Page 46 of Bourbon and Proof

She blinks and stays quiet. Maybe absorbing everything I’ve just said or planning my demise. Her unpredictability is as enticing as it is terrifying.

“Then what? After you get your portion of the business and after my father...after all of that settles, then what?” she asks, sinking back into the chair. “After all of it, we just stay married? You have to have an exit strategy, Ace.”

I grit my jaw.If it were up to me, there’d be no exit strategy.The thought of it ending feels wrong, regardless of it being an integral part of an agreement like this.I’m so fucked.“I’ll let you decide. When it’s enough. When you say, then we stop.”

She glances at the board, and then back at me. “And you’ll be okay with that—allowing me to be in charge of how this ends?”

“Yes,” I say, watching her think through her next move. “I would prefer that this marriage look as real as possible. If there are things you need or want, then you need to ask for them. I’m not a mind reader, and I don’t want this ending in either of us hating the other.”

“I don’t think I could ever hate you,” she whispers.And I could never hate her. “If you meet someone and?—”

“I won’t,” I say, looking her in the eyes, leaning forward, bracing my elbows on my knees and letting the empty glass hang from my fingers.I won’t.“How and when this ends can be up to you.” She doesn’t need to know that an end is the furthest thing from my mind right now. Not with the way she’s looking at me.

She mirrors my pose—elbows braced on bent knees, looking me in the eye. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t want the responsibility. This is a partnership. Plenty of people muck this part up—forget the fact that choosing someone isn’t just about the gesture, it’s the ride.”

“Hadley . . .”

“I’m not done,” she says, glancing at my mouth. “The minute you want to choose something or someone else, you tell me. We’ve both earned that level of respect.”

There won’t ever be anyone else for me.

She moves one of her pawns to the right side of the board. A move I knew she’d make. So I take her knight.

“I refuse to be anyone’s pawn,” she says with a slow smile.

I look at where her eyes just fell and where her rook is set. Wiping my hand across my mouth, I try to erase my impressed amusement. She set a fishhook. In chess, a gambit typically means sacrificing a pawn. But this move sacrifices something higher, a stronger piece to gain the advantage. She isn’t only asmartass with a dirty mouth. My soon-to-be wife just played me. And with strategy.

She tips her glass all the way back, rather dramatically, then gets to her feet and heads for the door. “If you are making plans that involve me, I expect to know about them. I will not be just a player on your board.” Lingering in the doorway, my shirt hits high on her thigh. She looks too good in it. “Careful looking at me like that, I might get the wrong idea...husband.”

With a wink, she leaves my office, just as she calls out, “Checkmate!”

Chapter 18

Hadley

“You’ll marrywho I say, Hadley. You think this life you like to benefit from doesn’t come with sacrifice?” The words my father tutted not long after my eighteenth birthday replay through my mind. I wasn’t surprised that he’d use this as an opportunity to show me off to his friends and see who might step up and make an offer.

I would have much rather been in downtown Fiasco tonight, dancing to bluegrass and country, people-watching, and snacking on Kentucky specialties like Modjeskas and a slice of transparent pie. But instead of Fourth of July fun, I was walking into a stuffy dinner party for my father’s associates who either owed a favor or were angling for one. It usually meant being introduced to someone’s son or brother. And in Kentucky, bastards had brothers. I was turning twenty-five this year—and even now, by most southern standards, I was old.

I plucked a glass of champagne from a passing tray and smiled at the few friendly faces I recognized. The newly elected governor and his brother, a bloodstock agent who had just been folded into the mix, two Russian men who kept to themselves in the far corner of the room, and my father’s business partners, the Kings.

I counted three women—myself included. The other two were slinging trays of hors d’oeuvres. It pissed me off, the lack of women in rooms like this. Fucking boys clubs. Fiasco looked like every other quaint town in southern Kentucky—small and unassuming. But I knew it was filled to its brim with secrets, swimming with liars, and running on agreements. Most of those things usually transpired between people who had similar goals in mind. In this room, it was money and power.

“Heard your girl had a helluva race at the Oaks.”

I leaned against the far wall in the oversized room and looked around at the elbow rubbing and bullshit slinging, trying not to laugh.

“You heard right,” I smiled. He was a good looking older man. I instantly liked him. “She sure did. My father is still sour that she’s not one of his.” Some folks here were in the same boat as me, required to make an appearance. Chief Hawkins, like most of the public officials who showed on evenings like this, didn’t have much of a choice. It was better not pissing in Wheeler Finch’s lemonade by not showing. My father had no problem holding grudges.

“I’m being beckoned,” he said as his brother, the new governor, and my father turned toward where we were. He squeezed my elbow. “Let’s see how long it takes them to talk about money and bullshit committees.” With a wink, he moved away. I shamelessly checked out the way he wore his dress uniform during today’s parade, but right now, he was morecasual in jeans and his Fiasco FD T-shirt. It made him feel more like a friend than a guest.

“Hadley,” my father called out, holding his arm up, as if that was my sign to come and pretend like we were close. With his arm around me, my father showed me off to his other guests.

“My daughter, Hadley. It was her filly that took the Oaks this year—quite an accomplishment.” I felt like I was being paraded around, exactly like one of my father’s broodmares—to be shown off and used for gain.

James Switcher had a receding hairline and an over-inflated ego. And the second my father made introductions, I knew he was angling for a setup.

“Nice belt buckle,” I said, trying to get Switcher to stop staring at my tits.

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