AS SOON AS we arrive at the Hyatt Hotel, it’s apparent to me that this is the kind of event that will have its own spread in the District’s social magazines and on their websites.
Carter opens the passenger door for us, and Max exits first, allowing me the sweet view of his backside. His black slacks are perfectly snug around him. Turning, he holds his hand out for me as I step out of the car. My six-inch gold, rhinestone encrusted heels press into the red carpet, and my sheer skirt flows around my ankles, making me giddy.
I was so excited when I found this dress the other day. It’s a new red Alamour design with a square neckline and sheer bodice banding just above my newly showing bump. My underwear is covered both by a small sewn in bra and mini skirt lining. It’s a fricking beautiful dress!
Standing beside Max, I take a moment to appreciate him in his black tuxedo. I didn’t really know the difference between a suit and a tuxedo until yesterday when Toni told me. It’s in the satin details – satin lapels, lining down the slacks, and buttons. I lick my lips and then adjust Max’s bow tie, envisioning him in only it. I can feel his eyes tunnelling into mine.
I blush without looking at him. When I finally gaze up, I find his stare devouring.
‘How do you do that?’ I ask, reaching up to stroke his freshly shaven jawline.
His smile is soft. ‘What?’
‘Go from animalistic, rugged sex-god, who spent most of this morning with his face between my thighs, to this powerful looking gentleman?’
He leans in close, a salacious curve to his lips that sends flutters down between my thighs. ‘I’m going to find a place tonight to shove my cock into your mouth for calling me a gentleman. Then I’m going to wash that word down your throat with my cum.’ My lips part and I swallow hard. He leans back until I can see that sexual appetite in his narrowed eyes. ‘Is that better?’
I nod and bite my bottom lip. ‘Much.’
Cameras start flashing around us and I smile shyly at them. Max doesn’t though, saving all those glances of emotion for me. But he does offer them a nod of acknowledgment, which in comparison to his usual scowl, is quite the game changer. Placing his hand on the small of my back, his fingers spanning out, the press of them apparent and possessive, he leads us up the carpet, towards the front door.
When we get to the entrance, Max grins at me and that hint of menace makes me melt. We pause in front of the grand lobby. The chatter of the press surrounds us, the flash of their cameras evident, but we are in our own world. He lifts a finger to my chin, tilts my head up to meet his adoring eyes, and then plants a loving kiss on my lips for everyone to see and photograph. I almost moan but manage to quell it.
He’s so good at playing the part; I suppose he’s learned that over the years. The Butcher Boys are always being photographed. Max is usually less than impressed with the attention, but today he seems to be putting on a show for everyone. Showing me off. Showing us off. I absolutely adore the way that makes me feel – warmth in my stomach and chest, a softness to my stance and movements.
Walking up the staircase, we make our way inside the banquet hall. From across the room, I spot Konnor. He looks handsome in his tuxedo and grey bow tie. My jaw drops open at the sight of Blesk in her dusty-blue strapless column dress. She is a classic beauty, there is no doubt about that, and my brother can’t keep his eyes off her.
I basically skip over to them, then pull them both in for a hug.
‘Jesus! Cassidy, you look stunning,’ Blesk coos.
Konnor’s brows draw in. ‘Should you be bouncing like that in your condition?’
‘Thank you,’ I hear Max say gruffly from over my shoulder. His fingers find my elbow, his touch shocking me with its authoritarian disposition. ‘No. She shouldn’t be bouncing like that.’
Konnor frowns at Max. ‘Max,’ he says, and that is apparently his greeting. ‘You fucking knocked up my sister. I should kick the crap out of you.’
A pleased sigh breaks from Max. ‘And I thought this event was going to be boring.’
‘Remember where you are, Konnor,’ Blesk says softly.
‘Right, that’s enough testosterone-based bullshit,’ I hear a female voice say from behind me. I turn to see Blesk’s best friend Elise approaching in a black fishtail gown, and my whole face lights up. I’ve only ever met her once, but she made an impression – the good kind. She is about my size – petite – and she has blue eyes and brown hair and mismatched nail polish.
Elise eyeballs Max. ‘I don’t even know you, but you have trouble written all over your face.’ I nearly choke on a laugh. ‘And you.’ She points at Konnor. ‘This is a very important evening for you, so behave yourself appropriately.’ Then she is all smiles and weirdness when her eyes land on me. ‘Congratulations on the baby, Cassidy.’ She cuddles me hard. ‘Are you happy?’
We break our embrace, and I nod. Looking up at Max’s weaved brows, I giggle. He is staring down at Elise like he has no idea how to handle her. Most people know him, so the fact that she doesn’t is hilarious. I doubt anyone would usually talk to him like that.
I glance back at her. ‘I am very happy.’
She shrugs at Konnor. ‘Then why are you all cranky-pants about the baby? She’s happy. And he’ –she looks at Max again– ‘is kinda scary but hot. I think he’s happy too; are you happy too?’
He clears his throat. ‘I need a drink.’
I cover my giggle. ‘We are very happy.’
Max reaches for a waiter and pulls a beer off the serving tray before draining half the bottle. ‘Cassidy makes me happy,’ he states before grinning at her, that charming dimple setting into his masculine face. His mien is dangerous and sexy and smooth all at once. My heart expands at the sight of him trying to be sociable when I know he hates small talk.
She leans against me, muttering, ‘He’s kinda intimidating. In like, a hot way. A scary way. Is he trouble? You can tell me.’
‘He’s a right menace,’ I whisper through a silly smile. I touch Max’s arm. ‘This is Elise, Blesk’s best friend and-‘ My eyes are suddenly locked on Jaxon as he appears through the crowd with a glass of water in his hand. I jump up and down, squealing a little. ‘There’s Jaxon.’ He is Konnor’s best-friend. They play rugby together, and by the way Jaxon is tilting his chin at Max, I suppose they know each other too. Jaxon is built like Max but shorter, so he looks quite stocky. He passes Konnor the glass of water before moving behind Elise. Wrapping his arms around her middle, he rests his head on top of hers.
I grin so hard my cheeks ache. ‘Hi. You two are so cute. When did this happen?’
Jaxon chuckles. ‘She finally wore me down.’
‘Wore you down?’ Elise drawls. ‘You have been waiting for me outside of my dorm every day since we met in case somehow, between my room and the entrance to my female-only dormitory, I get hurt or trip or fall into someone’s arms. He basically stalked me. I really should have just called the police.’
I giggle.
Jaxon grins at me. ‘Little C, hear you’re in the family way. Congrats. And ah’ –he looks up at Max– ‘you too, mate. Congrats.’
‘Thank you,’ Max says, feigning a casual demeanour, his stance loose and easy, convincingly so. His jaw is set tight though; it’s a small thing, but I notice it. I know that all this baby talk is grating on him, making him feel like someone is right in the middle of our business, riffling through it, having a say on it. And I imagine that it feels like fingernails scratching inside his brain because my lover is a private man who shares with only his family and me – and even then, I have to sweet talk it out of him.
After downing the rest of his beer, Max places his hand on my lower back and leans towards me. His lips meet my ear. ‘I’m serious, little one. Stop fucking jumping around or I’ll do something to limit your movement.’
I twist my head to meet him, a smile playing with a corner of my lips. ‘Like what?’
He lowers his voice further, adding a luscious growl to it that forces the air from me. ‘Like put a ball up your pretty little arsehole so every time you jump, it bounces inside you.’
My cheeks burn and I giggle nervously through the next sentence. ‘I kinda want to jump even more now.’
We chat amongst ourselves, but Max seems to know a lot of other guests and they keep approaching us. He introduces me each time though, making me feel wonderful and at ease even with the constant flow of women wanting his attention and asking about our relationship with insincere interest.
‘So Max Butcher does have a type then,’ one girl says, twisting her strawberry-blonde hair around her finger.
‘My type is Cassidy Slater,’ Max replies, and I swoon.
At the sound of the announcer, we make our way over to our lavishly set circular tables. We eat three courses and talk, keeping things light even though the whole night is about something so heavy and personal, it’s hard to concentrate. Thanks to Elise, there is never a dull moment or a lap in conversation.
Nearly everyone at our table appears to be keeping their beverage intake virginal, and I suppose it is out of respect for my recently reformed big brother. Max, though, has been enjoying his beers with enthusiasm.
Konnor has barely said a word, but he has been displaying that double dimpled smile all night. The one he often has around Blesk. I’ve been watching him intently, worrying about what this might be doing to him. Being here. I wonder if anyone knows who he is? If they do, they are all purposely leaving him alone.
Casually leaning back in his seat, Max drapes his arm across my chair, his fingers making little patterns on my neck and shoulder. Their course across my skin is claiming. Hot. Intense. They whisper a yearning. I feel a shiver rush through me. Turning, I catch him nailing me with a powerful stare. His touch no longer whispers but screams instead.
As my cheeks heat up, he brushes his knuckles down them. ‘You’re blushing.’
I glance across the table at Konnor but find him staring at his food, shuffling the pieces around, not conversing with anyone.
I twist to face my Max. ‘Want to make good on your promise? You wouldn’t want me to mistake you for a gentleman again, now would you?’
‘Fuck. Little one, you’re a bad influence.’
I giggle at that. ‘As if.’
Over Max’s shoulder, I am suddenly struck with the sight of Butch and a young lady, sitting a few tables away. Max turns to follow my gaze, his brows drawing in together when they land on his finely dressed father.
I place my hand on his thigh. ‘What’s your dad doing here?’
Max stares at them, his eyes scrutinising the pair. Sliding out from the table, he begins to stride towards them. I quickly fall into step beside him, not wanting to be left behind. He entwines our fingers and I smile, thankful he didn’t tell me to go back to the table, thankful he didn’t tell me this is none of my business.
‘What’s this I see?’ Max laughs, eyeing Butch and his pretty guest.
Butch twists in his seat, doing a double take when he sees us. ‘Well, well.’ He stands and pats his son on the shoulder. ‘How is smiling at people working out for you?’
Max smirks, seemingly amused by the comment. ‘Fuck, Clay has a big mouth.’
Butch just grins, and for a moment I see Max – older and more weathered, but the similarities are blatant. ‘He was impressed with your proposal, as was I.’ I blink at them, not sure exactly what’s going on or why I somehow feel strange about it. Turning his attention to me, Butch’s smile softens into a genuine curve that makes his chiselled masculine features somehow less so. ‘Cassidy, you look beautiful. How are you feeling?’
‘Full. The duck was fricking amazeballs,’ I say and then catch the eyes of the brunette lady sitting beside Butch. She is circling the top of her whiskey glass with her finger and chewing on the inside of her lip. Smile lines beside her eyes and mouth denote both her age and her nature.
‘Amazeballs?’ Butch chuckles. ‘Did you hear that, Louise?’ He turns to acknowledge her – Louise.
‘I agree,’ she says, gazing brown eyes up at us. Her mien is gentle and humble. ‘Amazeballs.’
I grin hard at her.
‘This is Louise,’ Butch says. ‘Louise, this is my son, Max, and his far better half, Cassidy.’
She nods, an almost demure and coy slant to her lips. ‘It’s lovely to meet you both.’
I wave awkwardly. ‘Hi.’
‘Where’s Victoria?’ Max teases. I shuffle uncomfortably and glance at the ground. I half expect crickets to sound but instead, Butch answers with little duress.
‘She doesn’t come to this event.’
Before anyone can reply, the clapping of other guests draws our attention to the front. As the presenter takes the stage, the crowd quells their conversations.
The presenter taps on the microphone.
Butch sits back down. ‘We will talk after. Sit with us. My other guests left early.’ He motions to a few empty chairs. I glance over at Konnor as we sit, still worried about what this all means or doesn’t mean to him. Maybe it’s just too much to absorb. It feels that way to me. They literally created this charity in memory of him. He is silently and helplessly a part of it, and no one even knows. When the presenter begins to speak, I stare at the stage.
After introducing and thanking the main organisers, he then begins to thank the donors. ‘I’d like to pay a special tribute to Luca Butcher,’ he says.
My eyes widen and I turn to stare at Butch, who is casual and unaffected by the attention. Maybe even a little displeased by it?
‘He has been attending this charity since its inception and to date-‘ he looks at a piece of paper- ‘has donated over five hundred thousand dollars.’
The room erupts in applause. Once it quiets again, other donors are thanked. After a few minutes, the screen behind the presenter lights up with the image of a beautiful young women – Konnor’s biological mother. An acute ache moves through my chest and I find Konnor again. He is blinking at the screen, mouth parted, breathing heavily with emotion. Blesk has her hand on his shoulder.
The man on stage continues to talk, sharing Madeline’s story – Konnor’s story. He details the night Konnor was taken from his bed. The nightmare Madeline endured trying to find him. He tells us about her single mindedness, giving up everything else in her life to become solely a mother searching for her little boy. He tells us about her sudden illness.
Her death.
My lower lip quivers.
I can feel Max studying me. I can always feel him; our connection is that profound. He hangs his arm over my seat again, sliding the entire chair closer to him until I am pressed snugly against his body.
The presenter continues to talk. He tells us about the light at the end of this dastardly tale. They found the boy. Alive and, for the most part, well. He was given a new life and a new beginning. I know this better than most because it was with us. With me. The presenter clears his throat, pauses, and then looks straight at Konnor.
I smother my outward gasp.
‘We have a very special guest with us today,’ he says, his voice hesitant. ‘I only just realised this myself, and I have been wrestling with what to do about it. I wanted to leave him his anonymity. But I also wanted more than anything to shake his hand. To pat him on the back. To share my deepest respects and admiration. Madeline’s boy is here today.’
A high-pitched crack breaks the quiet beside me. Glancing over, I see Butch holding a shattered glass in his fist, blood leaking out from between his fingers. No one outside of our table has noticed. He quickly grabs a white cloth napkin, wraps it around his hand, and excuses himself. I’m sure he forgets his own strength, just like Max does on occasion.
My gaze is pulled back to Konnor, who is struggling to keep his composure while everyone looks at him in awe. He breathes in deeply and then slowly stands. When everyone applauds him, I can no longer hold back my tears of joy. For the first time in his life, he’s close to having a relationship with her. He’s right there, standing opposite her image, being referred to as her son. As the clapping continues, the genuine nature of the applause becomes apparent and Konnor’s face transforms from tight with discomfort to soft with emotion.
I wipe at my tears, rolling my eyes when I notice the smudge of black mascara on the side of my finger. ‘He’s so brave.’
Konnor’s eyes find mine for a moment and his well up too.
He mouths, ‘I love you.’
And my throat tightens further. ‘I love you too.’
