Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Of course, there probably are sniper rifles hidden around the property. I’ve played the violin in the room beside Liam’s office every day for the past six years. I can hear him even when he thinks I’m focused on the strings. He would see the wedding as an opening, something that an enemy could exploit. There would be even more defenses in place today.
Liam is the best man, looking austere and remote in his tuxedo, standing with Hassan at the makeshift altar. There are faint shadows under his green eyes, the only hint that he did anything other than sleep. They’re interesting, those shadows, because of how rare they are.
This is a man who doesn’t show signs of weakness.
It might be daunting to some brides, the preponderance of stern, muscled men filling the white folding chairs. Jane teaches kindergarten at the local elementary school. Nothing scares her. That’s what she told me the first time we met, and it looks like it’s true. She’s beaming in her white dress with lace that cups her bodice and flares out to a wide skirt.
Hassan swallows hard as she steps out of the tent, his eyes glittering.
Play whatever you want, she told me. I’m sure it will be beautiful.
So I play the song I would want if I were to get married, the one I’ve imagined walking down the aisle to, even though I’d never admit it out loud. Pachelbel composed “Canon in D” to play with three violins and a bass continuo, but I love it even more with a single lilting strain. My Nicolo Amati violin is small and proud. It prefers to play solo. That’s where it really sings.
My troubled gaze finds Liam. He’s watching me, those green eyes sharp in the sunlight. He owns the land we’re standing on, acres and acres of it. He owns the company that employs almost everyone here. He’s a leader and a soldier and a confidant to the men beside him.
And he’s my guardian. He wouldn’t hurt me. I have to believe in that, because without that I don’t know what I’d think. I don’t know who I could trust.
I try to imbue the words into the bow, into the strings—I trust you, I trust you. But I’m afraid they aren’t completely true. I love him. I need him, but I don’t necessarily trust him. Maybe it’s part of growing up to realize that they aren’t the same thing—and I’m forced to look away.
He finds me after the ceremony. “We should talk.”
I give him a pointed look.
“Still giving me the silent treatment?”
When I was twelve years old, on the cusp of homelessness, of ruin, it was enough to know Liam would take care of me. I didn’t need details. Maybe I didn’t want details.
Now it feels scarier not to know, to go into the world misled.
Without a word I tuck my violin case beneath the risers near the house. It’s always strange to walk around carrying something worth a quarter of a million dollars. Some people say the violin is like a limb, but it’s more than that. It’s my heart. My soul.
And it’s sitting in a velvet-lined case on the grass. No one would dare steal from Liam North, and technically the instrument belongs to him. How vulnerable it makes me to have something vital to my existence belong to another human being.
A massive white tent covers endless platters of meat, pork belly sliders with homemade coleslaw and beef chuck-eye roast with a paprika herb rub. The bar serves blueberry mojitos with muddled mint leaves and fruit.
A little glass pot contains scoops of warm tri-colored mashed potatoes. I add chives and shredded cheese before carrying it with me, circling the edges of the party. This far away I can see Liam with a mug in his hand, surrounded by people. He’s holding court, I realize. Some of the guests are clients of the company. Even wealthy men, successful men, look to him. He grants his audiences rarely with a reserved nod.
He gives approval even more rarely.
Josh slides into the seat beside me, a beer in his hand. “Nice job on the music,” he says. “Half the bridesmaids started crying, I have a hell of a time hitting on a girl with mascara running down their cheeks.”
That makes me snort. “I wouldn’t think that would stop you.”
“Well, I’m not saying I’m going to stop.”
“If you want my advice, pick one this time.” There was an incident last year where he’d lured two women into his bed for a threesome. Except he had only mentioned it to one of the girls. The other one had not been pleased to realize she wasn’t the only one joining him.
“In my defense, I was falling down drunk.”
“How is that a defense?”
He grins, unrepentant. “She still called me for a date the next day.”