This is fine.
I repeated the words over and over in my head as I calmly collected pieces of clothing scattered across the hotel room. My clothing.
A silk blouse here.
A sleek pencil skirt there.
My strappy black pumps over in the corner.
Sweet heavens, why had I hung my red lace bralette on the doorknob?
I clenched my eyes shut as I slipped the damning evidence in my bag, my mind a fuzzy mess of fog and forgotten dreams.
A flash of me sliding the bra off through the sleeves of my silk slip—the slip I’d awoken in this morning—fizzled behind my eyes. The reason for doing so? Totally a blank. As was the rest of the night.
My wedding night, apparently.
And I knew from the lack of soreness between my thighs and my perfectly untouched lipstick that nothing worth remembering had happened—despite waking up beneath the sexiest and most infuriating man I’d ever set eyes on. I’d thought I’d been dreaming when I’d felt his delicious weight atop me, his lips caressing my neck, his strong thigh between my legs. Thought it was one of my most creative dreams yet until…well, until we both realized we were awake.
My fingers trembled as I gathered the rest of my things, the only lack of composure I’d allow to show. Because I was Persephone VanDoren and I’d be damned if I gave control to the gathering panic coiling in my chest.
Cannon spoke on the phone in the sitting room attached to the hotel’s bedroom, and his deep tenor skittered over my body, leaving a warm chill in its wake. I sucked in a sharp breath and once again tried to recall the events of the night prior.
The plane ride had been pleasant, a quiet sort of comfortable as Cannon read his book. Nathan Noble and his twin brother Nixon had offered a subdued source of constant chatter on the plane’s opposite side, Nathan’s fiancé, Harper content with her research on her laptop. And Nixon’s date, Liberty—the auction winner—seemed more than happy to simply stare at him with an awestruck sense of disbelief as he’d chatted with his brother.
I did remember the headache Sterling had mentioned, and the pain pills which both Cannon and I had obviously assumed were harmless.
But after the plane ride?
Nothing.
Blank.
A thick, wet blanket of darkness buried the memory.
Once again, that cold, building panic pulsed in my chest, threatening to break my composure. How could I have let myself get into this situation? What would my father think? And my mother—
My cell phone rang from my purse on the nightstand, and I hurried over to it. As if I’d conjured her out of thin air, my mother’s picture flashed over my screen. For a few seconds too long, I debated not answering. But she was my mama, and I’d never shut her out.
“Hello, Mama,” I answered, forcing warmth and grace into my tone. “How are you feeling? Everything all right?”
“It most certainly isn’t all right, Sephie,” she said, her voice anything but unhappy. “How could you possibly elope and not tell me?”
My blood ran cold.
“What? How? I—” For once, words spewed from my mouth in a shocked state of confusion.
“Well, darling, it’s all over the media. And, naturally, I must say. What with your status and the popularity of that hockey star of yours.”
He’s not my anything.
“He’s—”
“Honey, I’m not upset,” Mama cut me off.
“Well, I damn sure am!” my father’s voice shouted in the background.
“Oh, hush now,” Mama scolded him before returning focus to me. “Darling, I am so thrilled, honestly.”
I sank onto the edge of the bed, still unmade from our abrupt awakening this morning.
“What?” It seemed to be the only word capable of leaving my mouth this morning.
“You know I probably don’t have much time left on this earth,” she said, her voice softening. My chest constricted, tears biting the backs of my eyes. “And, well, it’s always been a dream of mine to see you walk down the aisle. To see you truly happy.”
The truth of the situation clogged my throat, choking my airways. The joy in her tone, the compassion in her words stilled my tongue.
“Happy?” my father surged in the background. “She’ll be happy when I approve of the son of a bitch! The nerve! What kind of coward doesn’t—”
“Harold!” Mama used the tone only proper southern women could conjure—the one that could silence and scare the living daylights out of any person on the planet, including ones as hardheaded and strict as my father. “Come by the house when you return, please? We have so much to talk about. And bring that man of yours!”
The line went dead with more grumblings from my father, and it took me a few seconds to realize I didn’t need to hold the cell to my ear anymore.
Cannon stomped into the room, his massive presence like a vacuum for all the air in the room, not to mention my lungs. My heart raced as I watched him, tracked his movements as he pocketed his cell and hurriedly shoved shirts and slacks and a hardback into his bag. “Spoke to my lawyer,” he grumbled, not even bothering to meet my eyes. “We’ll annul this thing on Monday.”
A sharp, hot something stabbed the center of my chest.
Not that I wanted to be married to Cannon Price, but the cold tone, his harsh words—God, was I so awful a mistake to wake up married to?
No, not going down that road.
Of course, we had to annul.
I knew Cannon only in the basest levels of acquaintances, and ninety percent of our exchanges were arguments. Sizzling debates that sparked life into my blood where I hadn’t realized I’d been lacking, but still.
I gripped the phone in my hand a little harder than necessary. Tears were inevitable, but I sure as hell wouldn’t cry in front of him.
He slid to a stop before me, finally noticing my lack of movement or response.
“Hey,” he said, the word sharp.
I refused to look up at him. I’d have to arch my neck from my seated position, and I honestly thought if I had to look into those dark eyes and see the utter rejection…well, I might very well crumble into a thousand pieces.
He dropped to his knees, forcing me to catch his gaze. “Are you in shock?”
The serious set of his features made a laugh rip from my chest, so fast and hard that he jolted a little before me.
“What ever would I be in shock for, Cannon?”
He cocked an eyebrow as if to say don’t test me, woman.
I blew out a breath, then straightened my spine.
He nodded, as if something had settled between us.
“We’re leaving,” he said, his voice dropping to that normal, irresistible tenor that made my blood heat. “Now.” He rose to standing, his gaze lingering on me for a few seconds where I remained seated. “Don’t worry. I won’t mar your reputation for long.” He grabbed our bags and hurried from the room like I might slap him or curse him or cry on his shoulder. I had yet to figure out which of those actions would unnerve him most.
What an absolute mess.
One I’d gotten myself into, sure, but for what? Because I couldn’t resist the tall, dark, and terrifying man? Because when I saw the other women bidding on him for the charity auction, something had snapped inside me? The thought of him with anyone else became a sharp, near unbearable pain I couldn’t possibly explain or soothe.
A passing flutter of unwarranted jealousy, of course.
A sting of loneliness and desire.
A mistake, certainly.
One made on instinct as opposed to composed thinking. And perhaps that was the crux of it. Because when it came to Cannon Price, I rarely thought rationally.
Mama swung open the door to the home I grew up in—and technically still lived in, if you counted the guest house on the back five acres. She stepped onto the front porch, her modest pumps clicking against the stonework as she craned her head back and forth. She even went as far to walk behind me, as if I were hiding Cannon in some invisible pocket, and he might materialize at her search.
She sighed but smiled as she hooked her arm in mine and walked me into the house.
Despite growing up in the painstakingly restored 1903 Neoclassical home, it never ceased to steal my breath when entering. I’d grown so accustomed to my cozy guest house that I’d forgotten how high the sweeping ceilings were, how polished the hardwood floors were, and how astoundingly grand each room and piece of furniture was. My mother always had an eye for restoration and decoration, and she’d outfitted the estate brilliantly—from the rich leather furniture to vintage pieces hand-plucked from dusty antique stores—she’d created a near-magical home for us.
And now, she couldn’t do those things she loved—spending long hours hunting for the perfect piece.
Not with her condition.
“You just missed your sister,” she whispered as if someone might hear us as we slowly made our way to the main sitting room. The floor-to-ceiling windows drenched the room and velvet chairs in golden sun, the heat enriching the leather-bound-book smell that permeated from the first editions perfectly lining the shelves making up the entirety of the east wall.
“I didn’t realize she was in town,” I said, settling into the farthest chair on the right—a favorite of mine because it offered an unobstructed view of the ancient oaks and whispering pines that dotted the estate grounds. As a little girl, I’d curl up with a book and open the windows to let in the southern breeze, the soft hissing of the wind blowing through the trees the perfect background noise when getting lost in a fictional world.
“I didn’t either,” Mama said, drawing me back to the present. I focused on her as she sat across from me. She looked tired. Paler than the last time I’d seen her. “Of course, you know I’m always happy to house my firstborn…”
Her words trailed off as she wrung her hands, and I reached over to squeeze one.
“What is it this time, Mama?”
A long, slow breath left her lips. “It’s nothing, really.” She waved me off with her free hand. I fixed her with the look she’d raised me on, the one that said I wouldn’t be lied to. “Well,” she relented. “I had hoped her surprise return was because she simply missed us. She’s been on her travels for months now.”
Her travels. A kind way of sugar-coating what my older sister actually did on a day-to-day basis, which was blowing through her inheritance, usually on luxury items, resorts, or booze.
“But she got into a bit of a bind in one of the clubs in Morocco, and she needed Harold to clean it up.”
“Not surprising,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. I loved my sister, but she’d never been considerate of other’s feelings and continuously lived her life like she needed to outrun herself. I’d wasted many a night fearful of the day I’d get a call from Mama, tear-soaked and grief-stricken due to my sister’s untimely demise—it’d be drunk driving or overdosing or being hit too hard by one of her many ex-husbands or lovers or something equally awful.
I surveyed my mother’s features, the sadness clinging to her frame and guilt chipping away at the eyes that were an identical shade of blue to mine. Something punched me in the chest.
“She didn’t get the test, did she?”
Mama shook her head. “Not that she’s required to. Lord knows I had a hard enough time when you tested. Even if you’d been a match, honey, I don’t know if I could’ve accepted the offer.” She patted my hand.
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
When we’d found out my mother’s kidneys were failing, I’d immediately gotten tested as a potential donor. As did my father, a few of our close cousins, and several friends from my parent’s inner circle. None of us were a match, and I lived with that grief and anger every single day. It raged and roared in the tight box I kept it in, locked deep inside me as to not let anyone ever know how helpless I felt to save my mother. My favorite person in the entire world—the woman who’d raised me to be independent, to think for myself, to love fiercely, and to never take a single day for granted.
“If I would’ve been a match,” I finally said. “You would’ve taken it willingly, or I’d have Daddy haul you into the hospital kicking and screaming.”
She gaped at me, a smile lighting up her eyes. “I would never!”
I laughed softly and shrugged. “Either way, I would’ve given it to you.”
She squeezed my hand again. “I know, darling. You’ve always had such a big heart. You get that from your father, though most wouldn’t know it.”
“How long is Andromeda staying this time?” I tried to keep the contempt from my tone, but even my grace had its limits. My older sister had refused to get the test when I’d tracked her down to ask her—claimed if I wasn’t a match, then she wouldn’t be either, so it would be a waste of time. She’d stuck to that excuse even after I’d explained to her it didn’t work like that.
That familiar rage bubbled in my chest, and it took a great deal of time to stop it from boiling over. My mother didn’t deserve to see my contempt for my sister, didn’t deserve to see her two daughters fight. Not when she had so little time left.
Which is why it would be even harder to tell her the truth about Cannon. Something I planned to do, after a few more deep breaths.
“A few weeks, I believe,” Mama answered me. “I’ve drawn up the guest room for her the way she likes. Had Harold put up those ghastly black-out curtains she simply can’t sleep without.”
Have patience. Exude grace. Be forever grateful for your lot in life.
I repeated the words my mother raised me on while taking a deep breath. I was grateful for all we’d been given. It was no secret us VanDoren girls were blessed at birth. We were born into the money and privilege my family had worked hard for, and I’d spent my entire life ensuring I didn’t take a second of it for granted. My sole focus since grade school had been to spread our wealth to those who needed it more, and the endless charity work I’d done simply because I love doing it landed me the career I had today. I’d never dreamed of being able to do what I’m passionate about and get paid for it until the day Asher Silas—owner of the Carolina Reapers—offered me the job as the head of his charity foundation. And he’d surprised me even more when he agreed to my request for my salary to be spread among the charities we chose together each year.
A sizzle of heat licked right up my spine as the thought of the home I’d made with the Reapers raced through my mind.
Tattoos—ink and color and designs everywhere. Swirling or jagged, the ink covered nearly every inch of his skin.
The memory flashed, cloudy and distant, as quick as a blink.
Had I dreamed of seeing him without his shirt? Or had that actually happened?
Heaven save me, I was in a world of trouble.
And that trouble would triple once I said what I’d come here to say.
“You didn’t bring your hockey star,” Mama said, a chiding look in her eyes.
“No,” I said on a breath of air. “I didn’t.”
“I did make your father lock the guns up,” she said, leaning closer. “I’m not so foolish as to invite the husband we’ve never met and not take some precautions.”
A half-panicked, half-sincere laugh tumbled from my lips. The idea of my father pointing a shotgun at Cannon…a cold chill raced across my skin. I don’t believe the man would even flinch. Cannon kept himself locked in a hard exterior as impenetrable as Fort Knox, and yet, somehow, he’d allowed himself to get so far gone we’d gotten married. I still couldn’t make sense of it.
“You see, Mama—”
“You don’t have to be ashamed, darling,” she cut me off. “I know how love takes hold of us in unexpected ways and never lets go. I understand the strength of passion and how it can push us to do terrifying yet beautiful things.” She flashed me a conspirator smile. “That’s how you know it’s good.”
My lips parted, the words getting tangled somewhere between the shock of my mother’s approval of such a rash decision and her romanticized talk of passion.
“Can I ask one thing, though? Beyond meeting him, of course.”
I tilted my head, speechless.
“Please let me plan a real wedding.” The hope in her eyes hit me like a hammer—the big kind that took no issue cracking fissures down a line of concrete. “Lord knows I’ll never be able to do it for Andromeda. I’ve lost count of how many marriages and annulments she’s acquired on her travels.” Mama leaned a bit closer, lowering her voice. “I believe that is the source of your father’s…frustration with this Vegas business. But I told him it’s not fair to punish you for your sister’s mistakes.”
“Thank you,” I choked out.
She nodded and continued. “Anyway, with the donor waiting list being so long and my health deteriorating so fast…well, I know how to do the math. It would bring my heart so much joy if I could plan a real wedding for you and your man. Watch you walk down that aisle and take your vows.”
The only thing that kept me from dropping my jaw was years of practice at schooling my features—being a proper VanDoren, we never showed our hand before we had to.
“Is it too much to ask?” Mama asked sincerely. “I mean, who doesn’t love a party? And we would obviously work around his schedule, unless…” her eyes dropped to my stomach. “Unless there was a pressing reason you tied the knot in Vegas.”
I laughed, shaking my head at the absurdity of that claim.
Difficult to conceive a child when you’ve never had sex before.
“Of course not, Mama,” I said, shaking my head.
“Well, I wouldn’t have said no to a grandbaby, but just as well.” She shifted in her seat, an alarm softly ringing from the crisp white watch on her left wrist. “Walk me to my room?”
I stood from my chair, my heart racing and breaking at the same time as I helped her to stand. I walked her through the house, grateful when we didn’t run into my father, or my sister returning no doubt from wherever she’d run off to shop for clothes. It was beyond me how she constantly started over with every city she traveled to, but I suppose endless means could do that to a person.
I turned into Mama’s bedroom, forgoing the main portion with their canopied king and instead settled her into a simple but elegant leather chair near the window. A gray box half the size of the chair sat next to it, a white machine with an array of tubing atop it.
“Here,” I said as she settled into the chair. “Let me.” She remained silent as I gently hooked her up to the at-home dialysis machine, and once again thanked the good lord that we were able to afford the at-home care. My mother was one of the strongest women I knew, and she wanted everyone to see her as such. Not that this made her weak, not in the slightest, but she was a private woman when it came to her illness.
“How is that?” I asked as I placed a pillow under her arm.
“Wonderful,” she said, resting her head back against the chair, the whir of the machine humming beside her. “So, what do you think?”
I could barely breathe around the ache in my chest. Around the split in my heart. I never lied to my Mama, but this…she deserved any joy I could give her before…
“Let me speak with Cannon,” I said finally.
A wide smile shaped her lips, then she raised her brows. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go ask him.” She shooed me away with her free arm.
I kissed her forehead, swallowing down the tears that were desperate for release. But I kept my smile firmly planted on my lips as I left the estate, because with what I had to do? Convince Cannon Price to marry me…again? I needed all the strength I could get.
