Lies(57)

I look to heaven. “Sweet baby Jesus.”

“Is that a no?”

“Since I understand that it’s not about trust or control issues, if it means you’ll relax a little, then I’ll deal with it,” I say. Because I’m not completely ignorant these days when it comes to danger, but I don’t want to live in bubble wrap either. It’s a fine line, finding the balance. “To a degree. But don’t push it, buddy. Any news about Scorpion?”

His tongue plays behind his cheek. A rare sign of nerves from my man of steel. “Crow lost her trail up in Canada. She’s probably on the other side of the world by now, looking for work, regrouping, whatever.”

“Probably,” I say.

“We’ll find her eventually. She can’t hide forever.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with retiring? I mean, I want you safe. But I also want you happy and this life is all you’ve ever known.”

“I’m sure.”

I frown. “It just seemed such a spur-of-the-moment decision.”

“Babe, listen to me.” He plants a gentle kiss on my lips and smiles. “Never will my job threaten or injure you in any way, shape, or form. That cannot ever happen again. There was a moment in Helene’s cottage where I thought you might have been seriously injured or dead. Nearly fucking killed me.”

“I know. I do. The thought of you being in harm’s way does my head in too.”

“We both agree this is the right choice then.”

I hesitate. I can’t help it. “Guess so.”

“I know so.” Another soft kiss. “I choose you. No doubt in my mind about it.”

“Okay,” I say, trying to rid my mind of any and all anxiety. “So how about instead of planning a war, this time we plan a wedding?”

And there’s something in his beautiful blue gaze. Something I can’t quite read. Only it’s there and gone in an instant, making me wonder if maybe I’m just being paranoid. Even more paranoid than he is, if such a thing is possible. His slow smile, however, makes me forget all about that. “Whatever you want, Elizabeth. A wedding it is.”




“How’s he doing?” I ask, reapplying my lipstick for the hundredth time. Not that it needs it. I’m just nervous. Ridiculously so. Or not so ridiculous, considering it’s my wedding day, et cetera.

Let’s do something small, I said. Let’s keep it simple and low-key. Only it didn’t work out that way. For starters, Thom wouldn’t let me, Mom, or Dad pay for a dime of the occasion. We’d already told everyone he’d come into an inheritance and was living off investments from same. It seemed the most plausible excuse for him suddenly having money.

I’m still working, of course, and totally willing and able to contribute. Only Thom didn’t agree. He wanted to spoil me. I have a sneaking suspicion he’s still trying to make up for lying to me for over a year and then the whole me-getting-shot thing. Because anytime I tried to show even the mildest sort of restraint about today, he avidly encouraged or indeed pushed me on to greater excess. I’m ashamed to say it worked.

Basically the intimate, subdued occasion I envisioned became a backyard wedding fit for a Kardashian. I kid you not.

A fancy white tent stands suspended over the deck in case of bad weather, with a flotilla worth of flowers and candles suspended from the ceiling inside. A chef is on location, along with various kitchen, bartending, and wait staff, to see to all of our eating and drinking needs. Meanwhile, the string quartet is busy providing the entertainment.

A chocolate fountain also seemed like a good idea, because why not? Then there’s the seven-layer cake with each layer a different flavor (there’s no possible excuse for this besides me loving cake).

Honest to God, today’s excess is not all my fault. This is the kind of crazy that happens when a wedding planner keeps shoving champagne and cake samples in my direction. Complete bridal mayhem. It’s irresponsible and shouldn’t be allowed. We’ve even got a goddamn rose petal cannon set to go off when we’re declared husband and wife.

Pretty sure Thom just wanted some kind of explosion in the ceremony. And hey, whatever makes him happy.

“He’s got his Terminator face on,” reports Jen from the window.

“No expression at all?”

“Nope.”

“Damn.”

“It’s kind of scary, actually. Like a psycho killer. I’m still not used to seeing him go blank like that.” Jen smooths the black bias-cut silk frock she’s wearing over her hips. Her choice, as agreed. It’s a really nice dress. “Not that I’m calling your soon-to-be husband a psycho killer or anything.”

“Kind of think you are.”

“But not really.”

“Let’s agree to disagree.” I shake my head. “He’s just nervous.”

“Of course he is. Everyone else seems to be kicking back and having a nice time,” she continues. “Though the big blond hairy dude keeps thumping Thom on the back like he’s encouraging him to hack up a hair ball or something. Is this typical soothing, manly behavior?”

“Not sure. But that is actually pretty typical behavior for Bear. He’s probably just annoying the crap out of Thom for fun. It’s how he expresses affection.”