Violet swallowed and stepped away. "We need to get going," she said and the moment evaporated, dispersed on the wind.
"Yeah. How do I look?" He held out his arms and did a slow twirl for her.
When he turned back to face her, he was pleased to see appreciation in her gaze. "You suit that shade of grayish blue," she said of his jacket and pants.
Max had the urge to fill his closet with clothes in the exact same color.
"Do you think there will be speeches tonight?" he said as they reached the door. He stepped back to let Violet do her bodyguard thing, checking for threats before they went outside.
She stopped suddenly, horror on her face. "I hope not. No, there wouldn't be, would there?"
"That's what usually happens during the rehearsal dinner," he said as they closed the bungalow door behind them.
"This isn't a rehearsal dinner," she declared, like that would make it so. "It's just dinner the night before the wedding."
He noticed she didn't say our wedding. Violet was still holding onto the hope they wouldn't have to go through with it. Max kept silent on the subject, deciding it would be best for everyone if he let her believe whatever made her happiest.
"Look on the bright side," he said as he placed a hand in the small of her back, feeling inordinately proud to be accompanying her. "Even if there are speeches, no one will hear them over the karaoke."
That didn't appear to cheer her up any, so Max stopped talking all together.
They were in one of the smaller bars, in a large side room equipped with a small stage and a karaoke machine.
Although the room was open to the public, most of the tables had been shoved together to make one large seating area for the Durant-Lee wedding.
The table had been decorated with some of the flowers Violet had suggested to the florist, and there were balloons floating over it emblazoned with: Congratulations Max and Violet.
It was all very tasteful, but Violet felt ill at the sight. All she could think about was Tina, the florist. She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text to Rodrigo, who was seated at the other end of the long table.
Any word on the florist? she wrote.
Rodrigo glanced her way before replying. Abasi said she got off the island and has gone into hiding. Damien is pissed.
Good, Violet wrote before putting her phone away. At least now she could appreciate the flowers without thinking they'd gotten the florist killed.
"I have to say," Jasmine said as she ran her fingers over the centerpieces. "This isn't the kind of wedding I expected you to have."
"No," Harvey agreed, his eyes on the balloons. "I always thought there'd be a camo theme and we'd all have to play paintball. I practiced, just in case. Didn't want you to kick my arse on your wedding day."
"Yeah." Jasmine rolled her eyes. "That's why you play so much."
"Harvey," her mother called. "We talked about this. If you can't say anything helpful—"
"Keep my mouth occupied with snacks." Harvey grinned. "I remember, Rosey-mum."
Her mother sighed. "Please don't call me Rosey-mum," she said to Max, in a tone that promised consequences if he did. "I've given up on Harvey, but I can't take it from anyone else."
"I wouldn't dare," Max said, holding out a chair for Violet, and making her wonder what she was supposed to do with it. "I'll call you whatever you tell me to call you."
"Suck up," Harvey said good-naturedly.
Violet, meanwhile, turned to glare at Max, hoping he got the message to leave her chair alone.
He grinned and sat down, proving once and for all that telepathy existed.
On the other side of the table from Violet, her father held out her mother's chair and she sat down gracefully.
How did they do that without him hitting her on the back of her legs with the chair? It was a mystery.
To Violet's right, her grandmother took the seat at the head of the table.
Tonight, she was dressed in a peach and white pantsuit made of chiffon and silk that looked like it came straight from the Orient.
On anyone else it might have resembled some seriously tacky curtains, on Lian it looked elegant and chic.
Violet was grateful Katrina had picked out her dress for the evening because it was clear she'd missed out on the family gene for understanding fashion.
Although… Her attention drifted to her nieces at the other end of the table.
They had dressed in, what could only be called, ice-cream parlor chic.
They were an explosion of pastel shades that started out at their painted toes and ended in their colored hair.
The sight was blinding and bewildering. It also made Violet think she wasn't alone in her fashion ignorance.
"Can we sing?" Poppy demanded excitedly.
"I don't know," Harvey joked. "Can you?"
His daughters groaned.
"You say that every time, Dad," Marigold said, with over-the-top disgust only a fourteen-year-old could muster.
"Yeah," her younger sister added. "You need new material. Now, can we sing?" This time she looked to Violet for permission.
Violet waved a hand. "Have at it." She had no intention of singing, so if her nieces wanted to hog the stage they'd be doing her a favor.
"Not so fast," her father said standing, a glass in hand.
Violet's heart sank. "What are you doing?" she hissed at him.
"I'm making a speech." Her father squared his shoulders. "It's what fathers do when their daughters get married. You might remember it from your sister's wedding."
Jasmine grinned. "There's no getting out of it, sis," she said gleefully.
"We haven't even ordered the food yet." Violet made one last attempt at delaying him.
"I know. I thought it would be best to get the speeches out of the way before the singing started, otherwise we'll never get everyone back to the table to listen to me talk."
"I'm okay with that," Violet said. "I say we let the kids sing."
"Hush," her mother ordered. "Let your father have his moment."
There was nothing to do but sit back in her seat and endure the humiliation. Speeches for a wedding that wasn't real. To a man she didn't love. In the middle of a mission to catch a monster. Violet couldn't help but feel like the universe was out to get her.