Page 71 of Whiskey Kisses

Locating the Band-Aids and a tube of antibiotic ointment, he dries my hand and proceeds to bandage the tiny wounds. I stare at him as he works, my heart throbbing at how sweet he’s being. At how far away I feel from him, even though my hand is in his. “You’re good at this,” I say quietly.

He glances up, one side of his mouth crooked in a smile. “Lots of experience.”

“That makes sense.” I examine my fingers, now barely feeling the sting. “Thanks.”

“Any time.” Tristan settles his hands on either side of the sink, looking at me.

“What?” I turn my face with a self-conscious laugh. “My pasta …”

“Forget the pasta.” Squeezing my hips, he lifts me onto the counter and stands between my knees.

“But it’s the only thing I know how to cook,” I whisper to his shoulder.

“Timmy said you were asking about me,” he says.

I huff, betrayed. “Timmy has a big mouth.”

“Timmy’s loyal,” he corrects, one hand curving around my waist. “And he’s right. If you have questions, you need to ask me.”

“Have you ever killed someone?”

He lifts his chin. “Don’t ease in slowly or anything, Detective.”

“Fine.” I back off, not sure I want to know the answer to that anyway. “What did you do all day?”

“Meetings, mostly. We brought on an independent accounting firm to handle the distillery’s bookkeeping, and today was their first day.”

“You don’t waste time,” I say, impressed.

“Had to act fast. I didn’t trust your dad not to tamper with the records. The firm’s starting with an audit of the distillery’s current finances so we can get an idea of where it’s at. Then I met with the security team I hired.” He looks down at his phone suddenly, quickly typing something before putting it away again. “As of today, we got guys posted in the distillery parking lot and at the West Saint Julian Street warehouse.”

“I see.”

“And then I had a meeting with our local broker, Kenny. He’s been working on this deal with us—and your dad—for a couple years now.”

“A couple of years, really?” I say in surprise. “So, my fatherwason board with giving up the distillery at one point.”

“I don’t know.” He grabs his towel from the rack, giving his rain-soaked hair a quick rub. “He could’ve been trying to buy himself sometime by telling us what we wanted to hear. Or maybe he was gonna go through with it, but then something changed.”

“What do you think would’ve changed?”

“Honestly?” he says. “His relationship with the Deschamps family.”

Like a lot of the influential people in this town, the Deschamps have always been on the periphery of Daddy’s social circle. He’s motivated by status, and they have plenty. I’d had no idea that they were business associates, though, so their closeness had come as a genuine surprise the day he told me I was to marry Cole. “You think he was already trying to form an alliance with them?” I ask.

“Possibly,” he says slowly. “The timing of his pulling back from our deal is a little suspicious. Maybe he thought he found a better offer, or protection.”

“Protection from what, though? He made it sound like me marrying Cole was purely transactional. Just business,” I say. “Like the marriage would give them a share in the distillery and that they’d take care of any outstanding debts to other people. Including y’all.”

“I think it was more like if he got their support, he wouldn’t need to honor his deal with us anymore. He’d have enough backing to try and wipe his debt clean off the board. Forcefully if necessary. But I doubt it would’ve played out the way he was expecting.” Tristan tosses the towel aside, returning to me. I try to focus on him and not the friction of his damp jeans against my thighs. “You know how that family rolls. They would’ve owned the distillery, him, and you.”

A queasy feeling arises, a disconcerting loss of equilibrium. Had Tristan not offered to marry me, my life would have turned out a lot differently. “I’m not surprised my father was playing such dangerous games, but it still hurts knowing he’d use me to win.” I touch Tristan’s face, running my thumb over his newly shaved chin. “Like I was nothing more than a pawn.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Do you play chess?”

I shake my head.

“A lot of people see pawns as expendable. They’re of little value, so it’s easy to sacrifice them for positional advantages. But skilled players recognize the value of the pawn.” He takes my hand, kissing one of my bandaged fingers. “See, pawns can block enemy pieces. They can capture them.” He kisses another finger. “And if a pawn manages to reach itsopponent’s back rank, aka enemy territory, it can be promoted to a queen.”

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