Getting Even

“Am I going to be able to stop you?”

“Nope.”

CHAPTER TWO (#ud4cf92d5-f66d-5682-8d96-80b2d2ca9591)

THE WEDDING WAS over and she hadn’t fainted. Yippee.

Now for the tricky part. Getting out of the chapel ahead of Rafael, fighting her way to the front of the throng of well-wishers swamping the bride and groom, and pretending she wasn’t interested in Rafael’s exact whereabouts while doing the kiss-and-hug routine with the wedding party.

But all it took was Romy’s sympathetic voice in her ear, asking, “You okay?” to make her want to scream from nerves.

“Hello!” she said, exasperated. “I told you I’d be on my best behavior. What did you think I was going to do?”

Matt dragged her away from Romy, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug. “Hire a hit man, of course,” he said.

Veronica kissed him on the cheek. “Now there’s an idea!” she said as he released her. “I must call Scarlett and get the name of hers. Although I think she calls him an enforcer, not a hit man.”

“What the fuck? Go, Scarlett!”

“She’s not dating him, Matthew. She knows him in a strictly client-privilege way.”

Matt swung around to beckon to Teague, who was multitasking with a piece of paper in one hand and his cell phone at his ear. “Keep an eye on Table Two tonight, will you? Do your best to stop the bloodbath V’s planning.”

Veronica gave a thump to one of Matt’s massive shoulders. “I’ll hire the enforcer to take you out if you’re not caref—” Breaking off as the implication hit. “Hang on. What do you mean Table Two?”

“He’s on Table Two,” Teague chipped in, disconnecting his call and leaning in to kiss Veronica on the forehead. “And he’s about a hundred feet away, waylaid by at least seven, eight...no, ten autograph hunters, who are besieging Felicity, because Romy’s friends clearly have no pride. So if you want to get away, now’s the moment.”

Veronica turned, saw Felicity chatting animatedly and signing what Veronica assumed were Orders of Service from the wedding. Rafael was beside her, smiling benignly but looking preoccupied.

For a moment she couldn’t breathe and was grateful when Teague moved her a little to the side to make room for other guests to talk to Romy and Matt.

“You look like you’re going to pass out,” Teague said.

She shook her head then nodded. “I need to duck back into the chapel and out the side exit. There’s a mausoleum.”

“Er...”

“Yeah, a mausoleum! Go figure! Tremenhill Estate really is a one-site-fits-all proposition, isn’t it? Births, deaths, marriages. The chapel, the reception hall, the manor house, the cottages, the mausoleum, where I really need to be. I’m staying here, you know—or maybe you don’t know. In a cottage, not a crypt. And I’m giving zero fucks, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Yeah, I can’t say I’ve noticed zero fucks so far. You’re babbling, just FYI.”

“That’s vasovagal syncope. I think it means I’m going to faint. So I’d better stop talking and go sit down.”

“Fuck.” He brought her close, his arm under hers. “How far away is your cottage?”

“Walking distance. Why?”

“Because I’ll take you there.”

She pulled away from him. “No! No, no, no. I’m just going to walk calmly away, call my sister and let her talk me out of murdering that bastard, while you—” giving him a little push in the direction of Romy and Matt “—do your duty, smile in the wedding photos and impress everyone with your sunshine-and-light act.”

“Okay, but—”

“Teague! If I was going to faint, it would have happened mid-babble. Please let me at least pretend to be giving zero fucks.”

He gave her a searching look and then sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But you come and get me if you need me.”

She waited until he was back with Matt and Romy, then gave him a quick thumbs-up of reassurance before straightening her spine and walking-not-running toward the chapel. She allowed herself a look over her shoulder as she reached the doorway to find the autographing session was finished. Felicity was now tucked under Rafael’s arm as the two of them made their leisurely way over to the bride and groom. A chill of foreboding raced down her spine as Rafael’s eyes landed on her and she froze like a deer in the headlights, every cell in her body quivering.

He tilted his head as though challenging her—to what, she had no idea—and she unfroze. “Oh no,” she said through gritted teeth. “Zero fucks.” She turned her back on him to enter the chapel, where she wasted no time making her way straight back out again through the infamous side exit she’d eschewed earlier.

She hadn’t known what to expect of the mausoleum, but it was magnificent. A circular stone structure set atop a platform on a grassy hill, surrounded by a veranda whose roof was supported by a series of columns all the way round. A stone path bisecting a pristine lawn connected it to the chapel but also seemed to isolate it, which seemed kind of surreal and yet completely perfect.

As Veronica slowly made her way along the path, she had the fanciful notion that the mausoleum wasn’t only a guardian of souls but a sentinel, keeping vigil over the brooding, untamed moors beyond the estate’s civilized perfection. Bleak, wild and lonely on one side, manicured perfection on the other—like the two halves of her.

She laughed as she ascended the steps, imagining what Scarlett would say if she started describing herself in such terms. Something like Stop hugging trees and get your head out of your ass! most likely.

That was Scarlett—always talking sense. And, by God, Veronica was ready to hear it!

She took her cell phone out of her purse, brought up her sister’s number and stabbed at the call button.

Scarlett answered on the second ring as though she’d been expecting the call. “So you’ve seen him,” she said without preamble.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“I’m scared when I talk to him I’m going to lose it. Or maybe faint. Which would be worse?”

“Maaaybe try to avoid either.”

“If you’re saying I shouldn’t talk to him, why did you let me come in the first place?”

“I didn’t ‘let’ you. Nobody ‘lets’ you do anything. You just do it! As I recall it, I had the temerity to remind you that you still go stratospherically apeshit when someone says his name and you were the one who insisted you were ready for this.”

“I may have been...premature in my assessment.”

“So what are you going to do? Hide in the restroom all night?”

“No.”

“Where are you now?”

“Outside a mausoleum.”

“Hang on! The wedding’s in a cemetery? Never would have picked Romy as a Goth!”

“Romy as a Go—? No! It’s not a cemetery, just a kind of...of burial place, near the chapel.”