Page 82 of Sins and Secrets

“I’ll be fine.”

Grae pipes in. “Wait, who’s Adam?”

Darren supplies the answer, “Lukas’s half brother and Waverly’s ex who proposed to her a few days ago at his sister’s bridal brunch.”

“WHAT!” Grae screeches through the car speakers.

“Um, seems like a minor detail,” I grumble.

Grae is now relaying the information to his nurse who says, “Dammmmmn.”

I can see the church around the corner, and it’s as good a signal as any that it’s time to shut down this conversation. “We’re here. Got to go.” Grae startto protest but I press the end call button and glare at Darren. “Was that really necessary?”

“No, but it was fun.”

We ride in silence until Darren pulls into the parking lot. In the group chat we had a whole plan about what to do with his car after the wedding ceremony and when we get to the hotel for the reception, but honestly, I wasn’t paying attention.

The group chat has been buzzing all morning. My sister and her soon to be husband have been dominating the conversation with questions and checking in.

T-minus forty-five minutes.

Darren and I grab our stuff and head into the church where the wedding planner leads us to a meeting room. This is the groom holding pen until it’s time to go to the altar.

Down a side hallway by the meeting room, Richard is on the phone. He’s pacing back and forth, rubbing his neck. When I was younger, he seemed like a towering giant of poshness and money, but his tux is rented and he’s pulling at his hair. It’s only because the acoustics of this space makes it easy to hear that I get an inkling of why he’s such a mess.

“No, I didn’t sign those papers. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I can’t imagine how he might feel finding out how much money went missing when I was a kid. I guess it’s still a problem now.

In the meeting room, Kyle is the happiest I’ve ever seen him. He’s got frantic energy, hopping on both feet. “I should’ve rented a bounce house before the wedding.”

“Angie vetoed it because she didn’t want you to break your leg,” I remind him. He side-eyes me and then goes back to bouncing.

Kyle’s dad and a man I assume is an uncle are huddled in a corner, making general small talk. They’re standing, hands in pockets in that ‘I’m trying really hard to look comfortable in a suit’ sort of way. Kyle’s brother leans against the wall, scrolling on his phone. We’re only waiting for about five minutes when the door opens.

Waverly enters with a tote bag in her hands. The bulky tote is out of place in front of her delicate silky dress that drapes extra fabric around her neckline. Her hair is in some ornate braid with foxtail flowers woven through. And her soft pink lips make me want to taste them.

Stepping forward, I take the tote from her. “Everyone looks so fancy,” she says, stepping past me and,holy shit, there’s no back to her dress. It’s just straps, and drips scandalously low to her hips. My tattoo peeks out, my permanent mark on her. She’s not wearing a bra and I’m mostly sure she’s going commando.

Kyle’s brother lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Waverly, you’re sexy as hell.”

Until now, I didn’t have much of an opinion of Kyle’s brother. I never even bothered to learn his name. Now? I’m imagining throat punching him and watching him cough up blood.

This asshat starts approaching her with a too confident swagger, rubbing his chin as he continues to check her out. “Hey, I’m sorry to hear about you and Adam. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”

Yep, I’m going to jail tonight.

She gives him a polite smile. “That’s sweet, but it’s not a loss I’m grieving.”

Well put, love. “What are you doing here?” I say, harsher than I intend.

Her smile could end all the wars in my head. “Angie asked me to check on you guys. She wanted to make sure you were watered and fed before you go to the altar.”

Waverly crosses the room to Kyle, and her sweetness and concern makes him stop bouncing. She brushes his tux with her hands, smoothing it out. “Kyle, what do you know about my family?”

He gives a little chuckle. “There’s rumor you’re in the Irish mob or something.”

Her smile falls slowly, and the glowing kindness is replaced with ice. “‘Or something’ is correct. If you hurt Angie, that will make me very sad, and I’ll have to tell my uncles and cousins.” She leans in closer. “The police will never find your body.”

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