Mockingbird (A Stepbrother Romance #2)(46)

He shakes his head. "Too public, too messy. No, it needs to disappear. I mean to have the job done, have the merchandise delivered, and be out of the country within twelve hours."

"What do they even want a f*cking painting for?"

"I don't know. Sell it? I don't care, as long as they give us a chance to slip away."

"Then we'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives."

"Better than being dead."

"You have a plan?"

"I'm working on it. Access is key. I want the painting out before it's displayed."

He sits up. "Get some rest. I'll lay out what I have for you to study. We have something to do on Saturday."

"What?"

"A wedding. Carol wants a proper ceremony with all her friends."

"Are you f*cking kidding me?"

"I kid you not. You're my best man."

He goes inside, and leaves me laying out on the grass. I pinch my nose and touch my cheek. The blood has clotted. It won't even scar. I slowly get to my knees, then my feet, and send one of the broken swords spinning with a kick. I growl out loud, clutch my hair in my hands and lean on the back of the house. What am I going to do? I'm stuck. I have no choice. It really is over.

It was better this way. Better for me, better for her most of all. I never should have gotten involved at all. I've been a fifth wheel on this whole job, just getting in the way or getting myself in trouble. If I'd never laid eyes on Diana I'd be that much better off.

The way she looked at me today. Her eyes. Such beautiful eyes, so unique. More than just the colors, the spark of light and life, the fire that fills her every mood and movement and word. I want her in a way I've never wanted anything. I was right. I'm in a prison, trapped behind invisible walls, but I'm the one who put them up. I can blame my father all I want to, but he didn't send me looking for hookups or chances to blow money at casinos. I'm the one who did those things, me and no one else.

Diana really does deserve better… and she deserves to make her own choices.

I don't know what to do. I don't want her mother to be hurt. I barely know her, but this is wrong. A no-strings attached lay is one thing, marrying the damned woman is not. He's gone too far, pushed too hard. He's nervous and scared and it's making him sloppy and impulsive, no matter how cool he looks. You know a man when he fights, and I was fighting a man on edge just now. He's going to make a mistake.

I think he's going to get us all killed.

The walk upstairs is a trudge. I'm aching all over, I have a pretty bruise on my face that I hope will fade by Saturday, if we actually go through with this insanity. Avoiding Diana will be easy enough, but in two days I'll have to see her.

God damn it.

After I've showered and thrown my grass stained clothes in the hamper, I fall into bed and stare at the ceiling. After sleeping with Diana all week, lying in bed alone is about the last thing I want to do. I want her here with me so bad. I want to know her. All her stories, all her quirks.

I want to tell her about myself. I want her to know the truth, what I am, what I'm sorry I've become.

We were supposed to be Gentleman Thieves. Anti-heroes fighting the system. Robbing from the rich and… I guess I never gave much to the poor, unless buying too many girl scout cookies counts. The boxes of thin mints sit on the nightstand, lined up like soldiers, taunting me with the smiling faces on the boxes. I'll never be one of those people. Family. Home. These things are not for the likes of me. I thought I was Robin Hood but I'm just scum, just an up jumped lowlife, taking advantage of girls, taking what isn't mine for my own gain.

Oh. Oh f*ck me.

I'm the bad guy.

Better get my sleep. I've got a wedding to attend. I'll have to press my tux, shine my shoes, and get ready to rip out my own heart.

The most beautiful girl in the world hates me now, and for her sake I have to let her.





Chapter 12: Diana





It's not going to be a very formal affair. There is no bridesmaid dress for me, which disappoints me a little.

I was exaggerating about Mom's love life. She dated one guy, Alan, for almost a year. Really sweet guy, always very nice to me, and not in a creepy way. In my girlish way I had hopes that they'd get married, he'd move in, and, well, I'd have a dad. I wanted to be a flower girl; back then I was too young to be a bridesmaid. Now I'm going to be the Maid of Honor and there is something deeply wrong about all this. No wedding dress, no huge production. Mom is going to wear a white skirt and blazer and I'm going to wear a simple yellow sun dress. About twenty people are coming.

Steven hasn't invited anybody, as far as I can tell. The groom's side will be filled out by, well…

Apollo. Apollo is coming with him. He would be, I suppose. He might be the best man. The ceremony is going to be performed in the living room. The reception will be outside, on the green. The museum will be open during all this. Mom insisted, apparently. I am not looking forward to this at all. It's now about nine in the morning, and the wedding is at noon. Mom, being Mom, is already dressed, and pacing in her bedroom. The last time I saw her, she was barefoot, her pumps sitting next to the bed. She doesn't usually wear heels. They're red. I didn't know she owned them.