Chapter 6: King of Deception: Chapter 6

I nod along as Mrs. Wingate grills the wedding planners. Are they sure that’s the right shade of ecru?

Must the tables be so clunky?

Is there any way to mitigate the smell of pine?

It’s Colorado. It’s going to smell like pine.

Then she hits me with the line she’s said five times already, “Are we certain we don’t want to have this wedding in New York? Colorado is so… woodsy.”

“Mason’s choice,” I murmur, tossing my brother under the bus. In some ways, this is far more his wedding than it is mine. Except for I’m the one who will be tied to Preston.

Though Mason will be joined with Preston too, I guess. Once the contracts are dry, Preston will be impossible to remove from Kincaid. Then again, Mason is cunning. Has he found a loophole?

Even if he has, that won’t change my fate.

I can’t marry him. I know it deep in my heart. I’m just not certain how I’m getting out of it.

Still, it feels like some invisible clock is now ticking. Gris is my brother’s enemy. We share this big secret. I’m in so much trouble.

Now there is no way to do this without ripping my family even further apart. And damaging Kincaid Enterprises too.

I half listen to Mrs. Wingate as she looks at the dress samples for the bridesmaids. “Red? Really? It’s so tacky.”

“It’s fall in Colorado,” I answer, with a furrow to my brow. It was Maggie and Cici’s pick, a deep russet red that will match the foliage. But the other bridesmaids agreed that the color suited them as well. With every bridesmaid on board, the decision is not up for debate.

“Really, Ella,” Mrs. Wingate waves an airy hand, her tell that she knows she’s getting my name wrong. She’s doing it on purpose. “You’re marrying a New York socialite, not a woodcutter.”

“Bella,” I say through clenched teeth. I look up at the wedding planner who stares back aghast as I grip the table with both hands, wondering if it’s more alarming that my future mother-in-law has questioned my every decision or that she can’t get my name right.

Bile rises up on my tongue as I fight back the urge to tell this woman to take her opinions and stuff them.

The Wingate family made money alongside the Vanderbilts at the turn of the century, but the Wingates lost it even faster. Mr. Wingate has made enough in stocks to keep them at the Yacht Club, but Preston, despite being educated at Yale, hasn’t accomplished even his father’s success.

None of them hold a candle to my brothers in terms of earning potential.

Still, I’m letting Mrs. Wingate get under my skin.

This isn’t me. I don’t get angry and yell at people. I’m the peacemaker usually.

So why am I fantasizing about tearing out Mrs. Wingate’s throat?

And why haven’t I done a better job of managing my brothers? Then again, I might have sensed there was no keeping the Kincaid men together. I tried. By agreeing to marry Preston, I was going to help Luke get out, help Mason succeed.

But I’ve messed everything up.

I lick my lips, drawing in a deep breath. Maybe what I need to do is get Luke and Mason to make up. If Mason doesn’t have to buy out Luke’s shares, then he doesn’t need Preston’s friends to invest, and I don’t need to get married.

It’s an idea that has me tapping my fingers on the table.

“What’s that about?” Mrs. Wingate points at my fingers.

I stop drumming. “Just thinking.”

“Do it quietly, Annabella, it’s unbecoming to think so loudly.”

My mouth snaps shut as I hold my tongue, not bothering to correct her.

I glance down at my watch, realizing that my lunch with Gris is in forty-five minutes. Butterflies fill my stomach at the idea of seeing him. Of being alone with him.

At least we’ll be in a crowded restaurant. Then again, that’s problematic as well. What if someone sees us together?

I shake my head. I’m acting like a guilty person. Which I am.

But if Gris was at the benefit last night, that means he travels in the Kincaid social circle. Who is to say we’re not old friends having lunch? For all anyone knows we might have dated in the past or… This line of thought is not helping. I only end up picturing him naked.

It takes Mrs. Wingate another half hour to go over the details the wedding planners have put into place. “Why don’t we plan a day trip to Colorado so you can show me the venue?” Mrs. Wingate isn’t speaking to me but to the planner.

Karen looks at me, her gaze questioning. With a small shake of my head, I confirm. “I’ll speak to Mason about using the helicopter. Tomorrow?”

Karen nods back, and Mrs. Wingate, finally satisfied, bids me a goodbye. My relief is short-lived as I climb into the car, speeding back to my apartment.

I weave in and out of traffic, the heel of my stiletto my pivot point to work the gas, my other working the clutch. I don’t get to drive much in New York, it’s one of the advantages of being back in Vegas.

I have an apartment in one of my brother’s buildings. The building and the apartment are gorgeous. Much bigger and nicer than what I had in New York. Not that I didn’t like my little place in the heart of downtown New York, I loved it.

Mason paid for that place too, just like he paid my tuition. Our mother died first, and then our father a year later. That’s when my aunt took in Roman and me, but as soon as Mason graduated from college, he started helping her financially as she raised us. And then he paid for both Roman and me to go to school.

In some ways, he’s been like a father, and I really appreciate how much burden he’s taken on in life. Twenty-two and supporting his siblings. I think my other brothers forget that sometimes. Mason has sacrificed a lot. And there is a part of him that is always reaching for the security that would lighten his burden. I get it, even if they don’t.

Which is why all of this is just so hard.

That’s my last thought as I pull into the parking garage of my building to find a long black limo waiting to one side.

I slide my MINI Cooper into its usual spot and step out of the car, adjusting my wrap dress a moment before Gris opens his door and steps out of the back of the limo. My pulse jumps to see him, and I try to tamp down my reaction.

Today, I can’t be some wilting flower, and I can’t let this attraction override my logic.

He approaches, the masculine sway of his body making my mouth go dry as all my thoughts evaporate.

He’s just so…

“You’re late.”

I don’t answer. What do I say…. I was wedding planning with my future mother-in-law. This is the man I did all manner of dirty things with the night before last. Either he thinks I’m the most two-faced person on the planet, or he has some inkling I don’t want this marriage.

Both of which are true.

“I’m late for a meeting you have blackmailed me to attend?”

He stops just in front of me, one side of his mouth quirking up before he reaches out a hand. “Shall we?”

I give a stiff nod. Today is about correcting some mistakes.

He takes my fingers and fits them into the crook of his arm, my pulse jumps at the light touch of his fingers and the feel of his muscles under my palm.

Reaching the car, he opens the door, helping me inside. It’s the sort of limo that could easily seat ten.

There is a table fully set in one corner with a whole luncheon. I blink in surprise. “We’re eating here?”

He slides onto the bench seat next to me. “Our conversation requires a certain level of privacy.”

All my muscles tense, a weight settling in the pit of my stomach, any notion of eating gone. “Why?”

His arm wraps around the back of the seat. “Like you don’t know.”

My heart is hammering in my chest, my eyes wide as they meet his.

“We find ourselves in a rather compromising situation.”

I swallow down a lump. “A situation you manufactured.”

“Did I? You could have walked out of that room. You’re the one who decided to cheat. Not me.”

I feel the color drain from my face. “You’re right. I did.” My voice is a hoarse whisper.

“You’re the one who screamed my name.”

I might hate him. My hand comes to my stomach as it rolls. “What do you want, Gris?”

Between my breakfast with Mrs. Wingate and now this, my brain fritzes with static, my head spinning.

He leans closer and I catch his fresh woodsy scent. Even as he’s the one who’s torturing me in this moment, I want to curl into that smell, the strength of his body. It’s so crazy, it only makes my head spin more.

“I want…” He leans even closer, overwhelming my senses. “For you to break it off with your fiancé.”

I stare at him for a beat, then two, as I try to process those words. He wants me to end things with Preston? “Why?”

“Because, little princess, I can’t have your brother making more powerful friends.”

He did all those things in the hotel room to get at Mason. I really am just the instrument of his revenge.

It makes me sick to think of how I responded to him. What I let him do to me. How I let him use me and now he’s going to hurt my family.

The bile in my throat rises and I know I’m going to be sick.