The Arrangement, Vol. 22: The Ferro Family: Volume 22 (The Arrangement
Author: H.M. Ward
Date: 2016-08-30 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Romance; Erotica; Suspense; New Adult Romance; Young Adult; Contemporary
Description: THE SERIES WITH OVER 12 MILLION COPIES SOLD Volume 22 in the New York Times Bestselling Arrangement Series Everything has come to this one moment, this one night. The plan is ready to be executed. The sexy, dark billionaire Sean Ferro is at my side and in my bed. As the erotic tension between us deepens, I see the man he could be—the man he’s becoming. Sean has me in every possible way and swears to protect me from my enemies. But there’s one thing he can’t save, one thing that’s fracturing inside of me and falling apart. My heart is dying in my chest as my demons plague me without warning. Th
Rights: Copyright 2016 H. M. Ward. All rights reserved.

A Damaged Wedding

The Ferro Family

H. M. Ward

Laree Bailey Press

Contents

A Damaged Wedding

1.
CHAPTER 1

2.
CHAPTER 2

3.
CHAPTER 3

4.
CHAPTER 4

5.
CHAPTER 5

6.
CHAPTER 6

7.
CHAPTER 7

8.
CHAPTER 8

9.
CHAPTER 9

10.
CHAPTER 10

11.
CHAPTER 11

12.
CHAPTER 12

13.
CHAPTER 13

14.
CHAPTER 14

15.
CHAPTER 15

16.
CHAPTER 16

EXCERPT: SECRETS & LIES

PRE-ORDERS BY H.M. WARD

COMPLETED SERIES BY H.M. WARD

MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS

SUGGESTED FERRO SERIES READING ORDER

MORE ROMANCE BY H.M. WARD

CAN'T WAIT FOR H.M. WARD'S NEXT STEAMY BOOK?

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 by H. M. Ward

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

LAREE BAILEY PRESS

First Edition: September 2016

ISBN: 9781630351250, 9781630352059 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-63035-491-6

A Damaged Wedding

CHAPTER 1

I’m ready to cry. Tears form behind my eyes, pricking like little needles, demanding to fall in great globs and roll down my cheeks, streaking my makeup. Normally, that wouldn’t matter so much. I usually have on minimal makeup, but today is different. Today is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, but it’s not.

I stiffen and look down at the flowing white dress covered with intricate lace and shining sea pearls. My wedding gown hugs my body, flaring just below my hips into a chapel-length train puddling on the carpet behind me.

When I glance up at Peter, my gaze rakes across his tuxedo jacket to the splatter of blood across his lapel. Leaves and dirt hug the supple fabric as if he’s been rolling on the ground, fighting. I thought that side of him was locked in his past, but it’s not. Today it reared its ugly head, and I know that part of him will never be gone. For as hard as he’s tried, it’s still there, glowing softly like an ember.

It’s just him and me in the bridal lounge of the estate house. Between the last second move from this location and my soon to be mother-in-law’s Gestapo wedding coordinator, my nerves are shot. The last minute location change was rough, but we’re here now. Everything will be fine. Just breathe and calm down. In all honesty, I like this location better, it’s smaller and we lost half the paparazzi in the shuffle. Bonus.

The sprawling grounds include a chapel, a great lawn complete with water and fire features, and a guesthouse. Everyone is here. My dad is waiting to walk me down the aisle, but the thing is, I no longer know what to think.

The man I love, the guy who fought like hell to survive the unsurvivable is slipping away, and I can’t fathom why. Why fight so hard to overcome the past if you have no intention of living that way? I don’t understand. I can’t. I don’t get it, and the only person I can think of to bend Peter’s will like this is Sean.

Something’s been going on with them. I’m glad Peter is back with his family. His brothers need him. Peter is the only positive influence they have, but that means he’s constantly in the thick of it, doing God knows what, and this isn’t the first time he’s come home covered in blood.

I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but my throat is so tight that I can’t do it. I croak out a barely audible, “What have you done?”

Peter’s blue gaze falls to the carpet. Within those twin orbs, fear mingles with something I can’t identify. That tux looks stunning on him, fits him perfectly, accenting all the right places. The chiseled lines of his chest all the way down to his narrow hips. I was supposed to take that supple fabric off of him tonight. We were finally going to be together again. Now I know it won’t happen. He’s slipping through my fingers, and I can’t comprehend it. Fear chokes me with invisible fingers until I can’t breathe.

Peter lifts his head, letting a dark strand of hair fall into his eyes. He leaves it and looks down at me. That man can protect me from the world. His body towers over mine, perfect and beautiful. “Sidney, it’s not what you think.”

“I don’t know what to think. Your Uncle Luke comes in here claiming you were with an ex-conquest last night and then you show up like this today. Whose blood is that?”

He opens his mouth as if to argue his side, but then decides against it. His lips close and his eyes dart to the side. He won’t look at me. My heart climbs up my throat, pounding frantically. “Sidney, if I’d known what was going to happen, I wouldn’t have...”

I’m shaking the tiniest amount. Peter stands there calmly, so completely still I can’t help it. I lose whatever element of calm collectedness I possess. “Last night doesn’t explain today. Right now. Peter—” I don’t get to finish because he cuts me off.

He steps closer, closing the space between us. His lips are a whisper away, and his eyes lock on mine, intense as ever. “Don’t ask. Please don’t ask me. I can’t involve you in this. I won’t.”

My brows knit together as icy fear claws its way up my spine. “What are you saying?”

Peter leans in, kisses my forehead softly and steps away. “I’d rather you hate me for your entire life.” There’s more he’s not saying. I can sense it. His sapphire gaze lowers, obscured by his dark lashes. Peter’s shoulders slump forward in defeat. He breathes in for a moment, releases the air from his lungs in one long steady stream, then turns on his heel and walks away.

CHAPTER 2

There’s no air. It feels as if my chest will burst open if I don’t breathe soon, but I can’t. Time is frozen, and I can’t understand what’s happening. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Every hair on my neck stands on end, waiting for something terrible to occur. Something horrible is happening right now though, and I don’t want to be the kind of woman who is so paralyzed by fear that I let him walk away. I lift the hem of my lace gown and rush toward the door.

As I reach for the knob it swings open, and Constance Ferro blocks my path. She strides into the room with long, elegant steps. Her face is devoid of emotion, completely stoic.

I try to move past her, but she grabs my arm, positioning herself in front of the door. “Sit down, Sidney.”

Chin tucked, and eyes narrowing to slits, I growl at her, “Get out of the way!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not getting married today. Accept it like the good girl you are and walk away.”

My face crumples as I hiss at her, “I don’t care what you think, and if you don’t move away from that door, I’ll make sure you regret that decision for the rest of your life.”

One corner of her mouth tips up slightly. “A bride scorned is a beautiful thing, a force of nature. Men are fools when it comes to judging a woman’s emotional response. Peter wants to put distance between you for a reason. Don’t be foolish and rush after him. It’ll only make him run faster.” Constance is completely calm, but there’s something about her voice—it’s a little bit pinched, pained almost. “Sit down,” she repeats, more gently this time.

Constance holds out her palm and gestures toward a set of chairs a few feet away. The balcony door is open, and the scent of cherry blossoms sweeps through the room.

My heart slams into my chest, cleaving it in two. I shouldn’t let him leave. But I can’t follow him, and it’s not gone unnoticed that his mother, who never speaks to me, is here now. That is the only reason why I stay. Curiosity has the better of me, even if my mood doesn’t show it. “I don’t need your motherly advice right now.”

“Since I’m the only mother you have, I suggest you sit and listen.” Her tone is sharp, and though her blow hits below the belt, I understand her motive. She wants Peter to get away.

I’m shaking, rage brewing within my body until I’m about to explode, but I manage to make my way to the chairs, hoping to see Peter as he flees. As he runs… from me. The pit of my stomach sinks when I realize I may never see him again. What happened?

I sweep my arm and gather up the back of my gown and sit down on a small chair facing the windows. The sky is bright blue with fat, happy clouds. The pink flowers on the cherry trees seem brighter contrasted against the azure sky. I silently place my hands on my lap and glare at Peter's mother.

Constance doesn’t take the seat opposite me. Instead, she steps in front of the windows, blocking the view. “Listen closely. This is about you in every way imaginable. I could snap my fingers and break you, make you hate him forever, cause you to walk away from him without a backward glance.” She peers out the windows at the beautifully manicured grounds below before turning on her heel. When Constance faces me, she has her fingers knitted together, holding them loosely in front of her waist.

I don’t doubt her threats. Constance Ferro is a scary woman, but the thought of losing Peter scares me more. “If you’re done—”

“I’m not done, you insolent child. For once in your meaningless life, listen to me. Peter is a Ferro through and through, no matter what name he signs on his driver’s license. The question is what are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you made of, Sidney? Are you going to chase him down and beg him to stay? Or are you a Ferro, already devising a way to make him come to you? Ferros don’t beg, we don’t apologize, and we rarely sacrifice time helping anyone outside our family.”

My gaze narrows. “So why are you helping me?”

“Because you’re already in his heart and no piece of paper will change that. Which begs the question—are you a Ferro or not?”

I stare at her, studying the blood-red suit hugging her body like a glove. Her hair is lighter now, close to blonde, with golden streaks along her temples, and swept elegantly away from her face. A blood-red ring is on her finger with the Ferro family crest in the center. Family means everything to her, and, for some reason, she’s not chasing me away.

“Why are you helping me?” I eye her suspiciously.

“Why does Peter love you? You’re too young for him, too damaged, carrying too much baggage and, yet, here you are, dressed in a white gown that’s neither truthful nor flattering.” Constance doesn’t hold back her barbs. She simply works them in as if it were any other day.

My mouth dangles open, unable to believe she'd insult me now.

Constance appears bored and rolls her eyes. “Champagne would have flattered your complexion and been a bit more truthful. Ferro women don’t hide from their past, and they banish shame. Embrace your life, Sidney, before you lose everything you care about. The past is behind you and cannot change. What happened is gone. Tomorrow is all that matters, so it comes down to this—what are you willing to do to get what you want?”

CHAPTER 3

Millie walks in before I can answer, her blonde head set with springy curls. Combined with the slate blue bridesmaid gown she’s wearing, she looks vibrant. “Hey, Sid, your dad is pacing a hole in the floor out here, and the little string trio is on their third round of Canon in D. Any chance you’re coming out soon?” She smiles as if nothing were wrong even though I know she’s aware something is majorly screwed up. She glances past me, out the window. I wonder if she saw Peter walk out.

Blinking rapidly, I force the tears back and smile at my friend. “Apparently, today isn’t my wedding day. Fate had other plans.” I turn to my soon-to-be mother-in-law. “However, I intend to bitchslap fate, destiny, or whatever you want to call her, so hard that she's knocked into next week. Is that clear enough for you?”

The corner of Constance’s lip twitches. I can’t tell if she’s amused or upset. “Very well. I’ll settle things here. You should change and leave.” Without another word, she’s gone.

Millie deflates and rushes toward me, her hands seeking mine, as she carefully looks me over. “What happened? Where’s Professor Pete?”

I can’t help it. I smile at the old name she gave him while we were in college back in Texas. That seems like a lifetime ago. Now we’re in New York, hobnobbing with socialites and celebrities. Since Peter reappeared, the press has lingered. They’re here today, just outside the immense iron gates surrounding the property. Peter’s a private man, and I understand why he left all this behind, why he doesn’t want the fame or the glory. I don’t enjoy the limelight either.

Millie rests her hand on my shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” I reply. “Peter’s not spooked, it’s not cold feet, but he left. He has issues—other issues.”

As I talk to my friend, I can see movement on the circle drive below. A man wearing a tuxedo mounts a motorcycle and disappears from sight.

Mille laughs with a Texan drawl, flipping her head to the side and folding her arms across her chest. She juts out her hip and twangs, “Well, of course he does. He’s a Ferro. They’re all squirrely.” She snorts and glances around. “I bet that pet of yours set some bad juju on you two for not bringing him.”

I frown. “Constance didn’t want Mr. Turkey here. The venue didn’t want him here either.”

“Yeah, but you’re one of them now. I heard her say as much.” Millie jerks her thumb back at the door Constance left through.

“You were listening?”

“Not on purpose, but I wanted to know if you were okay, and like I said, your father and brother are really—”

I tense. “Sam’s here?”

“Yeah. He walked in at the last second and sat down in the back. Things haven’t gotten any better between you two, have they?”

I shake my head and have trouble hiding the tremor in my voice that comes out whenever I talk about my twin brother, Sam. He’s connected to Dean and, no matter how much I try to forget that past, I can’t. Unfortunately, Sam was part of it. I don’t trust him anymore. I don’t think I ever will.

I swallow hard and say, “No, they haven’t.”

When I don’t elaborate, Millie inclines her head and lifts a hand toward my dress. “Let’s set this aside for another day and—”

I shake my head. “No. I’m wearing the dress.”

It’s a heavy gown, and the skirt is way too long to move around in at any place other than my wedding. Constance’s attitude toward the dress irritated me at first, but maybe she’s right. Maybe holding on to ideals constructed before I met Peter wasn’t a good idea. I’m not the woman in white, the virgin bride. I’m someone who has been through hell and survived. I’m at the point now where I want to live again. I want my life back, and it seems like I’ll have to fight for it. It’s strange, but after hiding from Dean for so long, fighting to keep the metaphorical bear from mauling me, I thought the days of keeping up my guard were over. I thought I’d have a period of peace and happiness. Apparently not. Life is a fight, and I’m not just going to stand there and take the blows without fighting back. Whatever happened to Peter is my mess, too. He’s mine, and I’m not letting him walk away.

I walk across the room, kicking out the hem so I don’t trip, and pull open a drawer at the top of an antique bureau. Millie quietly watches me as I lift the scissors from the drawer and cut the white lace just above the knee. I hack at the petticoat underneath until the bulk of it pulls away, leaving a little dash of white tulle poking out just beneath the lace hem. Peter’s leather jacket is hanging on the hook where I left it this morning. I tug it on before I kick off my heels and go for my black shit-kickers.

Millie giggles. “Wow. That’s a look.”

“Tell my dad I’m all right, that the wedding is only delayed a little bit. I need to take care of something first.”

Millie laughs and shakes her head. “You’re insane if you think I’ll let you do whatever you’re planning by yourself.”

I plead with her. “Someone has to tell Dad, and I can’t. I don’t have the heart to do it. This morning he was caught between prideful tears and misery because Mom isn’t here. I can’t do that again, not right now. I had enough trouble smiling through it the first time, and I don’t want to make him worry more. Please, Millie? Take him out to lunch or something?” I flash a hopeful smile at her.

Millie sighs and then says, “Fine, I’ll make sure he’s not worried about you. But you better come home later.”

Millie has been staying at our little house. Peter was rooming with Sean until the wedding. I thought it was romantic in the beginning, but everyone arrived over a week ago, and, in hindsight, separating was a stupid plan. If he'd been with me, whatever happened last night wouldn’t have happened. If he hadn't been with Sean, things would have turned out differently. As if I needed another reason to detest Sean Ferro.

“I will. Thank you, Millie. I couldn’t have done this without you.” I’m out the door before I can process the fact that I’m walking away from my own wedding, unmarried.

CHAPTER 4

I tug at my dark hair, pulling the bobby pins out, before slicking it back into a ponytail. The only vehicle accessible without making them move all the cars is Peter’s motorcycle. I take the keys, crank it, pull the thing upright, and put up the kickstand. I’ve driven it a few times before with Peter's help, but never really liked it.

Now, I’m glad I learned how to do it. I put the bike in gear, rev the engine, and shoot down the winding black driveway toward the street. The only people using the back entrance are deliverymen, so there are no cameras to document me fleeing my wedding in a hacked-off gown. The wind catches my skirt and hikes it up to my hips. I don’t think about how much thigh is showing, or that my garter is still on my right leg. I need to figure out what happened last night, so I head toward the residence of my least favorite Ferro. Sean.

When I get to the penthouse of the hotel in Manhattan, the valet takes Peter’s bike and eyes me like I must have forgotten to take my meds for a few days. I don’t bother saying anything. Nothing I can say makes this seem normal, so I own it. I saunter into the front lobby and past the desk, heading directly for the elevator, but it won’t go anywhere without a room key. Damn it. I walk back to the front desk.

A man wearing a suit is standing, annoyed. He’s scolding the guy behind the counter as if he were a bad dog. “This bill is completely ridiculous, and I won’t pay it,” he says, stabbing a piece of paper with his thick index finger. He’s padded through the middle and graying at the temples.

Under any other circumstances, I would wait my turn, but time is working against me. Right now, the press doesn’t yet realize there was no wedding. I snuck out the back and, with the face screen on the helmet, no one could know for certain it was me. One guy with a camera stared at me and snapped a picture, but he did it without excitement. This is the biggest wedding of the year. It’s the wedding everyone wanted to attend, but hardly anyone was invited to—according to Constance. Even so, there were still over five hundred invites that went out to people I don’t know.

I use the only card I have to play and walk up to the front desk and put my arms up on the counter. I smile at the ranting man who stutters when he sees me. “You’re the F-F-Ferro bride, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.” I nod, smiling, then turn to the man behind the desk, “I have a secret that I have to tell you.”

The man behind the desk is near thirty, with pale skin and too many creases around his eyes for his age. He perks up and smiles at me. “Anything you need, miss.”

“I forgot Peter’s wedding gift here. Sean was supposed to bring it this morning, but he forgot. The bridal party is taking pictures nearby, and I thought I had a shot at getting it before Peter realized it was forgotten. That’d be so embarrassing.” It’s a bad lie, and I’m not a great liar, but the tremor is still lingering in my voice.

“That Peter seems like a decent guy,” the customer next to me points out, not sensing anything because he’s become completely star struck.

“He’s a great guy,” I say, glancing back toward the desk. “Sean didn’t give me the room key. This morning was so busy I haven’t had a chance to talk to him. Any chance you could help me out?” I think he’s going to call me on it. He has to know I’m not telling the truth, and I know there’s no way he’s supposed to give me that key. But if he doesn’t, I’m stuck. Sean isn’t answering his phone, and he darted from the wedding right after Peter, which is even weirder. I'm certain he was the guy I saw on the bike from the window. It had to be him.

The man behind the desk smiles at me. “Certainly, Mrs. Ferro.” He turns to a box behind him, grabs a room keycard, and puts it through the machine. A moment later, he hands it to me. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. This is great. I’ll be right down.”

I ride the elevator up alone—thank God—and walk into Sean’s grand foyer. The place smells like Peter’s cologne.

I walk inside slowly, carefully. “Hello?” I call out, but there’s no answer.

Peter didn’t come back here and for a moment I wonder why. And if he’s not here, where did he go? I sigh and look around, running my fingertips across the smooth polished concrete in the kitchen and then I wander down the hallway and find Peter’s bedroom. It’s unmade with the sheets rumpled as if he didn’t sleep. I sit on the edge of the bed and touch the spot where he’s been sleeping with the palm of my hand. “What happened to you?”

I’m sitting lost in thought, head bowed, when a voice sends my pulse soaring. “What the hell are you doing here?” Sean snaps.

I grab my heart and jump to my feet, ready to do—I don’t know what I planned to do—but I stop before the scary man with the chiseled jaw and dripping dark hair. He’s wearing nothing but a towel. I’m about to shove a finger into his pec when I notice the beads of water on his skin. My hand freezes and lingers there for a moment.

Sean smirks. “Pointing is rude.”

I blink and manage not to sputter all over him. “Where is Peter? What happened last night?”

Sean acts as if he didn’t hear a thing I said. He strolls into Peter’s room, glances around, and then turns back to me. “How did you get in here?”

I don’t answer him. “What happened last night?”

Sean’s deep blue gaze bores into me. “You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do.” I get up in his face, but he’s too tall and too big. His shoulders are wider than Millie and me put together. People say Peter and Sean could pass for twins, but I don’t see it. Aside from the dark hair and trademark Ferro eyes, they’re different. “He was with you, wasn’t he? He got involved in your shit and now he’s gone.”

Sean’s smirk vanishes. “What do you mean he’s gone?”

“He found me before the ceremony—which you were supposed to be at—and said he was leaving. Don’t pretend you don’t know what happened. You set this whole mess in motion.”

Sean pads away and shakes his head. “This wasn’t my shit. It was his.” Sean glances at me sidelong, like he knows more and isn’t saying it. “What happened to your dress?” He stares at the jagged hem before his eyes flick up to mine.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It was a fifty thousand dollar gown. I’d think that part matters. According to Jon, nuns went blind making that lace, and you sliced it up.” I blanch, feeling all the blood drain from my face and look down at my dress. There’s no way he paid that much for it. Did he?

Sean snaps, “How’d you even get here?”

“Peter’s bike.”

Sean grins at me. “He’s going to be pissed you took it.”

I shrug. “Peter left me at the altar. I’m the one you should be worried about.”

Sean turns and walks over to me, and doesn’t stop. He comes nearer, making me step back. He uses his body like a mountain pushing me until my back hits the wall. He leans down, his face near mine, then hisses, “And yet, I’m not.”

Something happens, and I can’t differentiate the past from the present. Dean’s face and voice flash through my mind. I’m strapped down, and the scene is ready to replay again. I fight it. Something wild rears up inside of me, refusing to cower. I won’t be a quiet woman anymore. I won’t let anyone push me around. Anger surges through me and for once, I act without thinking. My knee juts up and nails his nuts, hard.

Sean bends over in his towel, bare muscles tensing from the impact. He growls at me, glancing up from his doubled-over position, glaring at me through dripping dark hair. “What the fuck, Sidney?”

I’m screaming, scolding him before I can think. It doesn’t concern me that his face promises pain or that he could hurt me. For years, I’ve crept around afraid. Peter gave me my life back. I no longer worry about overreacting or wonder if I should do something. Somehow, with Peter, I found myself—and I sure as hell won’t let him walk away.

I hiss at Sean, “Don’t ever do that to me again. I’m not someone you can jerk around without consequence.” I steel my voice and repeat my question. “What happened to Peter last night? What spooked him so badly that he ran? It seemed like he didn’t want me involved in it.”

He clears his throat and gives me plenty of space. “You’re already involved.”

“Where is he?”

Sean straightens, and his gaze narrows as he considers telling me. In that moment, I realize he knows—Sean Ferro knows everything.

CHAPTER 5

A few moments later, Sean is dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. It hugs his chest and arms showcasing his toned body. As he walks through the kitchen, pulling out the things he needs to make coffee, he runs his hand through his hair. It’s a nervous tick, something Peter does as well, and it usually accompanies something horrible.

I’m sitting on the counter, boots hanging over the edge. Sean frowns at me, the line between his temples creasing. “You’re not a child, so don’t act like one.”

I don’t move. I’m not sitting at the huge dining table alone while my soon-to-be brother-in-law makes me a cup of joe. He’ll probably put a sedative in it and ship me to Antarctica where I can become the penguin queen. The image flashes in my mind, and I smile to myself. I’d be the tallest one there. That would be an awesome change.

Sean snaps at me again, “Even Avery uses a chair. Come on, Sidney. Get down.”

I slip off the counter. Maybe he’s OCD or a germaphobe. I have no idea. Sean doesn’t talk much. He hisses, growls, and that’s about it. I fold my arms over my lacy chest and tuck my hands in the crooks of my leather-clad arms. “Sean, if you don’t tell me what happened, I’ll figure it out another way. If it’s something bad, I’ll find out.”

“What did Mother tell you?” He stops with a white cup in his large hand and raises a dark brow at me.

I should have known better than thinking I could get a straight answer out of Sean. “She told me to lure him back.”

“Right, that sounds like her. So, may I ask, why are you chasing him?” Sean turns away, lifts the pot of coffee, and begins pouring me a cup.

“He had blood on his jacket, and it looked like someone tried to shove him through a paper shredder. Peter has a past. I’m not an idiot. Does this have something to do with Gina?”

Sean tenses at my words and sets the pot down. He turns and eyes me. “Why do you know that name?”

“Peter told me everything.” My voice becomes small as I speak. I don’t mean for it to happen, it just does.

Sean stalks toward me, one step at a time, and looks down into my face with his brow wrinkled. “It’s not that simple. We’ll close ranks and take care of it. In the meantime, stay out of the way.”

My throat tightens as the words tumble from my mouth. “He’s not coming back to me after this, is he? Whatever this is, he thinks he failed me. I saw it in his eyes. Sean, tell me what’s happening, or I won’t leave it alone.”

He snorts. “You won’t drop it no matter what I tell you.”

“So stop wasting time and fill me in.”

Sean’s expression is stern, and I doubt he’ll say a word, but I stand there, hip against the counter with a cup of coffee in my hands waiting for him to speak. Minutes tick by in awkward silence. I refuse to chatter about nothing while Peter is in trouble. That’s the only thing I’ve learned so far. The certainty of it is eating a hole in the center of my chest. I’ve already been shocked beyond comprehension today. Whatever Sean has to say couldn’t make it worse.

A few more moments pass and Sean begins to act as if I weren’t here. He grabs his paper and sits at the long empty table alone, leaving me in the kitchen. Crazy is bubbling inside of me. I want to force him to tell me, but it’s clear Sean is waiting for me to leave. Maybe I should go and then follow him? Or maybe I’m badgering the wrong brother? Where the hell is Jon anyway? He was at the rehearsal dinner and then vanished. I didn’t see him this morning.

I set my cup down in the sink and decide to go after the weakest spot in Sean’s armor—Avery. I set my cup down and head toward his door. Calling over my shoulder, I ask, “Is Avery still at the same address?”

Sean is on his feet and in my face faster than I can blink. “Stay away from her.”

I glare up at him. “Then tell me what happened.”

“If you involve her in any way—”

“I’d rather not, but you’re not talking, and I know she will.”

“She doesn’t know anything.”

“But she can find out, and—”

“Stop.” That one word is spoken with such force that I freeze in place. My heart is thumping rapidly, and I’m tensed, ready to fight. But Sean inhales slowly, and the tense muscles in his shoulders and arms relax.

“Tell me.”

“It’s not a pleasant story, and, once you hear it, I can’t take it away.” Sean watches me carefully, his eyes locked on mine as if I were an adversary.

“Life is unpleasant. And nothing you can say will make me walk away from him, so start talking.”

CHAPTER 6

“There were a few men who crossed Pete’s path a long time ago. He killed one of them, and another walked away scot-free after killing the woman he loved. Pete ran into that guy last night.”

I stare blankly, not able to believe what I’m hearing. Sean is leaning against the wall of the dining room, his black shirt contrasting sharply with the pale walls. His arms are folded across his chest, and his gaze is locked on me, narrowed as if he doesn’t trust me to react properly.

Emotions collide inside my chest and everything echoes in my mind. I glance over at Sean. “How do you know?”

“I was there.”

“How? Peter avoids that guy. He told me about him, how he thought about hurting the man and decided against it. That’s one of the main principles that rule his life. There’s no way they accidentally crossed paths, so what happened?”

Chin tucked, Sean clears his throat and explains. “Uncle Luke. He started this—the man isn’t mentally inept, as he’s led everyone to believe. Mother supposedly sent him to Mississippi to stay out of trouble, but I think it was more than that—it was to keep him away from the money.”

“But, why Peter? He’s not the one inheriting.”

“Pete has a well-known weak spot. Luke saw an opportunity and took it. With Jon disowned, if something happens to Mother, then Luke will inherit everything. He won’t have to behave to get his stipend. He’ll be off his leash, doing God knows what.”

“But why Peter? He doesn’t have a say in what happens to Constance. He wanted nothing to do with that money.”

“Luke hit where it hurt and set a plan in motion. I have no doubt it will lead to the death of his sister.”

“And the blood on Peter’s jacket?” I tense, knowing before he says it. It’s the one person Peter wants to hurt, the person he said he avoids at all cost.

Sean lowers his head and avoids my eyes. “I got there too late. I wish I'd known sooner, but I didn’t realize what happened until it was too late.”

Glassy eyed, I look up at Sean. “So he’s hiding because he killed a man?”

Sean scoffs and shakes his head. “No, he didn’t kill the guy. Pete held back and let the guy walk, creating a massive clusterfuck. Letting the guy live put a mark on Pete’s head. The asswipe that killed Gina is mixed up in some nasty shit. You don’t start battles you can’t win with these people, and Pete refusing to fight to the death kind of fucked him over. He started a skirmish he can’t win.”

“So he ran?”

“Yeah, and cut you out faster than I thought possible.”

I stare at the wall feeling hollowed out. I can’t do anything about this. Peter tried so hard to get his life back together and be a good man, but this? I can’t imagine what seeing that man’s face did to him. I can’t picture Peter keeping it together and walking away. But he's done it before, so what was different this time?

“Why this time?”

“What do you mean?” Sean asks.

“Why would Peter start something with the guy this time. He’s known where this man was for years without doing anything. Why now?”

“Because of Luke. He set this in motion. Other variables will become apparent as it plays out, but my guess is the line of dominos falls in rapid succession until there’s no one left but Luke. So Peter left you, and cut you out of the story.”

Ice shoots up my spine, and my throat tightens. My voice should be calm, timid, but it’s not. Something within me awakens, and I feel my old self fracture. A new Sidney emerges in a bearskin cloak, ready to do whatever is necessary to protect the man she loves. When it’s not about me, I find courage and strength I didn’t know I possessed. When someone threatens Peter, I’m not a docile, compliant waif of a woman. I won’t be.

Confidence laces through my veins and my voice is firm when I speak. “Take me to him.”

CHAPTER 7

We pull up in front of a shabby motel on the eastern end of Long Island about an hour later. Sean cuts the engine to his little black car and walks over to a once vibrant red door. It’s now sun-bleached and peeling. Once-white shaker shingles line the one-story building. There’s a sign stating they rent rooms by the hour. Inwardly, I cringe as I approach the door. I lift my hand and prepare to knock when Sean grabs my wrist.

“Don’t.” He doesn’t explain, just plucks my fist from the air and tosses it away from the door. Sean opens the palm of his hand and slaps the center of the door, once, firmly. Then we wait. Sean glances over at me, his gaze dead.

I look back at the shabby moss colored curtains obscuring the window and wonder if they’ll move—if Peter will look out. But there’s no movement. Nothing.

My throat tightens and all the hairs on the back of my neck rise in unison. “Sean—”

I lift my hand to touch Sean’s forearm as panic races up my spine. Sean places his hand in his pocket, wrapping his fingers around some sort of weapon he’s carrying. He turns, scans the parking lot, and then slaps the door with his palm once more. His chest swells as his nostrils flare. He starts to mutter about what he’ll do to them if they hurt his brother, then goes silent when there’s a sound—the scrape of metal on metal. The door unlocks, opening an inch and no more.

Sean doesn’t wait for an invitation and slams into the door, forcing it all the way open and walks inside the dark room. I follow, blasted by the stench of must covered with bleach. The door slams shut behind me, and although the room is pitch-black, I can make out Peter’s face from a thin slit of light shining through the curtains. He’s still wearing his tux pants and the dress shirt. He hasn't changed, but he lost the tie and the jacket. He’s disheveled, his hair rumpled as if he’s been tugging it frantically.

Peter growls at his brother, “What the fuck, Sean? You said you’d take care of her.”

“I did. If I didn’t bring her here, someone else would have.”

Peter shoves Sean in the chest, making him take a step back to right himself. “Bullshit!” Peter hisses, “You were supposed to keep her safe. You fucking killed her!” Peter balls his hand into a fist and takes a swing, but Sean raises his arm and blocks him.

“Stop it. You damn well know Sidney would have found you by any means possible. She would have walked up to that asshole, and God knows what would have happened. She’s not exactly stealthy, Pete.”

“Hey,” I object, shoving between them. Peter is still livid, but he turns away as soon as I’m within reach.

Sean shoots me a look that says REALLY? Then he continues, speaking in a low, sharp voice. “She knows about Gina, which means she could have pulled his name. What the hell were you thinking, telling her all that shit? I had no idea you were so foolish.”

Peter’s brow is creased as he stares at the wall. “I didn’t think it would come to this.”

“No one ever does.” Sean’s voice is even, tense. He steps toward his brother. “I’m tracking down Jon. Mother already knows. We’ll handle this. In the meantime, stay out of sight, so you don’t end up at the bottom of the East River, got it? And for God’s sake, keep her with you. The last thing we need is Sidney poking around. She’s a fucking target, walking around, knowing half the story. Tell her the rest or I will.”

What’s he talking about? I know the whole story. I glance at Peter and realize Sean is telling the truth. I’m missing information, and, from the look on Peter’s face, it’s something bad. “Peter?”

Sean stands there as if Peter will spill it all right this second, but he doesn’t speak. Sean is beyond livid, and when his eyes cut over to me, I flinch. There’s nothing but cold darkness in his gaze. It’s like I’m looking into the eyes of a heartless monster. I turn my face away, staring at the brown shag carpet.

Sean growls, “Sidney, remember what I told you. Now is the time you decide—in or out. If you want out, I’ll make it clear the Ferro family has nothing to do with you, no ties so that they won’t come after your family. It’ll be very public and very ugly, but it’ll do the job. It’ll keep Luke away from you and the asswipe who is after Peter. If you stay, you’re all in. There’s no going back. I’ll make sure Sam and your father are protected until this ends.”

“Is Luke really that much of a problem?”

Sean narrows his gaze at me and folds his arms over his chest. “He’s trying to kill your fiancé, so yes—Luke is a problem. We’ll have to deal with him another time. Tinfoil hat or not, the man shows no mercy. Are you willing to take down a Ferro and a thug to protect, Pete?”

There’s a roar in my ears as I stand there in a torn wedding dress and Peter’s leather jacket in a stunned silence.

“What’s your decision?” Sean asks tersely.

I never thought this would be my life. I’m not a fighter. I didn’t protect myself early on, and it led me here. Peter means everything to me, but I don’t want to be a liability.

I say as much, plainly. “I’m in, but I need you to help me not be a weak spot. I won’t be the reason something horrible happens to Peter.”

“No,” Peter rounds on me and screams the word, his hand flying in a gesture that means there’s no way in hell he’s letting me stay. “Walk away, Sidney. This shitstorm is snowballing. It’s one thing today—”

“Two things,” Sean corrects.

Peter sighs and shoots his brother a sharp glance. “My point is that this never ends. Leave and don’t look back.”

“No.” I frown and get in his face. “I can’t, even if I wanted to. I’ll wonder about you every day for the rest of my life. I finally found my strength again, and it’s you. I can’t leave you behind! It’d be like cutting off my head.”

Peter’s beautiful face creases with worry. I feel his warm breath as he speaks. “If you stay, that’s a possibility, not just a metaphor. You’re not strong enough for this, Sidney. You weren’t made for this.”

“Neither were you. Life happens, and what matters is how you react when it does. I’m not leaving. Marry me or not, hate me or not—I can’t leave you.”

His hands find my shoulders, and he leans his forehead to mine. “Please,” he begs, “Please leave with Sean and separate yourself from us. I thought this was over. I thought the different life, the different name would protect us, but I was wrong. I’m a Ferro, Sid. I’ll always be caught up in nasty stuff that I don’t want you exposed to—please…”

“No.” There’s a tremor in my voice, and I want to cry. He ran to protect me, but I worry he’ll sacrifice himself if he thinks it will make things better for everyone else. Peter has always been clear that he didn’t want this life. No matter how hard he tried to get away from it, it comes back and tries to pull him back into the fold. There’s no escape.

“Then tell me truly, look at my brother and tell me he doesn’t frighten you—that he doesn’t disgust you. There’s blood on his hands, more than mine. We’re mirror images of each other, Sid. There’s a reason why people say we’re twins, and it’s not just our looks—our temperaments are short, our fights are bloody, and our desire to protect our own trumps everything. We’re the same, Sidney. Having a heart is a luxury that will destroy me and you.”

I take his face in my hands and speak softly. “Not having a heart will destroy you faster. Giving into the sheer hopelessness of it all will consume you, and there will be no escape from it because you'll have barricaded your heart and thrown love away. If there’s one thing that could save you, shouldn’t you keep it? If there were one thing that could give hope where there is none, wouldn’t you want it? A life without purpose isn’t what you want. You’re not a vigilante, Peter. You’ve always been a poet and, no matter how hard you try to hide your heart, it will always break through. That’s who you are, and as long as you live and breathe, you’ll regret and mourn the life you could have had.” There are tears in my eyes as I watch his blue gaze. Those eyes are so much like his brother’s, but different. They offer mercy and compassion freely. They want to see the good in the world, even if there isn’t any left.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No.” I laugh sadly, still holding his face to mine. “I won’t leave you, so please stop trying to walk away.”

Peter wraps his arms around my middle, and I lace my arms around his neck. He holds me tightly and presses a brief kiss to my lips. I feel the blush rise on my cheeks, not wanting to have Sean watch our display of affection. When we look up, Sean is gone.

CHAPTER 8

Peter feels distant and, even though he’s welcomed me to stay, I feel the fear radiating off of him. He’ll blame himself if something happens to me. He won’t come back from it. As it is, he’s fighting a battle I can't see, waging a war between the man he wants to be and the fighter that tries to resurface at times like this. There’s no balance with him. Peter seems to be all fighter or all poet. The two don’t coexist for him, and I can’t help but wonder why. I follow after him in my ruined wedding gown with his biker jacket still on and pull the front tight, wrapping it around me and tugging hard.

I want to say that I don’t understand, but I do. The silent clacking of bear claws follows me on a daily basis. For years, I tried to act like it never happened, that Dean didn’t traumatize me. I wanted to recover fully, and, to me, that meant wiping away the past like it never happened. I wanted a clean slate, but that’s not possible. Those days will always be there, carried around for the rest of my life as scars on my soul. I’ve thought of those markings as something that makes me weak, but lately I don’t know.

Maybe Peter is fighting the same battle. He’s tried to walk away from me before, and I know this has to be horrible for him. The fact that he can’t embrace the fighter must be a hindrance. He has untapped power, but releasing it will mean going back on everything he promised Gina, on everything he promised me—and himself. Peter sits down hard on the edge of the bed, places his elbows on his knees, and leans forward. His gaze is conflicted, shifting between an icy stare and a warm caress.

I choose my seat carefully, stopping in front of him before lowering myself to my knees. I sit back on my boots and look up into his beautiful face. Stubble dusts his jaw as it does at the end of every day. His shirtsleeves are pushed up past his muscular biceps, and there’s a large watch on his left wrist. He watches me closely, those sapphire eyes pinning me in place. My stomach tightens as my pulse pounds harder. It’s been weeks since we’ve been together, a self-imposed restriction that was supposed to last until our wedding night. But there was no marriage today and tonight is nothing like I dreamed it would be.

Placing a hand on his knee, I look up at him, but he avoids my gaze. I rest my eyes on his cheek and wish I could touch him gently, make him remember the man he is and find a balance between the past and the present. I can’t say the words because I haven’t done it. How can I help him? The heat from his body radiates into my palm, and I wish I could do more, but he’s way too jumpy even to try.

“Some days I feel like you and I were meant to be, but other days it seems like the world has other plans for us, and trying to find a go-around is exhausting.” I run my tongue over my lips as my mouth goes dry. “If you’ve changed your mind about us, if you don’t feel that way about me anymore—”

“Stop,” Peter breathes, and it sounds more like a plea than a scolding. He wraps his strong hands over mine and parts his lips to speak, but nothing comes out. Peter looks away, rises and begins pacing. He runs a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it, and then rests his palm on the back of his neck. When he faces me, he’s a beautiful mess of emotion, raw and real.

I rise slowly, but remain a few feet away, watching, waiting for him. There are a million reasons why this relationship shouldn’t work, and I fear that he’s going to remind me of them. My chest tightens, and it feels like I’m being squeezed. It’s everything I can manage to remain silent. I don’t want to put words in his mouth or steer him in a direction he wasn’t going to go. The silence stretches on between us until it feels like it’s going to snap.

Peter presses his eyes closed and then lets out a jagged breath before turning to me. His blue gaze connects with mine and doesn’t let go. It holds on tight with the fierce desperation he normally hides. “Sidney, I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels like I’m living two lives.” He holds out one palm and then the other. “I’m an honest man, a good man who helps people. I have the perfect woman and am so close to having the quiet suburban dream. But I’m a Ferro. No matter how hard I try to separate myself from it, I can’t. It comes back, time and time again, and threatens everything we’ve made together. And now, it’s worse, because that part of my past threatens you. I feel trapped. I don’t know how to get out of it, and every time I try, it just gets worse.”

There’s true pain in his voice when he speaks, and I know how hard it is to admit this out loud. Saying it to me has to make it seem like a crushing problem. My brows pinch together, but it’s not a look of pity. I understand how he feels, and I don’t have an answer. I wish I did. I wish I could fix it and take away his pain, but I don’t know how. I’m on a tightrope, perched over a chasm too. I don’t know what to do either. The only rules I have are don’t fall off and don't look down. These days, those rules do little to help me. I don’t feel like myself anymore. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost sight of who I am.

Peter paces, turns his back to me, inhales for a moment, holds the breath, and then continues. “I promised a long time ago that I wouldn’t be that guy, but he’d be really helpful at times like this. The problem is every time I let him out, he doesn’t want to go back. Sidney, you’d hate him. He’s Dean times ten.”

I blanch and shake my head. “No. You’re not Dean—not in any way, shape, or form.”

“You don’t know. You didn’t know me then.”

“I know you now, and there’s nothing that’s the slightest bit comparable to Dean. He took what he wanted for himself. You’ve never taken a thing for yourself since I met you. You’re always doing things for other people. You put yourself last, Peter. Don’t you see that?”

He shakes his head, refusing to hear it. “That’s not me. That’s the plastic veneer, the disguise I’ve plastered over the asshole living beneath. Sidney…?” He says my name softly and the sentence trails off, asking a thousand questions at once.

I pad over to him and stand before his towering form. My jaw moves up and down as I try to say what I’m feeling, but putting it into words is threatening. I flap in a fishlike fashion for a moment before finally spitting it out. “What if we’re both in the same spot? What if we were trying to be who were instead of who we are now? What if we tried to be who we are now, and didn’t leave anything out? Would that be so bad?

“I’m angry, Peter, but part of me is screaming a war cry to stand up for myself and never back down from a fight again. I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know who that woman is exactly, but she kind of scares the hell out of me. That’s not who I was going to become, but it’s who I am now. Should I repress her? Should I shove her beneath the surface until she drowns? Or should I let her out and see what she does? It feels like I’m out of control and that scares me. I hear you saying the same type of thing—that two people are living inside of you, and they both want to steer the ship. I’m fighting the same war, and I think I’m losing.”

Peter’s voice is a whisper. “No,” his warm hand cups my cheek for a moment before he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re not losing, and it’s harder for people who have real tragedies in their lives to blend their past with their present. If anyone can do it, Sidney, it’s you.”

I smile faintly and put my palm over his hand. “Bad things happened to both of us. It’s like we’re running two different operating systems at once and the result is, well, it’s a mess. I don’t trust myself anymore. I wonder which reaction is real, which one is right.” My lip rolls up on one side as I realize I’m disgusted with myself. I’ve been floundering like this for too long.

Peter smiles. “I almost forgot that you were my tech assistant. Remember the first day you came to fix the microphone when I was speaking?”

The corners of my mouth tip up. “I’ll never forget that moment. I was bouncing down the stairs happy as a clam, and then I saw you. I nearly tripped.”

“You were beautiful. You are beautiful.” He looks down at my gown and sadness fills his eyes before he lifts his gaze to mine. When he breathes, his chest rises and brushes against me, shooting static through my body. His gaze flicks between my eyes. “I’ve thanked God every day for you sitting down at my table in that restaurant and for my car dying afterward. You were a force of nature that night. You were today too. So what’s different?”

I shake my head. “I let the crazy girl inside of me out of the mental closet. I locked her in there, refusing to believe she's me. The thing is, I think she is. The docile version of me is a ghost. That life is gone. That future was erased, and now I have this one, with you. It’s not where I thought I’d end up, but that’s okay. That’s good, actually.” I try not to smile and ask him, “Does this version of me frighten you?”

He shakes his head. “Not at all. It’s rather becoming, and it complements the other edition.” His dimple shows as he glances at the floor before lifting his gaze to meet mine. “There are various editions of books, some rare, some first editions, and some with bindings that were considered inferior. The story remains the same, but the casing changes over time.”

I can’t help it. I beam up at him. “Is your casing changing, my poet?”

Peter snorts and hides a smile. “I don’t know. I feel like my pages are being ripped out. You tell me, is it the casing or the binding that's broken?”

“You’re not defective, Peter Ferro Granz. And I think the two versions of you could meld together if you’d let them.”

Fear flashes in his eyes. “I don’t know how that would turn out.”

“Neither do I, but a house divided against itself cannot stand.”

He steps closer and slips has hands around my waist, pressing his hips against mine. “Are you quoting scripture to me?”

“No,” I spit out, not wanting to sound like a Texan Bible thumper. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and confess, “I thought it was Abe Lincoln.”

He barks a laugh that’s truly merry. “It was both, and feel free to quote any source you think will help. I know who you are, and I know I’m lucky. Blessed even.” He breathes hard for a moment, looking down at me, watching me, and presses his lips together.

My skin prickles as I think about his hands on my skin, sliding over me—holding me tight. “Today didn’t go the way I planned.”

Peter grins, revealing that delicious dimple. “Nothing ever goes the way I plan, but today was a failure of epic proportions. I’m so sorry, Sidney. I keep thinking you’d be better off without me, safer.”

“Safe and miserable isn’t something I want.” I watch his full lips closely and swallow hard.

“I don’t want you to be miserable, and…” he pauses, breathing in deeply, his dark lashes lowering as he gazes at my mouth longingly. His voice breaks and he clears his throat and flashes a smile at me. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

“And I’ll keep you safe. I promise. Come fire, hell, brimstone, or a very pissed off pet—“

Peter chuckles. “Mr. Turkey is going to be pissed that you left him alone this long.”

“You’re the only thing that matters right now. He wasn’t invited to our wedding night festivities anyway.”

Peter beams down at me, his blue eyes sparkling. “Festivities? What exactly did you have in mind?”

“We’re not married yet. You’ll have to wait.” I tap my finger against his chest, touching the patch of skin revealed by the V of his unbuttoned neckline. His breath is warm as he exhales in a slow, controlled gasp. His body is tense, as if it’s everything he can do to keep things the way they are—he makes no assumptions. He doesn’t push me or even mention it, but I know that look smoldering in his dark blue eyes. I recognize the slight mirth that lines his lips, as if he has a secret that he can’t wait to share with me.

Peter nods and releases me. “Right. We’re waiting.”

As he steps back, I grab the front of his shirt and pull him toward me. My brows knit together and I shake my head. “No, we’re not.”

Hope dances across his face as a smile plays at the corners of his lips. “We’re not?”

I shrug my shoulders as I clutch his shirt, undoing one button and then flicking my eyes up to meet his. “It seemed romantic at the time, but then everything happened, and I just want to be with you.” I freeze and stop unbuttoning his shirt as it dawns on me that he might want to wait. “Do you—?”

Peter barks a laugh and shakes his head. “No, I’m done waiting. I love you, Sidney.”

Peter leans in and closes the distance between us, pressing his lips firmly to mine. His scent fills my lungs, and my head starts to feel heavy. His hands are on my back, softly pressing against me as his lips move against mine. I feel the rapid beating of his heart as he pulls me tighter, and steps back, heading toward the bed.

Taking my hand, he sits down on the edge of the mattress first and then guides me to his lap. My arms lace around his neck, and I wrap my fingers in the dark hair at the nape of his neck. I’m suddenly so warm that I need the jacket off. Peter seems to read my mind because his hands slide under the lapel of the jacket and up to my shoulders before slipping the leather coat off my body. The fabric slumps to the bed.

My gaze lowers as Peter nuzzles my cheek, his hands traveling up my back and tangling in my hair. Pulse pounding, I shift and turn toward him, straddling his lap—looking straight into his eyes. I push my palms to his shoulders and push him back against the bed before shimmying higher on his lap. I lean down, brush my lips against his, and forget everything else as a wave of divine tingles covers me. Peter’s hand finds the side of my face, his touch gentle. He lets me lead. I’m the one who decides how fast or slow we go. I’m the one who says where this will stop. It makes me feel safer, freer. And although it’s an unspoken gift, I’m grateful for it.

Peter shifts under me, scooting up to the headboard and then opens his arms for me to come back. When I’m on his lap again, the kissing resumes. My head feels light, and I can’t stop moaning as each kiss grows hotter. His hands linger on my waist, so I take his wrist and lead one hand where I want it. He cups my breast over my gown, feeling the swell of my body in his palm. The kissing becomes hotter and less controlled. My hips grind into his, and the few layers of fabric between us are too many. I whisper into his ear and tell him what I want. Peter reacts with no words. His hands are at the back of my dress, his fingers on the zipper. A moment later, I’m free of the gown, and I let it pool around my waist. Peter fixates on my naked upper body, delight and shock mingling together.

“No bra?”

“There's one built into the dress, so, no.” I smile at him.

Peter leans in, touches the bare skin at my waist, and pulls me to him, crushing my body to his before releasing me. He finds my mouth and things become heated very quickly. I can’t sit still on his lap, panting into his mouth as his kisses consume me. My pulse is roaring in my ears, and my head is tipping back for Peter to press his mouth to my neck, trailing kisses down my body, when I hear something. I tense at the same time as Peter, and we both glance at the door.

The metallic sound of metal on metal scrapes the outside of the door. My eyes go wide, and I cling to Peter. There’s a tiny bit of scuffling and then nothing. I open my mouth to ask Peter if he heard it, but I know he did. He presses a finger to his lips and climbs out from under me. He pulls open the nightstand drawer and retrieves a gun. My heart lurches as he presses his finger to his lips again, and creeps toward the door.

I sit on the bed feeling helpless and realize I’m clutching my gown to my chest. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Shadows darken Peter’s face, and the way his lean, muscular body moves tells me he’s no stranger to this—he’s held a gun before. I wonder if he’s shot anyone before. He told me a long time ago that he could have killed the man chasing him down now. Peter didn’t. He let him live and walked away from a life of bloodshed and deceit. I wonder if I’ve brought him full circle, and hope to God I didn’t.

Peter is right in front of the door, and it’s everything I can do to remain silent. There’s a scream building up inside of me, corked in my throat, ready to burst. Goosebumps cover my skin as the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I want to shout out NO! I want to run, but there’s nowhere to go, so I sit still, clutching my gown to my naked chest and trying to overrule the panic threatening to overtake me.

Peter flashes his gaze my way and nods once. He’s going to open the door. I shake my head, but he shoots me an apologetic look that says to stay back. No matter what happens, stay in the back corner of the room.

My heart slaps against my ribs as he reaches for the doorknob and twists. The inside of our room is as dark as the parking lot. The sun has set, and the only source of light is the street sign for the hotel that glows a faint blue. Peter jerks the door wide open, glances around the door casing, and then steps out. I can’t stand it. I can’t see him. A second later, the unthinkable happens.

Peter screams and gasps like he’s been punched in the stomach as he stumbles back into the room. I shriek and grab the only weapon I can find—a Bible from the nightstand—hurling it through the darkness at the blur of brown and black smothering Peter. The book slams into the wall, missing. When the book falls, I notice something odd—the man attacking Peter has no legs. It’s just a hairy brute with only an upper body. I blink again and realize what I’m seeing.

CHAPTER 9

“Oh my God! STOP!” I rush off the bed and try to pry them apart. Feathers go flying as I peel Mr. Turkey off of Peter. His wingspan made him look like a giant man, hunched in a dark coat. “It’s Mr. Turkey!”

Peter is trying to pull the frightened animal off his chest, but Mr. Turkey dug his talons into Peter’s shirt, slashing both the fabric and the skin beneath until his claws found the waistband of Peter’s pants. Mr. Turkey is perched there, with his wings flapping, and his bulbous body pressed against Peter.

“Get him off!” Peter yells, trying to pry the bird from his body.

I jump up and let my gown fall to the floor. It’s too heavy to hold with one hand, and I’m going to need both arms to pry the frightened animal from my fiancé. I coo as I approach the two. Both are bitch-slapping the other, which isn’t helping. I grab the small blanket at the foot of the bed and wrap it around my forearm.

I speak softly, calling the turkey vulture, and then touch the spot he likes between his wings. He stills, mid bitch-slap and holds his wings wide open as if he were Batman. “Come on, baby.” I coax, offering my arm to him so he can have a real perch. “I’m supposed to talk Peter out of his pants, not you.”

Peter snorts as I brush my arm against Mr. Turkey’s leg and he releases one foot from Peter and then the other. Holy crap, he’s heavy! My arm shudders under the weight, but I manage. Mr. Turkey is on my arm, still freaked, his wings spread wide. I set him down on the little table next to the door, and kick the door closed, relocking it. When I turn, I see a storm of fury in Peter’s face. As he steps toward my pet, I think Peter’s going to scream, but a smile cracks the crazy off his face, and he starts laughing.

Nervous energy rushes up and out of me as well. Peter’s hands find my face, and he presses his lips to mine and doesn’t let go of my cheeks. When he pulls back, he’s got tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. “Did you know he could fly?”

“No, I haven’t seen him take off, ever. I didn’t realize it was him. At first, I thought a legless man got up in your face, but a feather coat was weird, so—”

“Right, as if that’s the weird part of this. How’d he find you?” Peter releases me and looks back at the bird who is now perched on the back of an ugly chair.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I locked him in the backyard at home. He must have broken out and come looking for me.”

We both blink at the animal, and Mr. Turkey straightens as if he knows he’s extra awesome right now, crossing state lines to hunt me down. We both start laughing again. When the giggles part way, exhaustion is all that remains. I fall asleep lying against Peter, his arms holding me tight.

CHAPTER 10

There’s a loud rap on the door before Sean strides into the room. I startle and clutch the sheets to my chest as I awaken to Peter’s assy brother standing over the bed. “Get up. We’ve got him. Every piece is in place, except you two.”

“Jesus, Sean! It’s four in the morning,” Peter growls, sitting up.

“Yes,” Sean’s stoic voice replies, “and it’s time to put this fucker down and get on with life.” Sean tosses a brown paper bag at me. At first, I think it’s food, but when I look inside, I find clothes.

“Thanks. Now turn around or I’m not getting up.” My heart is still slamming into my ribs.

Sean glares at me. “We don’t have time for modesty, Sidney.”

Peter is up, half naked—wearing only boxers—and in front of his brother before I can reply. “Turn the fuck around and don’t be an asshole for five seconds.” Peter forces Sean to turn, which shocks the hell out of me. Peter glances over at me and tips his head toward the bathroom. I scurry inside, clutching the brown bag to my chest, feeling way too exposed in my lacy white thong with my cheeks exposed. Peter follows me with his eyes until the door shuts behind me.

As I quickly pull on the clothes, I hear the two men speaking in hushed tones. When I emerge, my hair is pulled into a sloppy ponytail of limp, deflated wedding curls. I'm wearing no makeup, and the clothes Sean brought me are a size too small and meant for some 60's floozy.

Peter’s gaze sweeps over me, “Wow.”

Okay, maybe I feel less like an idiot after that. But still. I arch a brow at him. “Really? I look like an extra on Grease, and your jaw drops?”

He snaps shut his gaping mouth and grins at me. “You could wear a spacesuit and look hot. It’s a curse, Sid. You’ll just have to live with it.” He rushes over and kisses my cheek before dressing himself. Sean brought him a change of clothes, too.

I sniff the air. “Why do I smell bacon?”

Sean is standing in the center of the room with his arms folded over his chest. “Because I brought breakfast.” He turns and startles seeing Mr. Turkey on the table, ripping through the breakfast bag. There’s a piece of bacon dangling over the edge of his beak. The animal is about to shove his head in the bag again when Sean snatches it from him.

“What’s that thing doing here?” Sean demands. Mr. Turkey hisses at Sean but remains on the table.

Peter speaks before I can. “He found her.” He strides across the room, the angry red lines from the night before visible on his chest. Sean glances at Mr. Turkey, Peter’s chest, and then me. Peter grabs a couple of the sandwiches from the bag, and mutters, “Don’t even ask.”

“Hey!” I balk as an egg breakfast sandwich hits me in the face. I manage to catch it before it hits the floor. “Don’t let him think that was me.” The corners of Sean’s lips curve up. I growl at him. “That wasn’t me!”

“Too bad for Pete.” Sean’s amusement unsettles me. I feel sorry for Avery. There’s something about him that’s almost predatory.

“Shut it,” Peter snaps while stuffing the food into his face. “What’s the plan?”

CHAPTER 11

The plan is simple, genius, and a little bit unnerving. Sean told Peter his idea, and Peter quickly made it better, adding tiny pieces to lock everything in place so that it sends a clear message—don’t mess with the Ferro family.

I have a small role in today’s strategy, well, Mr. Turkey does. I’m supposed to be the distraction, the weird ass bird lady with a vulture the size of a cat sitting in the park.

I’m on a bench at the south end of Central Park, sitting under the tree canopy, in the middle of a long string of benches following the path into the park. It’s early, but no one is out and about, save a few runners. They're mostly avoiding this area of the park since it’s under construction and barricaded off. There’s hardly any traffic this morning, no horns honking or engines rumbling on the road behind me. It’s Sunday morning, and the city sleeps in on this day of the week. The dawn air is crisp and damp.

As I sit on the bench, I rip another piece of bread off my loaf of Italian bread and toss it at Mr. Turkey. He looks up at me with those solid black eyes, and I swear to God—he frowns. “What? I don’t have baby chicks for you today. Stop looking at me like that.”

A voice is in my earpiece, teasing softly. “You’re not supposed to look totally crazy, so stop talking to the bird.” It’s Jon Ferro. He was called in from his new business out on Long Island and stuck in a food truck parked a few paces away, by the entrance to the park. I can see the top of the truck from my seat.

I shift on the bench and resist the urge to glance at the bright yellow vehicle. A jumpy feeling settles over my skin, and it’s really hard to sit still. I hate waiting.

Jon and I are the back end, the second wave, the final front, or whatever you want to call it. If the guy gets away from Peter and Sean, odds are he’ll run this way to get out of the park and lose them in the construction zone. The sidewalks are ripped up and being repaved. Currently, there are only strings marking the new path and chalk lines indicating utility lines underground.

Jon’s voice is in my ear again. “So. That wedding was sure something.”

“Yes, it was.” I sound more wistful than I wanted. Jon is sweet, but I don’t want to spill my guts so that everyone can hear. For all I know, Constance is listening as well as Sean and Peter. I wouldn’t tell either of them anything, and I don’t want to make Peter feel worse.

Jon laughs and says, “Have you thought about eloping? Mom would be pissed, but since she’s so pleasant all the time anyway—well, you never know. It could help improve her mood.” There’s a bit of static for a second and then it vanishes.

I smile. “That’ll happen on the same day ice cream cones fall from the sky.”

“God, I hope that’s today.” Jon is quiet for a little bit and then mentions, “On the off-chance you change your mind and want a wedding ceremony on the fly, you already know an ordained minister. Grab a dress, pick a few flowers, and you’re all set.”

I try to suppress my grin as I rip another piece of bread off the loaf to toss to Mr. Turkey, but he’s wandered away. He’s under a bench further down the path, pecking at a cigarette butt. When he decides not to eat it, he jumps up into the garden behind us, wandering, trying to root out his breakfast because the bread isn’t cutting it.

“Really?” I tease lightly. “And who’s that?”

Jon sounds offended. “Me. Who else would it be? If Sean went near a church, he’d burst into flames.”

I laugh out loud. I can’t help it. “You’re so…” My words die in my throat as a man running much faster than a jogger comes straight toward me from over a hill at the far end of the construction zone. He slashes through the orange netting and doesn’t slow. He cuts across the grassy field, and makes a beeline for me, as if he knows who I am and intends to do something really hideous.

“Jon?” My voice shakes, and I’m on my feet.

Something went wrong. The entire plan must have gone badly. Peter and Sean are nowhere in sight, and this man is barreling down upon me at full speed. He’s a dark blur in ripped jeans and a hooded sweatshirt that swallows his large body. The hood is up hiding his face, but I don’t have to see his eyes to know he’s looking at me.

Jon’s speaking in my ear, but I’m frozen, unable to move, and my throat tightens so hard that I can barely breathe. Speaking is no longer an option. A scream begins building deep within me, and clings to the inside of my ribs, hanging on, waiting to be used.

The rational voice in my head keeps saying that he’s not coming for me. That he’s darting toward the exit, but that trajectory leads directly to me, not to the exit near the street. He’s not running from Sean and Peter. He’s coming for me.

My pulse roars in my ears as every hair on my body stands on end. A cold sweat makes me shiver, and I feel my muscles locking up one at a time. My jaw quivers and I try to force the words out, echoing my thoughts, “He’s coming for me.”

I can’t be this girl, not again. Not ever. I keep telling my body to move, to brace to fight back, but against a man that size—I don’t have a chance. Move. Move. Move! I force my locked muscles into motion and run as fast as I can down the sandy path and then cut sidelong into the strawberry fields, slipping on ripe berries.

Jon is in my ear, telling me he’s coming. I can’t see him anymore, but I hear him swear followed by screaming static and then silence. I can’t hear him. That only lifeline is gone.

The tiny voice in my head scolds me. You’re going to die. You didn’t follow the rules. You were supposed to sit and wait.

The thoughts shatter as I hear the man plowing through the field behind me. “Don’t make this harder on yourself,” he growls. His pace is slowed by the uneven, torn up ground, but he doesn’t stop. Soon he’s within a few yards. The vines catch around the ankles of his boots, and entire plants rip up by their roots. The hidden rocks stumble him once, but he catches himself and swears loudly. His voice is gruff, like he’s smoked a pack of cigarettes every day since he was five years old.

My arms flail wildly as I dart through the garden like a drunken bee, zigzagging along a path that is obvious to me, but the large man chasing me doesn’t see. There’s a thin trail in the foliage on the ground as if the chipmunks always follow the same path through this area. I stay with it, moving quickly and carefully, so I don’t take a header, but I’m not fast enough. He’s right behind me.

The man swipes for me once, barely missing my arm. As his fingers graze my elbow, I jerk away and scream, rushing onward. There’s no one in sight, and my cries for help vanish on the breeze. My mind wanders, and I hope to God Peter isn’t hurt.

I swallow hard and surge ahead, pushing myself faster. I jerk to the right and zag off the critter path, rushing through the leaves—the man is too close, and my decision dooms me. Vines catch my ankle, and I fall to the ground hard. When I start to scurry, the man is there. He flips me over and sits on me, pinning me to the ground.

My eyes betray me. Visions of Dean flicker through my mind, coming in and out of focus like an old television. All those things he did to me. All the scars he left, real and raw. The man presses his hand to my mouth before I can scream. When I try to bite his palm, he crushes me to the ground harder.

He’s breathless, sweating. His weight is crushing me. I kick and squirm, but he’s too big. Tears well up in my eyes as I thrash. It’s not until he forces me still that I see the dark stain on his hoodie—blood.

He grins at me. “Some people don’t know when to quit, and you had the nasty luck of getting into bed with these fucked up people. This lesson is for him, honey. You just got in the way.”

A knife is in his hand with a shining silver curved blade and a pointed tip. He rushes it toward my chest. I press my eyes shut, waiting for the pain—wondering how death will feel. Fear pulses through me, flooding me from head to toe as I stiffen further, waiting for that cold sting as his knife sinks into my skin, but it doesn’t come.

Instead, there’s a rumble from above, and then he screams. I peel open my eye when his hand flies off my mouth. There’s a barrage of black feathers covering the man’s face as Mr. Turkey tries to perch on his nose. The animal’s claws dig in, slashing the man’s skin with those sharp talons. Thank God for my psychotic pet. My attacker is distracted enough for me to slip away and run. I’m out of the garden, over the wall, down the benches, and running for Jon as fast as I can manage. Sharp pains shoot up my sides as I gasp for air, but I pound my feet harder against the pavement and run faster, my ponytail streaked with debris from the strawberry field.

Mr. Turkey lets out a blood-curdling shriek behind me. I don’t look back. I can’t. It’ll slow me down and then we’ll both be dead. Footfalls rush up behind me. I’m too slow. I can’t fathom it, but as I try to rush ahead, I don’t have it in me. I do the only thing I can think. When the guy is about to catch me, I stop, pivot and dodge to the side. The movement confuses him for a second, but he’s there again in a beat. I do it again, dodging his grasp and ducking under his arm. He’s so close. I spin, duck, dodge, repeat until I finally crash into him.

Panting, I stop and stare up into his blood-covered face. Mr. Turkey slashed through his right eyelid. The wound leaks blood, obscuring his vision in that eye.

He hisses, “You stupid bitch.” He shakes me hard, and that blade is out and headed for me again.

I kick and try to back away, but it doesn’t separate us enough. When he grabs me, he flips me around and presses my back against him, clamping his meaty hand over my mouth. He’s swearing at me, whispering in my ear, telling me what he’s going to do, how much it’s going to hurt. “I wouldn’t have done it like that if you didn’t fucking run, but having that beast rip open my face? You know you’re going to pay for that.”

He rips the knife across my stomach, leaving a shallow wound in its wake. Bright red blood wells up and spills down my stomach. The wound is shallow—made to hurt, not kill. “Nine more and we’ll be even.”

He moves to slash me again when he’s suddenly torn away. Another body hurls at the man, knocking me away and forcing him to the ground. It’s Peter. I scramble away, stepping back as they roll on the ground, that knife repeatedly coming within a fraction of an inch of Peter’s neck.

I glance around, looking for something to use to fight with—to help him—but there’s nothing. Sean is running toward us, but that’s not what makes me scream. I hear it before I see it—the roaring of a truck engine. When I glance up, a bright yellow truck is racing toward us at an alarming speed. It bounces across the uneven construction zone.

“Peter!” I shout his name, but the driver in the truck lays on the horn, making Peter and the thug freeze.

They both stare at the truck that’s headed to flatten them both. Peter takes off first at a full run, rushing to the side, nearly running toward the truck. The other man unfreezes and runs in the opposite direction, in a straight line. I watch in horror, blinking as Jon drives by bouncing in the driver’s seat. He slams on the brakes and the truck skids across the dewy grass. The back end of the truck swings around fast and hard. It collides with the man and continues to slide over his fallen body. The guy vanishes from sight. The truck lurches to a stop, and the force rattles the back doors open. Ice cream cones shoot through the air and fall to the ground in rapid thumps.

Everyone stands still for a moment, waiting to see if the guy gets up. When he doesn’t rise. Peter walks toward the vehicle, nods once at Jon—a thanks—and stops in front of the man’s prone body. At first, I think he’s going to kick the lifeless form—or worse. There’s so much rage in Peter’s face that it frightens me. But he doesn’t do anything like that. He takes the bloodied man’s wrist and checks his pulse.

Sean is there a moment later, followed by Jon. The three men exchange hushed whispers for a few moments, then Jon and Sean load the man into the back of the food truck and drive out of the construction area.

Peter turns toward me. There’s a cut on his face from his temple to his chin—an angry red gash. He breathes heavily, his blue gaze locked on mine and filled with regret. I move to go to him and remember my wound. I wince from the movement. Peter rushes toward me, speaking softly as he kisses my temple. Sudden nausea strangles me, and my head feels so heavy I think I’ll fall. The ground tips to the side and without a word, my world goes black.

CHAPTER 12

When I open my eyes, I expect to be in the park, not on a bed. The early morning sunlight is gone, replaced with moonlight seeping through slatted blinds. I blink and glance around. This is the bedroom Peter was sleeping in at Sean’s. His scent fills the room and wraps around me like a warm blanket. It’s funny how a scent can convey so much in so little time.

Peter is seated next to me in a chair. His head in his hand and he’s leaning forward, pinching his brow. I watch that beautiful face, trying to focus on the stubbled jaw that’s chiseled to perfection. His shoulders are rounded, hunched forward as if he failed today. I wish I could take some of that burden from him. I wish he’d let me.

I wince as I try to sit up. Peter sees the movement out of the corner of his eye and straightens in his chair before rushing to my side, kneeling at the edge of the bed. “Don’t move.” His hand is on my head, his face close to mine.

“Is Mr. Turkey okay? I heard him shrill—”

Peter cuts me off. “He’s fine. The vet checked him. That bird is indestructible.”

I smile at him. “Are you okay?” My gaze drifts from his eyes to the gash.

“I’m okay. How are you? You blacked out for a while there.” He touches my hand, squeezes it gently.

“I’m fine.” I sit up slowly, pressing my hand on my stomach for support. My clothes are clean and dry. I’m wearing a sweat suit that’s not mine. I run my hand over my stomach, wondering if they stitched it up.

“The wound wasn’t deep. It should heal quickly if you take it easy.” Peter’s voice sounds strained. The gash on his face is secured by a butterfly bandage in the middle of his cheek, and a shiny line covers the rest. He sees me looking and says, “This was a little deeper. They put liquid stitches on it. Then I got scolded quite a bit. That’s the downside of using my mother’s doctor.”

“He came here?”

Peter nods. “Yes. He doesn’t know what happened, and he doesn’t care. His job is to patch us up, so he did.”

“Where’s the man?” I don’t want to ask the question, but I have to know. “Is he dead?”

Peter’s gaze holds mine for a moment and then dips to the floor. He inhales deeply and confesses, “He won’t bother us again. Sean made sure of it.”

“What about the other complications? You said this was bigger than just the one guy.” I want details, but I don’t think I should ask. I doubt Peter will tell me, and I'm not sure I truly want to know. A shiver rakes through me.

Peter tugs up my blankets and says softly, “He can’t hurt you anymore. No one will. I promise.”

I nod and ask, “What happened with the park? And the truck?”

“The police think a bunch of kids were screwing around in the construction site. Jon paid off the people he borrowed the truck from and bought them a new fleet of food vehicles for their silence.” His mouth twitches and he adds, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I can ask you to endure a life like this. I can barely manage it.”

I pat the spot next to me. Peter rises from his knees and sits down on the side of the bed. “Together. We’ll manage it together.” I lean my head on his shoulder as he tangles our fingers together. After drinking in his intoxicating scent for a few silent moments, I say, “I’ve been thinking about the wedding, and about our names.”

He sits up and glances at me. “Yeah? I thought you decided on hyphenating Colleli-Granz?”

“I was, but I was thinking about it and—” I press my lips together and spit it out. “There’s strength in a name, Peter. Granz is the name you had when I met you, but it’s not who you are now. Colleli has always been my name, but it’s not who I am any longer either. The life we’re about to start together is going to be complicated.”

He shakes his head, his eyes boring into mine. “I don’t understand.”

I smile at him and place my hand on his, gently stroking the back of his hand with my thumb. “You’re stronger than you think you are, with a family that would die for you. Your brothers, well, we wouldn’t be here without them. I don’t see it as inviting disaster. We’ve both changed, grown. I think we should both take the name Ferro—Peter and Sidney Ferro.”

His crystal blue gaze lingers on mine. He presses his lips together and glances up at me. “You think I’m a Ferro at heart?” I nod. “And that doesn’t frighten you?”

“No, it’s your strength. It fills you up and makes you who you are. The softness of the poet is still there. I suspect it always has been, and now you know. There’s a balance between things, and I think you’ve found it. You showed compassion to an enemy.”

Peter speaks harshly. “I shouldn’t have done that. He nearly killed you because of it. If I’d stuck to the plan and not gone soft—”

I cut him off. “Then you wouldn’t be who you are. You tried to give the man a chance. You’re not turning into a tyrant, Peter. You’re still you, and no one threatens what’s yours. I like that about you. I always have.”

Peter leans his head on my shoulder, whispering, “It doesn’t scare you? You’re not afraid I’ll slip back into the old way of things and turn into my father?”

I snort. “That’s not possible. That man has no heart, and you’re all heart. It makes me feel safe, Peter. It doesn’t frighten me.” I pull back and look up into his eyes. “I know who you are. You've saved me more than once.”

He presses his forehead to mine and looks at me through lowered lashes, our noses barely touching. “You saved me the day we met. I was so lost, Sidney.”

His hands cup my cheeks softly, and he tips his head to the side. He moves slowly, giving me plenty of time to say no, to break the moment before anything happens. My heart pounds in big thuds, and I can’t breathe. I usually control the kiss, but this is a rush of excitement and lust. It curls inside my belly and shoots through me in tiny bubbles filled with happiness. The sensation is frightening at first, but I wait long enough to decide what it is before reacting. His warm mouth sweeps against mine in a gentle kiss, inviting me to kiss him back. But he pulls away so I can’t. When he does it again, I gasp and stiffen in his arms. The third time he does it, I take his face in my palms and hold him there. His mouth is on mine, lightly pressing against my swollen lips. He lets out a jagged breath of warm air and blinks slowly, lowering his dark lashes. Peter leans in and kisses me again, parting his lips, and deepens the kiss. I’m drawn to him and want the warm pressure of his body against mine. I want the gentle touches and caresses that set me on fire.

But he pulls away, shaking his head. “Not until that’s healed.” He gestures toward my wound. I frown and sink back against the pillows, sulking. Peter smiles at me and kisses my pouty lips. “I love you, Sidney.”

“I love you, too. So much.” We sink into the bed, tangled up together, and fall asleep.

CHAPTER 13

A few days pass without Sean coming home, so Peter and I have the entire place to ourselves. The more time passes, the more seriously I think about eloping. And it’s not because Constance Ferro is a scary pain in the ass. It’s more that I want the wedding to be about us, and with all this fuss it feels like it’s not.

It’s barely seven in the morning, and I’m choosing between minutia A or trivial thingy B. I frown as I stare at napkin choices. A row of pale, cream-colored cloth rectangles are lined up in front of me. There are no major differences. “Why do we need to change everything?” I ask—again.

Constance is wearing a sleek, blood-red dress with a cropped jacket. The severe neckline is high with a V right at the center of her neck. She sighs and glares at me. “You’re having a fall wedding now, and the old colors and choices were based on a spring wedding. It’s during fashion week in New York, and everything must be perfect. They judge us harshly, Sidney. You have to surpass expectation. You can’t have linen napkins at an autumn event. It’s crude.”

She rolls her eyes and lifts the tiny cup of espresso Peter made with Sean’s machine in the kitchen. I thought it was a decoration. Apparently, it works. I drained my cup already. Constance showed up a little after six this morning. I’ve been in napkin hell for nearly forty minutes, and I swear I can’t have the fork conversation again. I nod instead of arguing and mindlessly point to a napkin that looks like all the others.

I’m going to jump out the window if we’re not done soon, but I know we won’t be. This took weeks to do the first time. At least the stuck up party planner isn’t here. She bestowed her huge-ass book to Constance, who has brought it over every morning this week. Constance seems to think morning is six o’clock on the dot. I had no idea what I was agreeing to when this started. It feels like I’m marrying Peter’s mother.

I glance over at Peter. He’s pacing barefoot in the kitchen. I rise and pad across the room, heading for the kitchen. I call over my shoulder. “I need some coffee.”

Constance chatters at my back as I walk away. “Sidney, there’s much more to do, dear. If you truly need so many bathroom breaks, perhaps it’s time to see a doctor about that?” I bite my tongue and walk straight up to Peter, wrapping my arms around him. I lean in, pressing our bodies together. He’s warm, and his familiar scent of warm woods and soft spices fills my head.

He drops his voice and whispers, “Did you mean coffee, or coffee?” He waggles his eyebrows at me, and I snort a laugh. One of Peter’s hands rests on my back while the other comes up and cradles my head, his fingers tangling in my hair. His touch is soft, gentle.

“Both.”

Now he snorts. “That could get awkward.”

I can’t help it. There’s a wheezy laugh as I try to stay silent and fail. Peter smirks.

Before he can reply, Constance is there, placing her cup in the sink. “I’m departing. Clearly, you’re not up to making these decisions, so I’ll do it for you. Peter.” She says his name coldly and nods at her son in lieu of a hug. His mother is through the front door, her designer bag filled with wedding selections, before either of us can respond.

When the door closes, I visibly deflate. I smile sheepishly at Peter before gently banging my head into his chest. “I can’t do this again. Planning everything once was hard enough. Doing it again is insane.”

He looks down at me. “I know. I’m not a big party kind of guy. I’d rather do things our way, to tell you the truth. I thought you wanted the big wedding?”

I shake my head. “Not really. I mean, it seems nice, but it’s not me. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but—”

“No, of course. I understand, Sidney. What if we did things small? Only grabbed the people we love the most, and that’s it?” This isn’t the first time he's mentioned it, but I wanted his mother to like me, at least a little bit. This suggestion pretty much ensures she’ll hate me instead.

My face pinches as I ask, “What about your mom? A tiny almost-elopement wedding will piss her off. She’ll be hellish for months.”

Peter presses his forehead to mine, his voice deep and rich. “It’s not about her. It’s about us. What do you want, Sidney?”

Shyly, I say, “You. I want a small wedding somewhere that means something to us. I don’t want to wait.”

“Do you know a minister we could call?”

A smile spreads across my face. “You don’t know?”

Peter pulls back and looks puzzled. “No.”

I laugh and tell him, “Jon is ordained. He offered to preside over the ceremony more than once.”

“Really? That shouldn’t surprise me. It’s Jon.” He has a quizzical sexy smile on his lips that nears a smirk. He blinks and grins at me. “Will you marry me tonight, Miss Colleli?”

“Where? Do you think we can really do it that fast?”

He winks at me and whispers, “I know just the place. Grab a dress and anything else you want, and I’ll have Mother’s driver pick you up.” He stuffs a credit card into my hand and is off making phone calls before I can kiss him.

CHAPTER 14

Millie is bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. I didn’t go to the designer and get another custom gown. I went to a thrift shop in the Village that specializes in 1940’s clothing. A bell chimes merrily as we walk through the door.

There’s a counter in the middle of the store, like an island, with an old woman standing at the center. “Can I help you, dears?”

Millie waggles her eyebrows and points to me. “My friend is eloping! We need a wedding dress.”

“I’m afraid I only have short, pin-up style dresses. We specialize in 40’s attire, so I don’t have anything outside that period.”

“Perfect.” I grin at her, scanning her nametag. “I love your shop, Ruth.”

I glance around. Every inch of the room is littered with beautiful hats, saddle shoes, suits, dresses, and broaches. There are French forms in a display on the sidewall that Millie admires. The center form is wearing a deep red dress with a sweetheart neckline and black piping.

“Thank you. If a short gown suits you, I have some white dresses in over there.” She points to the back corner. “Take a look and let me know if you’d like to try anything on. It’ll probably need to be fitted—at least a little bit.”

I walk toward the rack, eyeing the dress facing me. Creamy white fabric flows from a form-fitting bodice with vintage lace along the waist, into a full skirt that flares to a stop at mid-calf. The fabric is light and supple. I touch the dress, feeling the softness between the pads of my fingers.

“Is this silk?” I glance at the price tag and then at the store owner.

She nods. “Yes, hon. It came in a few days ago. I just had it cleaned, although it could use another steaming. It was in a cedar trunk for nearly eighty years.”

Mille shoves the dress into my hands. “Go try it on!”

I head to the small dressing room and hear Millie talking to the woman outside, telling her how much I love Big Band music, and that my groom-to-be will love to see me in something like that dress. They talk more about the wedding, Millie confessing, “I don’t know where it is, but it's tonight. The groom is picking the location.”

“How unusual. He sounds like a real catch. Men like that are hard to find.” The old woman stops talking when I step out of the dressing room. After a moment, she beams and clasps her hands together, falling silent.

Millie gasps, her jaw hitting the carpet. “Sidney! That’s perfect!”

“It fits.” I look in the mirror, shocked. The bodice fits as if it were tailor-made for me. The thick shoulder straps are ruched together and pinned in place by a band of pearls. The neckline sweeps down, curving over the bust line, making me look really curvy. The waist is narrow and wrapped with a length of eyelash lace. It meets up with a flouncy skirt that falls below my knee.

I spin in it once, and both women audibly, "ooh." Then Ruth rushes over with a white bag. “It needs a petticoat to fluff out that skirt a little bit. Here, try this one.”

I open the bag and step into the slip, pulling it on and carefully shimmying the skirt of the dress over it, so I don't show my undies. As I look over my shoulder in the mirror, I can’t help it.

I squee and beam at Millie. “It’s perfect! I can’t believe it. I love it. It’s everything I wanted, from the style to the skirt, to the lace.” I press my hand to my stomach. Although the wound is healed, there’s still a hairline pink scar on my skin.

Millie lifts her phone and snaps a picture. “We should use Snapchat to send out wedding invitations.”

“Peter’s taking care of that stuff.”

“Yeah, I guess we don’t know where it is. So I better not send this to him, right?” Millie is messing with me. She smiles wickedly and giggles.

Ruth swats Millie. “You need a pair of shoes, dear. Did you have something in mind?”

The old woman walks over and suggests a pair of white Oxford T-straps. There’s a lace pattern on the shoe that looks perfect with the dress. I thank her and pull them on before standing in front of the mirror again.

I stand there smiling for a second and try not to cry. My mother should have been here for this. My bottom lip comes up, and the smiles in the room turn to worried faces. I force a smile and turn to them. “I’m okay. Just missing my mom.”

“Oh, honey.” Ruth rushes to grab a tissue box. She hands it to me. I pluck a tissue and dab at my eyes.

Millie pulls me into a side-hug. “She’s not gone, Sid. The people we love never really leave us.”

“I have trouble believing that most of the time,” I admit. “I wish I could.”

“One day,” Ruth says kindly, “You’ll feel her there, and it won’t seem so far-fetched. In the meantime, chin up. You have a groom that adores you and a friend worth her weight in gold.”

I thank her and buy the shoes and gown, along with the red dress Millie was eyeing.

Millie protests. “I can’t let you buy that for me!”

“Yes, you can.”

“The bridesmaid pays her own way, Miss Sassy Ferro Pants.”

“You paid for the other dress to the wedding that didn’t happen. Let me pay for this one.”

Ruth interrupts. “Ferro? Are you Sidney Colleli? The girl marrying into the Ferro family?”

Millie freezes, only realizing she said that name out loud at that moment. Her eyes cut to me with an expression that says she’s so sorry.

She tips her gray head to the side and gives us a look. “Do you really think I’d call the press on you?”

Millie shrugs. “I don’t know, but having reporters crash a tiny, impromptu wedding would kind of suck. I shouldn’t have said that. Please don’t say anything.”

Ruth pish-poshes at her. “Of course not, but I would love a picture.”

“Of course,” I say.

“Then it’s a deal. I won’t say a word as long as you come back and tell me all about it.”

“She’ll probably be busy tomorrow,” Millie blurts out. “Doing, uh, Peter—” I jab an elbow into her side and glare at her, jaw dropped.

“Millie!”

Ruth laughs. “Girls, I know how things work. I’ve been around the block a few times myself. Now, let me steam those dresses for you and get them pristine. Do you have other errands to run? How much time do I have?”

At first, I refuse, but when it’s clear she’s not letting me get married in a slightly wrinkled dress, I finally accept. “Thank you, Ruth—for everything!” I hug her even though I’m not a hugger. It’s just one of those days.

After a trip to the salon down the street, our hair is set in a contemporary version of Victory rolls. We both have our makeup done too, in a 40’s pinup girl look with ruby-red lips. I buy us a couple of tubes of lipstick so we can reapply as needed, thank them, and head out. It’s after lunchtime, and I’m starving. We grab a bite to eat off a shiny new yellow food truck, courtesy of Jon Ferro, and eat on the walk back to the dress shop.

Ruth gushes over us for a few minutes, looking at our hair and makeup. “They did a wonderful job. I love this.” She points to the way my hair is pulled back by my temples and falls in soft pin curls down my back. “I can’t wait to see what the dress looks like with all of this. I found a pair of silk stockings for you too. You’ll love them! There’s a seam up the back. I’ll help you straighten it out when you get them on. And dear...?”

I glance at her. I’ve been staring at my dress letting the surreal moment consume me. “Yes?”

“Be careful not to get your makeup on the dress. It’ll happen easier than you think.”

“Ah, good point. I’ll be careful.” I pull the dress on and zip it up, excitement flooding through me. There’s a lightness in my belly, like I could float away.

When I emerge from the dressing room, Millie is wearing her red dress. They added a black sash around the waist that matches the piping along the neckline. It looks perfect with her blonde hair and crimson lipstick.

Ruth has us stand together. “You two look perfect. Would you like a picture or two?”

Millie hands over her phone. “Yes! Take a bunch. I’m a blinker. Every time someone takes my picture, my eyes close.”

Ruth snorts and hits the button a bunch of times. Millie poses with me, serious to silly, and we laugh as we do it, mimicking old pin-up poses and creating some new ones.

We stop when my phone rings. I swipe and press the plastic to my ear. Peter says, “The car will bring you to me. Are you ready?”

The afternoon passed by so quickly. I can’t believe it. I’m so excited that I’m practically bouncing up and down. “Yes, I’m ready! Hey, did you find everyone?”

“Everyone you wanted will be there. Don’t worry.” He asks for my location, and I tell him. “I love you, Sidney. See you soon.”

“I love you too.” We disconnect, and when I glance up at Millie, I squeal, “I’m getting married!”

CHAPTER 15

The car takes us to a private airport. There’s a shiny white jet parked on the runway with the stairs down. My heart is in my throat. Millie is at a loss for words for once. She blinks rapidly and then whistles. “It’s easy to forget he has more money than God.”

“He doesn’t. His family does.”

“Same difference, Sid. When you marry the man, you marry the family. You should ask for one of these in pink,” she jokes as we walk across the tarmac to the plane.

The copilot greets us warmly, “Miss Colleli, pleased to meet you. Everyone else is already inside, so if you’ll climb up and make yourself comfortable, we can take off.”

“Where are we going?” I ask.

But the man shakes his head. “Your fiancé requested it be a surprise, if that’s all right.”

Millie squeaks and bounces up the steps and disappears inside.

“Of course, and thank you.”

He studies me for a moment. “Of course. We were happy to help.” He smiles knowingly at me, and I wish I knew the surprise.

After I climb up the stairs and into the jet, I glance up and see Dad seated next to Sam. I rush over and throw my arms around them.

Dad is careful not to rumple me. Looking up at me, he says, “You look beautiful, Sidney.”

I smile sadly, tears filling my eyes. “I wish Mom could see.”

He holds my hands, pats them firmly, and says, “She can, and she’s watching today, Sidney.”

I nearly cry. “Everyone keeps saying that.”

He shrugs. “Because it’s true.”

The captain walks back. He’s an older man, tall and thin, in a blue uniform with a white shirt. “Welcome on board. Our flight will be a couple of hours, and we should touch down close to sunset if the tailwinds are with us today. Can I get you anything before we get going?”

Dad and Millie request sodas and Sam declines anything. I pick a bench seat and fan out my skirt, so I don’t crumple it. It’s tricky with the petticoat, but I figure it out.

Sam is quiet, but after takeoff, Millie moves to the front of the plane, freeing up the seat next to me. I don’t know if she said something to Sam earlier or if he walked over on his own.

I’m gazing out the window at the world streaming by below when Sam says, “Can I sit?”

I turn to him and nod. “Yeah, of course.”

He clears his throat and sits down in his black suit pants with a crisp white button down. A red tie hangs loosely around his neck. He opens his mouth and closes it again. A moment passes, and he admits, “I don’t know where to start so I’ll jump in. I wish I'd known who Dean really was... I would have done something. It’s too late now, and I feel like any chance at a relationship with you is gone. It was my own stupidity. You tried to tell me, but I didn’t listen. I blame myself. It’s not you, Sid. It was never you.”

“Sam,” I say his name firmly and look my twin square in the face. “I have one brother, and he’s you. I wouldn’t trade you if I could. Sometimes bad things happen, and there is no reason. It makes us want to place blame and when that’s hard to do, well, most people blame themselves.”

“Yeah, they do.” He glances at his chapped knuckles.

I plow through this part. With everything that’s happened, I know how I want my life to be and fighting with Sam isn’t a part of it. “That part of my life is over, and the good part is still in front of me. I want you to be a part of it, and I’m glad you’re here.” I smile at him.

When his defensive walls finally drop, he sucks in a shaky breath and smiles at me. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.”

I smirk at him. “So this is what getting along feels like. It’s weird.”

He bumps his shoulder into mine. “You’re weird.”

I laugh and point at him. “Why, thank you.”

Sam and I talk for the rest of the flight, about anything and everything. Before long, there’s a ding to indicate we’ll be landing shortly. I inhale deeply and smile at my brother. “This is exciting!”

Sam laughs and looks past me, out the window, his brow wrinkling. “Where are we? It’s desolate out there.”

I glance down at the ground, at the farms and the yellow fields, and then the scattering of little houses as we enter the city limits.

The corners of my lips tug up. “Welcome to Texas, big brother.”

CHAPTER 16

A car meets us at the little airport, and soon we are driving down roads I recognize. We head directly toward the university where Peter and I met, stopping in front of the English building. The massive structure is just the way I remembered it with the huge staircase and the tall pillars. This was the place where Peter figured out how I felt about him. He chased me out here after reading my poem. He bounded down these steps when Dean came.

Millie jabbers on about everything, darting from the car with Dad and Sam. She leads them inside and then looks back at me. “Coming, Sid?”

“In a second. You guys go ahead. I need a minute.”

“Do you want me to stay? I can stay. They can find it by themselves.” She swats a hand at Sam and Dad who promptly agree, but I shake my head.

“No, it’s okay. You go ahead. I need time alone.”

Millie perks up and offers Dad her arm. “I’ll show you the way. Come on, boys!”

I linger back a little bit and look around. I’ve been gone for a while. The way things ended here, I didn’t think we’d ever come back. I doubted we’d be welcome. Peter and I broke enough school policies to get expelled. He left all of this for me. He came out of hiding to save me. Peter risked everything he had to be with me. That feeling is like no other. When someone makes a sacrifice like that—there are no words.

The Texas sky reaches to heaven and beyond, and is the most beautiful shade of blue, second only to Peter’s eyes. As the sun sinks, it’ll streak with oranges and pinks, until the stars begin to appear. I close my eyes for a second, and breathe in the sweet air. When I look up, I press my lips together and head toward the staircase.

I’m about to begin the climb up the steps, when a familiar voice calls out, “Sidney Colleli.”

I stop and turn. Dr. Strictland is there, walking toward me with a smile on her face. Her gray hair is cut differently, shorter, now. She’s wearing a pale lavender suit. “Well, here you are. I wouldn’t have believed it if I didn’t see it with my own eyes.”

I rush to her and give the older woman a hug. She embraces me like a daughter and then steps back. “When Peter called, I couldn’t believe it. I saw the articles about the wedding in New York, and from the looks of it, it’s a good thing that you came back here.” She eyes my dress. “This gown is stunning, Sidney. You look beautiful. Are you ready to get married? Peter is waiting.”

“He is?” She talks about it like she knows. Did Peter call her this morning and set all this up?

She nods. “He’s been here for a few hours. He was lucky he caught me. It’s between semesters. I wasn’t supposed to be here, but was delighted to stay when I got his call. Come on. Let me take you to your father.” She offers her arm, and I take it.

We walk around to the back of the staircase and take a small elevator up to the second floor. It saves me from walking up a hundred steps in heels.

Dr. Strictland pushes open the aged grate, and we step out into a nook behind a stairwell. “I’ve known Peter for a long time.”

“I remember. He said he’s known you since he was in school.”

She nods slowly. “He always has a place here and a friend, as do you, Sidney.”

I stop for a moment and smile fondly at her. “Thank you so much. For everything.”

Strictland nods and we walk silently down the hall and stop at the door to Peter’s old classroom. She smiles at me before handing me off to my father. “She is such a beautiful bride and a wonderful young woman with so much promise. You must be very proud.”

Dad puffs up with pride. “I am. I couldn’t have wished for more.” Strictland disappears behind the doors, and I look up at Dad.

He glances up and down the hallway, and then leans in and asks softly, “Are you ready? Because we can walk away and go get some ice cream if you’re not really serious about this guy.” He jabs his thumb toward the classroom door. “If you changed your mind, we’re out of here. All you have to do is say the word, honey.”

I laugh lightly. “Daddy, I’m ready. Thanks for doing this. It means a lot to me.”

“Anything for you, Princess.” He kisses my temple and takes a deep breath. “Ready?”

I nod. “Let's go.”

Dad walks me to the doors and opens them for me. I stand in the open doorway and gasp at the lecture hall. It’s bathed in a million tiny lights. Thousands of little bulbs twinkle on the ceiling, suspended in tulle. Candles line the desks, flickering softly, one by each seat. In front of me, on the floor, is a white runner that flows down the staircase to the platform at the front of the room. The podium is there, but Jon is standing at it, not Peter.

Sean is across from Millie on the stage, flanking Jon. Mr. Turkey is on his perch behind Sean, on the men’s side. That makes me laugh. Mr. Turkey has a tux collar around his neck as if he dressed for the occasion.

Sean eyes the beast out of the corner of his eye, and it’s clear their mutual disdain was put on hold. Mr. Turkey doesn’t try to claw at Sean. He sits lazily on his perch and appears to be eating something. When he wolfs it down, Sean tosses him another piece of something that looks like raw bacon. Mr. Turkey catches it and starts chomping, bacon fat dangling from his beak.

Peter is waiting for me at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me with a surreal smile on his face. He’s wearing a 40's-style suit, charcoal black with a white handkerchief in his pocket. I glance down and beam when I see his two-tone saddle shoes. When Peter first sees me, he beams and dips his head for a second. When he looks back up at me he arches a dark brow at me, and says, “Want to get married?”

“You know it.”

Music begins to play—an old song that we both love—a song we danced to in the very beginning. A solo saxophone player croons the melody. I glance back at Dad, and take his arm. We descend the staircase together, passing by empty rows of desks lit with candles. Dad is beaming and patting my hand on his arm as we descend the staircase.

When we stop in front of Peter, Dad kisses my cheek, and places my hand in Peter’s before clapping Peter on the back. He sits down at the first row of desks with other familiar faces. I see Marshal in his perfectly pressed white shirt, and Tia looking as bright as ever. My gaze lingers for a second after the initial shock of seeing them, and then lands on their hands to see their fingers intertwined. No way! They’re together? I need to find out more about that.

At the end of the row—looking livid—is Constance Ferro. She’s still wearing that blood red suit that oddly matches Millie’s dress. She sits ramrod straight at a student’s desk looking like she may kill someone.

Peter holds my hand, gently turning me away from his mother, and when he stops in front of the podium, Jon begins. I had no idea what Jon was going to say, but his delivery is beautiful. Everyone ends up enthralled, listening to every word—it’s amazing. Jon incorporates Peter’s favorite poems, how we met, and even the tale of Mr. Turkey. It rushes by so quickly and before I know it, Jon is saying the vows, which I repeat to Peter.

My chest is so full of hope I can’t stop smiling and neither can Peter. After a moment passes, I finish my part, and then Peter repeats the vows to me.

Jon asks me, “Sidney Colleli, will you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, from this day forward, until death do you part?”

“I will.”

I take Peter’s ring from Millie and slip it on his finger.

Jon is as excited as Millie, and they both exchange gigantic smiles. Sean and Mr. Turkey both appear stern, like they’ll take matters into their own hands—or claws—if necessary. Sean reaches out and hands Mr. Turkey another slice of bacon. The bird takes it, but continues to stare at me.

Jon turns to his brother. “Peter Ferro Granz, will you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, from this day forward, until death do you part?”

“I will.”

Peter lifts my hand and places a simple gold band on my finger.

Jon squeezes the podium and says with excitement, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

Peter leans in, and, when his lips touch mine, a charge shoots through me. It’s certainty fusing with hope and colliding with love to form a bond that can’t be broken. It binds us together, solidifying a future I thought I'd never get. I pull back and look up into his beautiful face.

Peter’s lips move, and he silently says, "I love you."

Jon grins, “I now present, Mr. and Mrs. Peter Ferro.”

Make sure you don’t miss it!

Text HMWARD (one word) to 24587 to receive a text reminder on release day.

READY FOR MORE FERRO?

Turn the page for a FREE excerpt of

SECRETS & LIES

EXCERPT: SECRETS & LIES

Volume 1

Is he serious? What an assface! I stumble through the quad, accidentally bumping shoulders with someone.

“Watch it, bitch.” I look up to see a pointy-nosed girl surrounded by a pack of nasty friends, all sneering at me. I have no friends here, not yet.

The truth is, my life sucks. It’s sucktacularly fucked up and I refuse to cry on the first day of college, but I’m having trouble swallowing the plate of shit my wonderful boyfriend just force-fed me. Excuse me, force-texted me. The asswipe texted me. He didn’t even call. The more I think about it, the more my throat tightens. Breathing is overrated.

I mumble, “Sorry,” and get the hell out of there, before they hogtie my ass and toss me down a flight of stairs. Not that I’ve ever seen anyone hogtied, but this is Texas, right? I’m out of my element, by far.

As I hurry away, I hear my roommate’s voice ring out, “That’s right, Bacon! You better run!” The girls all giggle like Chelsey just said the funniest thing they’ve ever heard. Great. She’s leader of the bitch pack. Why can’t I ever attract a psycho sans backup? My luck sucks. Have I said that? Well, bad luck is my key feature and the bane of my existence.

As I haul ass across the quad, my phone chirps. Don’t look at the screen. Don’t look at it! I chant to myself, but I can’t. I have to see what he said. It might be an apology. He might be breaking up with his other girlfriend and texted me by accident. Uh, wait. That’d be worse. I think.

The thing is, we’ve been together since we were kids. Our parents used to joke that we’d be married one day, as if it were meant to be. It even felt like fate brought us together. On the day we met, I was playing outside when a terrified bunny chased Matt the two blocks from his house to my front yard. Running blindly, Matt mowed me down, leaving me for the bunny to attack instead of him.

Okay, this bunny was the size of a small dog and had a hunger for marigolds. In an effort to save their gardens from becoming rabbit food, the sweet little old ladies in the neighborhood were actively trying to poison it. I saved that rabbit from the wrath of the grannies and my prize was Matt. He called me cool names like Rabbit Slayer. Okay, it sounded cool in grade school, and much better than the normal nicknames kids give each other. Boogerface or Rabbit Slayer? Please. Like that’s even a choice.

Matt and I have been together so long, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be apart. Now the unthinkable has happened and I’m two thousand miles from home, completely on my own. Matt is everything to me.

I pluck the phone from my pocket and scan the screen.

There’s this other thing…

Fuck. Like it could get worse. He already broke up with me. What’s worse than that?

I type back, I doubt it.

No, you need to know. There’s someone else. I’m in love with her, Kerry.

The prickling sensation hits the back of my eyes hard and fast. As I push through the door, I turn right and search for a bathroom. I can’t fake my way through this. I can’t sit here and pretend that he didn’t just rip my heart out. How can there be someone else? I was his and he was mine. We were a couple. I have his damned ring on my finger. We were going to give this long distance relationship thing a chance.

But Matt didn’t give it a chance.

A sob escapes my throat and my vision blurs. I race down the hallway, feeling the stares of strangers following in my wake. I can’t cry now. I’m trying so hard not to, but my heart won’t listen. It’s curling into a ball and shriveling inside my chest. Grief takes hold of me, but I’m not crying yet. I try to find a restroom, holding back the cascade of sorrow that’s building behind my eyes.

Plowing through the door, I head straight for the mirrors. There are always sinks by mirrors. I slam my books down on the counter and clutch the edge of the sink. Big gasping sobs wrack my body as I bend over the sink and stare at the white basin. Just as my tears start to fall, I see something move in the mirror. I feel eyes on me and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I hadn’t noticed anyone—not that I could see with my eyes full of tears.

Glancing up, I look across the room and don’t understand what I’m looking at. A guy is standing by the wall. He’s tall and toned, with dark hair and of standard build. At least, that’s what he looks like through tears. Why is he in the girl’s room? My brain is broken. I stand there and gape, not realizing that he’s holding his thingy in his hand and standing in front of a urinal.

A crooked smile lines his lips when he sees me staring. “I, uh, think you’re turned around.”

His voice doesn’t reach me. My body is in the middle of a full-fledged freak out and there’s a guy in the ladies room, peeing on the wall. What the hell kind of school is this? I keep blinking, but I can’t wrap my brain around what I’m seeing.

I manage to squeak out, “What?”

The guy zips up and gives me that pity look—you know the one. It says, thank God I’m not you, in the nicest way possible. “You’re in the men’s room. The women’s room is down the hall.”

This can’t be happening. Horrified, I lunge for my books, but he steps to the counter to pick them up at the same time. We collide and his firm body smacks into mine. I stutter something incoherent, finally getting a good look at his face. Holy hotness! I never look at other guys, but once in a while someone that is supermodel perfect catches my attention. When people like that cross your path, it’s impossible to look away. His beauty is blinding, and even through tears I notice his sexy smirk, mildly amused blue eyes, and perfectly smooth skin.

Add in his hard body and holy crap. I smacked into the hottest man I’ve ever seen, stared at his package, and made an ass out of myself. I’m still upset, but so mortified at the same time, that I no longer think and adrenaline takes over. Heart pounding, I push off his firm chest and right myself. My mouth dangles open as I try to form words, but my balance sucks and my hip bumps the books. They topple off the counter and clatter to the floor, while the rest of my stuff slides into the sink for a swim. I can’t be this catastrophe. I can’t face this hot guy with raccoon eyes, unable to do anything but grunt at him like a baboon.

There aren’t many ways to play off a disaster of these proportions. I decide to do the only respectable thing and run like hell. Before he can say anything else, I’m out the door and down the hall. And we’re talking full out run, not that little sissy girl run. I mean full out, an axe murderer is going to chop me up, run.

I hear his voice behind me, calling me to come back. Thank God I didn’t put my name in my books, yet. I have enough problems without shit like this happening. Horrified, I think about how freaking weird I had to look standing there, mascara running, just staring at his thingy. I stared. What the hell is wrong with me? Who does stuff like that?

I shove through the door at the end of the hall and fly down the stairwell. I’m outside and into the parking lot before I slow down. Rasping for air, I round the side of the building and double over, struggling to breathe. I stand for a second before sliding my back down the wall and pulling my knees to my chest. I bury my face and let the tears fall.

Chapter 2

“Hey?” The voice is coming from my left. I spot a Chinese Slipper out of the corner of my eye and a long blue skirt. “Are you all right?”

I don’t glance up. “Yeah. I’m fine.” I’ve been sitting on the side of the building for a while. I completely blew off my art class. Great first day. Even if I can make it to my dorm room, I can’t cry there because the roommate from Hell might walk in.

Slipper Girl sits down next to me and gives a gentle laugh. “Dude, you’re a really bad liar.”

“I know.” We both offer up a nervous laugh. I chance it and peek out at her. I know I look terrible. My face is puffy and smeared with makeup. I’m pretty sure my jeans are covered in snot. It’s one of those moments where you wish you had the power of invisibility, but I don’t. And she sees me. I haven’t made a single friend since I got here, so I feel weird actually talking to someone. I give her a weak half-smile.

She pulls her knees into her chest, and wraps her arms around her ankles. The little black slippers stick out from under her skirt. “So, I’m thinking we need emergency ice cream and maybe—a frying pan.”

What? I sit up a little bit and look at her. Slipper Girl has a pretty face and light brown hair that flows like a silky curtain from the top of her head to her waist. It’s really long. “What’s the frying pan for?”

“To smack the guy who made you cry like that on your first day.”

I sniffle and swipe my eyes with the back of my hand. “Oh, I thought we were going to make stir fry.”

She smiles at me. “You can cook?” She reaches into her little woven purse and hands me a tissue.

“Not really. I’m pretty good at burning things and making food that’s easy to cook but tastes really gross. How about you?”

“Eh,” she tilts her hand back and forth. “So-so, but I make some badass cookies. They’re orgasmic. Seriously. I’m the cookie queen.” She laughs and looks bashful, which makes me smile. “So, since cooking dinner sounds less than tasty, there’s this great Chinese place near here. Are you hungry?” The girl tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and motions to a nearby parking lot. “My car is right over there. We could eat and be back before the next class begins. What do you say?”

“I look like a train wreck.”

“Yeah, you don’t know this about me, but I’m not taking no for an answer. Everyone tells me yes. To everything. I’m spoiled rotten.” She grins and flashes all her teeth before standing. Holding out her hand, she says, “Come on. I won’t bite and I have an emergency Guys-Suck pack in my car. It has cookies, Midol, concealer, a baseball cap, and a pack of condoms. We can make balloon animals. I make a mean giraffe.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I say, “You had me at orgasmic cookies.”

She laughs and helps me up. “They are. You better be ready, otherwise you’ll be blushing, I’ll have to pretend it isn’t awkward, and we won’t be able to look at each other. That’s pretty lame, right?”

“Yeah, I have enough people to avoid eye contact with right now, anyway.” A small smile spreads across my face, and my cheeks suddenly burn.

“I sense a story, here. What happened? You have to tell me.”

“Nothing,” I hedge, but a smile tugs at my lips and a fresh blush burns under my cheeks.

“You can totally tell me! I won’t say a word.” I follow her to a new white Volvo parked at the back of the lot. She throws her bag in the back seat as I get in on the passenger side. “Oh, dude—my name is Beth. Beth means keeper of secrets.” She shoots me a winning smile and starts the car.

“I’m Kerry.”

“So, spill. What’s your major and all that?” She starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot.

“I’m Kerry Hill, an art major from New York. My boyfriend dumped me this morning via text message, and I was so upset that I mistakenly walked into the men’s bathroom right before class. While there, I bumped into a super-hot guy, saw his, uh—package—and stared. After that, I made friends with the brick wall until you came along. It’s a pretty pathetic first day of college.”

Her jaw drops and she stares at me for way too long. Since we’re in moving traffic, it’s alarming. The girl is the worst driver I’ve ever seen. I’m having trouble not screaming. The light is yellow and about to flip to red and she’s not slowing down. “You have me beat. Beth Gallub from Seattle, the youngest of four siblings, with three overprotective brothers that follow me everywhere. Ten bucks says one of them shows up before your class later. No joke.”

“Awh, you’re the baby.”

“Psh. Yeah. It sucks monkeys, man. What about you? Do you have siblings?”

“Yeah, an older brother and a younger sister.”

“So, you’re the pathologically needy middle child.”

“Psych major?”

She laughs. “How’d you know?”

“A hunch. You seem like the kind of person who can’t pass a crying chick on the sidewalk.” I laugh and the rest of my nerves flutter away. I relax as much as I can pretend to with Beth driving. Seriously. People in Seattle must not think lines are important. The girl is all over the road.

Finally, she pulls into the parking lot for the Chinese restaurant. We get out, head into the buffet and grab a table.

After we eat and talk about our horrible first days—mine takes the loser cake—Beth leans back in the booth and watches me. “So, it’s rebound night, right?”

I shift in my seat and scrunch my face. “Not unless we’re talking about a cake rebound.”

Beth shakes her head. “The fastest way to get over a broken heart isn’t a lifetime in a shrink’s chair, it’s screwing another guy. That severs the connection, so the next time you meet a guy you’re really into you won’t compare him to your ex. If you still feel an emotional connection to your ex, you’ll compare sex with the new guy to sex with your ex—which will make you an emotional basket case.” She pauses for a second, then leans forward, a curious expression on her face. “What do you usually do to get over a guy?”

This feels personal and the urge to make something up comes over me, but I don’t do it. Instead, I tell her the lameball truth. “I haven’t broken up like this before. We were together for a long time.” My eyes drop to the table and my throat tightens, but there are no more tears. I won’t cry for him again, but that doesn’t ease the pain flowing from the center of my chest.

“Oh, that’s rough.” Beth glances over my shoulder and waves at someone. I don’t turn, because it’s just a passing gesture. She didn’t wave the person over, but before I know it, there’s a guy standing at the table. Beth rolls her eyes. “What did I tell you? This is my brother, Josh. One of them. This is Kerry. Note the boobs. She’s a chick. Now, leave me alone.”

My face turns bright red when she directs him to look at my chest, but he seems to be used to her antics. At least I hope that’s it, because he doesn’t look. Josh is a nice looking guy and faintly resembles Beth. He’s on the shorter side, built with broad shoulders and gold-streaked brown hair. It’s pulled back into a ponytail. “When you didn’t show up, Justin asked me to check on you.”

Beth groans and fake shoots herself in the head, before falling sideways into the booth, and then disappears under the table. “I have my own life,” she whines from the bench.

“Obviously. You’re very mature.” Josh flashes a smile my way and slips into the booth next to me. I slide over and Beth sits up, a plastic smile on her face.

“I am,” she says, smoothing her skirt and raising both her eyebrows excessively high. “Kerry and I were discussing rebound sex. Would you like to enlighten us with your wisdom regarding the best course of action following a break up?” She folds her hands on the tabletop and smiles like a deranged secretary.

Josh laughs once and looks over at me. “Was your relationship serious?”

“Very,” Beth answers for me. “What’s the best way to move on?”

He looks at me a moment longer than I expect him to. “I don’t know you, Kerry, but the only way to get over anyone is to move on. Rebounding is one way, but—”

Beth cuts him off. “But it’s not for the faint of heart. Oh my God. You’re such a dick. There’s no way in hell that I’m letting her hook up with you, assface, so drop it.” For a second I think Beth is being too harsh. He wasn’t going to hit on me, but then Josh laughs and relaxes.

He bumps his shoulder against mine. “Fine, but I had to try. She’s hot.” Glancing over at me he says, “Have sex with a stranger to cut the cords and wipe the slate clean. It’s the fastest way out of the hellhole you’re in right now. And I strongly suggest you pick the guy or some dickwad will play you.”

“Like you?” Beth asks, sticking out her tongue at him. Josh smiles.

“Exactly like me, and since I know Beth, you’d have to see me again, which would suck. My advice—pick a guy from a bar on the other side of the city, making the odds of running into him again unlikely.” He swipes Beth’s glass and downs the rest of her soda.

“So, people really do this? No one will think I’m a slut? It seems kind of crazy to walk up to some guy and say, what? I need to get laid. Wanna have sex with me?” This conversation is making me really uncomfortable.

Josh laughs. “Well, don’t say it like that. You sound crazy. You need to make him think you’ve done it before or you’ll set off his psycho-bitch alert.”

“Guys don’t have that, Josh. And does it really matter what she says? No one listens after they hear ‘do you want sex?’” Beth tilts her head to the side and makes a face, like she thinks guys are mindless zombie folk.

“You should tell him that you’re not looking for a relationship and ask him if he wants to do something. Let him offer.” Josh turns to me and studies the side of my face. “You’ve only been with one guy?”

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Was he good? Ouch! Beth, what the hell?” He shifts next to me and clutches his leg under the table.

“You can’t ask her that! I met her, like, an hour ago and you’re already asking if her ex satisfied her sexually? God, Josh! Go to the store and buy some manners.”

Josh cringes. “I didn’t say it like that.”

The two of them are like a comedy act. I can tell they love each other, but they both have very different, chaffing personalities. “It’s okay,” I offer, and they stop squabbling and look at me. “I don’t have a reference point outside of my ex—he was my first and only.”

Beth looks horrified. “You thought you were going to be together forever, didn’t you? Oh my God. Josh, don’t be a dick, hug her.”

I laugh nervously and scoot toward the wall, “Yeah, that’s okay. I really don’t—well, okay.” Before I can get away, Josh throws his arms around me and squeezes hard, mashing my body against his in a bear of a side-hug. I choke, “I’m fine. Really.”

“You poor kid!” He releases me and slips out. “Beth, I can head out there with you after seven. If you want to go before then, call Jace.”

Beth’s jaw tightens and she doesn’t look at him. “You’re not coming.”

Josh smirks and chuckles. “You’re funny.” He kisses the top of her head and Beth mashes her lips together like she’s going to explode. “See you ladies tonight. Oh, and Kerry—dress like you want a good time.” He winks at me and rushes out.

Chapter 3

I get dressed in Beth’s room out of fear my horrible roommate will figure out what’s going on and ruin it for me. I’ve only been here a few days, but she’s already turned half the dorm against me. Well, maybe that’s an overstatement, but it feels like truth.

Beth pulls a red dress from her closet. The neckline is a deep V and the fabric is slinky. “Try this. It’s my lucky dress. Guys will slobber all over you.”

I take it and look for a place to change, but the room is a box. There’s no privacy. Beth notices my hesitation and walks over to the closet. She pulls a door, leaving it halfway open. “Change behind here. How are you this old and still this shy?”

“I don’t know. Nothing turned out the way I thought it would. That’s all.” I strip my tee shirt off and slip the dress over my head before stepping out of my jeans.

“You realize that having sex with a random guy tonight means he’s going to see you naked, right? You can’t act like a virgin or you’ll freak him out.” The bedsprings give and I know she’s sitting down.

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, you can’t hide behind doors and under sheets. You have to strut around like you own that sinfully curvy body. I wish I had hips. I’m assless. It makes me sad.” Beth looks up when I step around the door. The dress is skintight. I tug at the fabric and try to pull the hemline down. If I bend over, my butt will peek out.

Beth jumps up and races over. “Holy shit. You look hot. Do you see this?” With a huge smile on her face, she pulls me in front of the mirror.

“I don’t know. You don’t think that it makes me look fat?”

Beth gives me a face that says she’d kill for my body, but it’s hard to believe. She’s cute and I feel bulky standing next to her. “You have it all—tits and ass with a tiny waist. Besides, sexiness is a state of mind. If you think you’re sexy, you will be. It’s confidence. Put on a fake persona tonight and toss your self-image issues out the window. We can blame your mother for ruining your life another time.”

Beth styles my hair and applies my makeup. By the time she’s done, I don’t recognize myself. My hair falls in silky waves and my lips are dark red. I look like a model. I look like someone else. It feels really weird to look into a mirror and not recognize the image staring back. I want to back out, but I can’t now. Beth is ready to go. She throws on a cute dress with a frilly skirt that comes to her knee.

“Why do you get to dress like that?” I’m practically whining.

Beth steps into her little black slippers and explains. “It’s for comparison purposes. If I’m wearing a little church dress, you look like the slutty one. All the guys will look at you first and ignore me, which is what we want.”

Once we’re both ready, we head to her car and make our way toward the other side of the city. For a second, I worry about what will happen when I actually get there, but Beth’s driving distracts me. Suddenly, I’m taking way too many deep breaths and trying not to scream. As she careens down a ramp insanely fast, my reflexes overpower my desire to be polite and I grab hold of the oh-shit strap.

Beth apologizes. “I don’t usually hit stuff. I promise.” Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better. I just nod. “Plus, this is a Volvo. You have my brothers to thank for that. They told my parents it was the safest car out there. They got cute little convertibles for graduation. I got a soccer mom car. Bastards. So what do you drive?”

“Nothing at the moment. I thought things would be within walking distance.”

“Yeah, they’re really not—unless twenty miles back and forth to the mall doesn’t faze you. We’ll have to go car shopping one day.”

Sure, if I live that long. By the time we get to the bar, I’m a ball of nerves. My stomach churns and I feel sick. I’m standing next to the Volvo in the parking lot, waiting for Beth. “I can’t do this.” I’m ready to jump back in the car, but she locks the doors before I can yank mine open.

“Yes, you can. You want to get over your ex, right?” I nod. “Then you know what to do. Listen, I don’t want to pressure you into anything. If you decide not to ask anyone, then don’t. But we drove all the way here. Let’s at least have a good time before we head back. Okay?”

I can do that. I can have a good time and laugh even though I wish I were at home, on my mom’s couch, crying like a baby. No, it’s fine. I can totally do this and Beth’s right. Just because I go inside, doesn’t mean I have to go through with it. I can chicken out.

Beth and I walk in and I instantly feel eyes on me. They travel over my body, overtly sizing me up. I won’t be shy and timid. Not tonight. As Beth and I head toward a table, I notice a guy looking me over and suddenly I don’t mind so much. Being desired feels good. We sit down at a table and order drinks. We sip and talk about nothing for a while. I’m not seeing the right guy and I don’t want to have sex with someone that doesn’t give me a good vibe. I don’t want a pushy guy. Actually, I prefer shy guys and realize this whole ‘wanna do me?’ thing might not work on a shyer man.

Josh tries to join us, but Beth shoos him away, so he takes up residence at another table that quickly fills with women. How did he do that? He smiles a lot and has this lazy body language that seems to act like girl-nip. They go crazy for it.

After two hours, I’m ready to call it quits. “There’s no one here that’s even close to my type.”

Beth slurps the bottom of her daiquiri. “He doesn’t have to be your type.”

“Are you seriously advocating that I do it with an ug-o?”

Beth snorts and nearly chokes. “No! That’s not what I meant.”

“Good, otherwise I’d have to worry about you trying to pawn me off on one of the janitors in the dorm.”

She grins wickedly. “That was my plan for tomorrow night.”

“Loser,” I tease and shake my head.

“I’m not the one who can’t get laid,” she laughs. It’s weird how fast she feels like a friend. I kick her under the table. “Hey!”

“I can so get laid! I just want him to be…” my eyes drift across the room and I see him – Mr. Right. A guy is sitting alone at a back corner table, wearing a red ball cap. His face is downcast and there’s a sketchpad in front of him. My voice dies in my throat as I stare. He’s perfect.

Beth turns around in her seat. “Seriously?”

I pull my eyes off of him just as he looks up. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing, if you like that serial killer vibe.”

“He’s an artist.”

“Ten bucks says there’s nothing drawn in that sketch pad.”

I don’t like her bashing my mystery man. “No, he’s not using that as a ploy. He’s real.”

Beth is trying not to laugh. “You are so naïve.”

“I am not.” I say it dreamily as I watch him move the pencil across the paper, and then flip it over, smudging the page with the eraser.

“Okay, so let’s make a bet. If he’s a fake, I win and you have to buy me a piece of cake. If he’s a real artist, then you win and you have to ask him. Deal?” I don’t answer. Instead, I squirm in my seat and try not to look at him. “What’s the matter? If he’s the artsy type, you found what you were looking for. If he isn’t, I get cake. It’s a good bet.”

“She won’t do it.” Josh suddenly appears. He’s standing next to Beth and smiles at me in that smug way that only truly spoiled men can pull off. “She doesn’t have it in her.”

“You’re an asshole.” My gaze flicks up and meets his, while Beth laughs.

“I know. I’m okay with it. But, you’re a nice girl, and you’ll stay that way. There’s no way you can work up enough nerve to walk over there and ask that guy to sleep with you.”

“Yeah, well watch me.” Who said that? My pride is whooping and slapping me on my back.

Suddenly, I’m out of my seat and making a beeline toward Mystery Man. He’s concentrating on his drawing and doesn’t look up. I’m so nervous, I want to die. What if he shoots me down? What if he just laughs? I don’t think I could bear it. Stop thinking! Just say it. Just say it. Don’t wait for him to look up. Don’t wait for him to have a chance to say anything. Just spit it out.

As soon as I’m by his table, I say, “Listen, I’m not looking for a relationship and you look a little bit lonely over here. Maybe we could go someplace and fix that?” My voice is confident and flows like warm honey. I’m so proud, I actually manage a sexy smile and slip into the booth opposite him.

When he looks up, I literally choke. “It’s you!” Before I can recover, I sputter some ungodly sound and gape at him.

“So, is that what you were doing in the men’s room this morning? The school really frowns on soliciting.” The corners of his lips twitch, like he’s trying not to laugh at my shock. Those sapphire eyes seem amused. He taps his pencil on the table and looks me over. “Although, when they put up the signs, I doubt they had that kind in mind.”

My jaw hits the table, and I’m still frozen in place. Holy fuck, he’s hot and that teasing tone doesn’t help. My mind is screaming at me to run, but I can’t move. Something about the moment has the mesmerizing quality of headlights, and I’m sitting like a deer waiting to be struck between the eyes.

Pull it together, Kerry! I shake off my shock and stand to leave, but he reaches out and grabs my wrist. I glance down at him, waiting to see what he’s going to say.

“I didn’t say no. I’m just making sure that I don’t have a hooker stalking me.”

Pressing my hand to my chest, I say sweetly, “How flattering, but no thanks. I’ve changed my mind.” Tearing my wrist from his grip, I turn to sprint away, but he jumps up from his booth and follows me.

“Wait a second. Don’t be like that. I was just kidding. Really.” I stop and turn back to face him. Mistake. Those eyes are so blue and so sincere that I can’t blow him off. A nervous tick appears in the corner of his mouth, making it twitch. “Can I show you something?”

“I’ve already seen it, thanks.”

He laughs once, loudly, and gently takes my hand, pulling me back to his table. “You’ve got a sharp tongue when it’s not tangled. Seriously, come here. I want to show you what I was sketching.” He stops in front of the table and picks up the pad, flipping backwards through the pages.

I glance side to side and see Beth waving at me from across the room. It’s such a dorky thing to do, but it makes me laugh. I swat at her and turn back to see what this guy is doing. “My friend thought the whole artsy thing was a ploy to pick up girls. We actually made a bet.”

He looks intrigued. “Really? What were the terms?”

“If she wins, and you’re a loser with an empty sketch pad, she gets cake.”

“You bet that I wasn’t a fake?” I smile, and slide my eyes to the side, nodding. “Interesting. So what do you get if you win?”

My face feels hot, but I say it anyway. “You.” Tonight, I’m not me. I’m confident, sexual, and everything I’m totally lacking in real life.

Smiling shyly, he looks down and hands me the pad before sitting in the booth. “I’m afraid your friend lost her cake.”

The smile slips off my lips when I see what he’s drawn. It’s me. My long smooth wavy hair is obscuring my face, but it’s certainly me, my little nose, and this slutty dress. But the way he drew me sitting in the booth opposite Beth—I don’t know—I look ethereal and unapproachable. He drew me as if I were just out of his reach.

I stare at it for a second before looking over at him. “I bet you drew every woman in here.”

“I don’t recall that being part of the bet, but go ahead and turn the page.” He offers a crooked smile.

I flip through the pad and see saltshakers, lamps, the back of a waiter carrying too much food, and other things that are utterly ordinary. He captured the weight of the tray and the way it tips to the side slightly, like it might fall. Even the objects that he drew on the table seem evocative. When I look at him, he offers a weak smile and reaches for the pad. “I don’t usually share this. It’s like a journal.”

I know what he means. I don’t show my sketches to anyone. They reflect the state of my mind, and my heart. He’s braver than I am, showing those things to a total stranger. For a moment, I don’t know myself. I’m not me. Reaching out, I extend my hand and say it again, “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

He takes it and stands. Looking into my eyes, he breathes, “Neither am I.”

A smile spreads across my face as my heart pounds harder. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Nodding, he leads me toward the door. On the way out, I pass Beth’s table and grin. “You lost.”

She gives me a huge grin. “Yeah, but you hit the jackpot.”

I did, didn’t I? He’s hot, funny, shy, and artistic. He’s my dream guy. For only one night, he can’t be anything less.

Continue Reading SECRETS & LIES, VOL. 1, now!

PRE-ORDERS BY H.M. WARD

~HOT GUY~ (November 15)

~EASY~ (December 27)

~EASY 2~ (January 10)

~EASY 3~ (January 31)

~EASY 4~ (February 14)

~EASY 5~ (February 28)

~THE ARRANGEMENT 23~ (March 28)

NEED A BOOK FOR YOUR KID?

~RISE OF THE OLYMPIANS~ (FREE)

~RISE OF THE OLYMPIANS 2~

~RISE OF THE OLYMPIANS 3~

~RISE OF THE OLYMPIANS 4~

~RISE OF THE OLYMPIANS 5~

~RISE OF THE OLYMPIANS 6~

COMPLETED SERIES BY H.M. WARD

ROMANCE

~SECRETS & LIES~

~STRIPPED~

~THE PROPOSITION~

~DAMAGED~

~LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED~

~SECRETS~

~SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT~

~SCANDALOUS~

TEEN PARANORMAL

~DEMON KISSED~

MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS

Trystan Scott

~BROKEN PROMISES~

Jonathan Ferro

~STRIPPED~

Bryan Ferro

~THE PROPOSITION~

Sean Ferro

~THE ARRANGEMENT~

Peter Ferro

~DAMAGED ~

Nick Ferro

~THE WEDDING CONTRACT~

Please turn the page for a suggested reading order.

SUGGESTED FERRO SERIES READING ORDER

THE ARRANGEMENT 1

THE ARRANGEMENT 2

THE ARRANGEMENT 3

THE ARRANGEMENT 4

THE ARRANGEMENT 5

THE ARRANGEMENT 6

DAMAGED 1

DAMAGED 2

SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT 1

SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT 2

SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT 3

SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT 4

SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT 5

THE ARRANGEMENT 7

THE ARRANGEMENT 8

THE ARRANGEMENT 9

THE ARRANGEMENT 10

THE ARRANGEMENT 11

SCANDALOUS 1

SCANDALOUS 2

STRIPPED 1

THE PROPOSITION 1

THE PROPOSITION 2

THE PROPOSITION 3

THE PROPOSITION 4

THE ARRANGEMENT 12

THE ARRANGEMENT 13

THE ARRANGEMENT 14

THE PROPOSITION 5

THE ARRANGEMENT 15

THE ARRANGEMENT 16

THE ARRANGEMENT 17

THE ARRANGEMENT 18

THE WEDDING CONTRACT

SECRETS & LIES 1

SECRETS & LIES 2

SECOND CHANCES

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 1

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 2

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 3

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 4

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 5

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 6

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 7

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 8

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 9

LIFE BEFORE DAMAGED 10

THE ARRANGEMENT 19

THE ARRANGEMENT 20

MANWHORE

BROKEN PROMISES

THE ARRANGEMENT 21

STRIPPED 2

SECRETS & LIES 3

SECRETS & LIES 4

SECRETS & LIES 5

SECRETS & LIES 6

THE ARRANGEMENT 22

SECRETS & LIES 7

A DAMAGED WEDDING

EASY 1

THE ARRANGEMENT 23

MORE ROMANCE BY H.M. WARD

SCANDALOUS

SECRETS

COLLIDE: THE SECRET LIFE OF TRYSTAN SCOTT

DEMON KISSED

CHRISTMAS KISSES

OVER YOU

HOT GUY

And more.

To see a full book list, please visit:

http://www.hmward.com/pages/books.html

CAN'T WAIT FOR H.M. WARD'S NEXT STEAMY BOOK?

Let her know by leaving stars and telling her what you liked about this book in a review!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

New York Times bestselling author H.M. Ward continues to reign as the queen of independent publishing. She is swiftly approaching 13 MILLION copies sold, placing her among the literary titans.  Articles pertaining to Ward's success have appeared in The New York Times, USA Today, and Forbes to name a few. This native New Yorker resides in Texas with her family, where she enjoys working on her next book.

You can interact with this bestselling author at:

- @HMWard

- AuthorHMWard

www.hmward.com

Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Copyright
- A Damaged Wedding
- 1. CHAPTER 1
- 2. CHAPTER 2
- 3. CHAPTER 3
- 4. CHAPTER 4
- 5. CHAPTER 5
- 6. CHAPTER 6
- 7. CHAPTER 7
- 8. CHAPTER 8
- 9. CHAPTER 9
- 10. CHAPTER 10
- 11. CHAPTER 11
- 12. CHAPTER 12
- 13. CHAPTER 13
- 14. CHAPTER 14
- 15. CHAPTER 15
- 16. CHAPTER 16
- EXCERPT: SECRETS & LIES
- PRE-ORDERS BY H.M. WARD
- COMPLETED SERIES BY H.M. WARD
- MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS
- SUGGESTED FERRO SERIES READING ORDER
- MORE ROMANCE BY H.M. WARD

- CAN'T WAIT FOR H.M. WARD'S NEXT STEAMY BOOK?

- ABOUT THE AUTHOR