Page 42 of Deny Me
Becky. Elliot. Saint, if she didn’t count his teasing as a hard time. That was about it.
“I don’t trust King to keep you safe,” Mom said.
“I know.” She pulled the edges of her robe tighter, refusing to give in to the urge to retreat to the nearby bathroom and never come out again. If only fixing what was wrong between her family and King—or heck, evenherand King—was that simple. “Mom…”
“You know I’m right.”
“No, I don’t know any such thing.”
“Well, I do!” Her mother seemed to surprise herself with the force of her words. Lips that had once been full with youth now pressed hard together, trying to keep her argument inside. Charlotte prayed she’d succeed, but the hope of that felt slim. There was too much going on, too much pressing at them from all sides; her parents could only be expected to put up with so much before they let their true feelings loose.
“Mom.” Charlotte cleared her throat. If she didn’t put her foot down now, they would never work their way past this, and they had to, no matter how much easier it would be to ignore it. “Mom, you know I love you and Dad, and I would never want to disappoint you.”
“But?”
“But…” She tried in vain to ease her death grip on the robe’s lapel. “What I choose to believe about King or do with him is my business. I need the two of you to understand that.”
“So you are getting back with him?”
“I—” How to answer that? It wasn’t her decision alone, but if it was? “There is too much going on to decide something like that, but pressure from you and Dad is not going to make things go your way. I have to make that call when the time comes. But now is not that time.”
Her mom opened her mouth, probably to argue, but a knock at the door forestalled her.
“Charlotte, about ready?”
Elliot.Charlotte moved back to the bed and dropped her robe. “Just a minute!”
Five minutes later the dress was hugging her curves in sinfully cool silk, four-inch heels gave her a bit of height, and carefully applied makeup helped cover the evidence of too much drama and not enough sleep in the past week. She exited the bathroom to find Elliot standing with her mom, a black sheath dress doing wonderful things for her athletic curves.
“Nice!”
Elliot glowered in Charlotte’s direction without meeting her gaze. “I don’t want to hear a word about it.”
“Why not? You look gorgeous.”
Her mom waved away the words. “I already tried, Charlotte.”
“Well, we’ll just have to try harder.”
“To what?”
The gravel-rough voice came from the hallway. Charlotte swung around, silk floating against her skin, and caught her breath at the sight of King standing in the door in formal wear that did even more for his muscular body than the tight T-shirts and snug fatigues that made up his uniform.
“To…uh…” She glanced between Elliot and King. “Never mind.” Snatching up a thin shawl and clutch, she gave her mom a passing kiss and headed for the door. “Let’s go.”
Saint played chauffeur. When Charlotte followed Elliot into the back seat, she found the woman sitting on the backward-facing bench with a handsome dark-haired man Charlotte hadn’t seen before. Once she was settled, King beside her in a black tux identical to the newcomer’s, the man reached out a hand. “Deacon Walsh,” he said, his deep voice and the dangerous edge around his eyes making her shiver. “Elliot’s fiancé.”
Charlotte’s wide-eyed glance at Elliot was intended to convey how impressed she was. The woman actually blushed deep enough for Charlotte to see the pink in the twilight inside the car.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Deacon,” she said, making no attempt at all to hide her grin. He returned it with a roguish tilt of his lips before dragging Elliot close against his hip.
“Deacon has security experience,” King began.
“A lot of experience.” Deacon smirked.
Charlotte could hear the eye roll in King’s response. “Of course he does.” He cleared his throat. “They’ll be shadowing us at the ball for close-cover security.”
“I appreciate your help,” Charlotte told Deacon.
