Bride: The Deceit Duet Book One

by Logan Chance

“I won’t be staying with you.” She moves across the dark hardwoods, taking in the fireplace across from the bed, gravitating toward the large floor-to-ceiling window that overlooks the back of the estate. “Wow, that view.”

  “Yeah, it’s phenomenal.” And I don’t mean the valley and greenery nestled between the mountains she’s admiring. The backside of her is as appealing as the front. My eyes travel down her auburn hair that hits just below her shoulder blades, to the jeans she’s wearing that hug the swell of her ass.

  “That’s why I chose this room. The land around here is too pretty not to wake up to it every morning.”

  She turns to me and touches her hand to her neck, accenting the graceful lines. “So, we’ll be sharing that?”

  I look over at the bed with its custom built mattress, knowing exactly what she’s asking. “Is it not to your liking?”

  “I just meant I didn’t know if you and I…” her words fall away from her.

  “Clementine,” I say, ready to come clean with the fact we won’t be sharing a room, but once again, I don’t. “I mean, we will be married. I guess to keep up appearances we should sleep in the same bed. It would look unusual to everyone if we slept in different quarters, don’t you think?”

  She reaches out to trail her hand across the cream-colored comforter, and her amber eyes hit me square in the gut. “Can’t you tell them I snore?”

  “Do you?”

  “No,” she says.

  “I mean, this bed is huge. I’m sure you can stay on your side.”

  “Of course I can. Can you?” She gives a little wink as she moves into the en-suite bathroom. “You won’t be here much anyway.”

  I follow her and lean against the jamb of the door. “Who says that?” I ask.

  “I just figured.”

  Her eyes say everything as she takes in the corner whirlpool tub.

  “Yes, there will be times I may have to leave the country. And yes, those are super jets in that tub.”

  “Oh. The only jets I have in my tub are Tennyson’s.” Her cheeks turn a little pink and I grin at the sight.

  These are luxuries I’ve always had access to. At this point, I don’t even think about them. For some reason, I like that it’s all new to her.

  “Why don’t you relax and take a bath, and I’ll make sure Tennyson has his dinner.”

  Clementine’s lips press together. “No, that’s quite alright. I want to be with Tenny his first night here.”

  “You plan on sleeping in his room?”

  She moves toward the door. “I’ll sleep on the slide if I have to. Besides, we’re not married yet. I won’t be staying with you until we are husband and wife.”

  I smile, pushing off the door jamb. “I figured you’d feel that way, so I’ve had a room set up for you across the hall from Tennyson’s.” I reach an arm out, resting my palm against the frame, blocking her exit. “Until we’re married.”

  Her amber eyes look up at me, and she lets out a breath she’d obviously been holding since we stepped foot in this bedroom. “Good.”

  I drop my arm and step away. “I’m not as big of a monster as you think I am.” She brushes past me. “I have a few things to work on, while you and Tennyson get settled. Let me show you the room you’ll be staying in.”

  She nods and we exit the bedroom, walking side-by-side down the long hallway. Her steps slow as she studies the famous artwork hanging on the walls.

  “Are you an art lover?” I ask.

  “Not really,” she answers. “They remind me of the artwork on the walls at Tennyson’s school.”

  I laugh a little, looking at the Van Gogh, and a few original Monet’s grandfather collected over the years. “Maybe we can hang some of Tennyson’s with these.” I’m sure Grandfather would roll over in his grave to have a child’s drawing next to his prized ‘Salvatore Mundi.’

  “Could you imagine? He’d love that.” She giggles, and then immediately looks like she wants to take it back.

  I kind of want her to as well. The pure sound seeps in my pores, swishing my insides like the blobs of color on the wall. Abruptly, I turn away and resume the walk to the room across the hallway from Tennyson’s and say my goodbyes to her.

  “I’ll see you tonight at dinner. If you need me, you can text me.” And then I walk back down the corridor, past my bedroom, and into the west wing of the property, my brain still haunted by the sound of Clementine’s laugh.

  I enter the office, and focus on the Richard de Kooning painting that cost a fortune, hanging on the wall behind my desk. The splashes of reds, blues, and yellows cost more than Clementine will be paid. I pull out my cell and instead of making sure Ronin paid Blackstone—which should be my first priority—I make a call for custom made frames to add some new artwork upstairs from a very young artist.

  Fifteen

  Clementine

  * * *

  I’ve never been so excited to take a bath in all my life. I could swim in this thing. Tiny flames from the lavender scented votives arranged around the tub reflect on the whirling water.

  I can’t believe I’m actually in this place. It’s like a fairy tale wrapped in a nightmare and tied with a surreal reality. After dinner—without Gabriel— I read Tennyson a story before bed and then sat in the rocking chair in his room for a little while to be sure he was completely out. He handled this transition like a pro. Me not so much.

  I remove my clothing, and my eyes drift closed as soon as I sink into the hot, bubbling water. The muscles in my neck relax, and I weave my fingers through the bubbles, letting the music playing softly throughout the bathroom reenergize me.

  The pressure of the jets work out the knots in my muscles like a masseuse. This is something I could get used to.

  “Clementine,” Gabriel says as he enters my en-suite, “I wanted to…”

  “Get out of here,” I squeal, sitting up and rearranging the bubbles just enough to cover the important areas of my naked body.

  “I just wanted to say...” He stops mid-sentence, his eyes roaming over my body under the soapy water.

  “Get out,” I reiterate. “Tell me over a text.”

  “I’m sorry.” He turns around so he’s no longer facing me. “I just came to tell you I had some clothes picked out for you. All of the new clothes are hanging in your closet.” He sounds almost pleased with himself.

  “New clothes?”

  “Nothing too crazy, just a few new items to play the part,” he says, still turned away from me.

  “Oh, thanks.” I scoop more bubbles toward me, letting my eyes roam over his broad shoulders and down his back. “Do you ever get tired of wearing a suit?” I’m hoping he says yes, because it’s troubling how hot he looks in one.

  He turns around, his large hand roaming over his double-breasted jacket. “Sometimes.” His eyes linger, watching me as the bubbles dissolve into the water around me.

  “Goodnight,” I say, once I realize he doesn’t plan on leaving anytime soon.

  He chuckles a bit. “Sleep tight.” And with those words he leaves.

  I sink lower, letting the water rush over my head. The room is silent, the water blocking out the music playing in the bathroom, but my thoughts are way too loud.

  When I re-emerge, I try not to think about the way Gabriel looks in his suit. Or what’s beneath the shirt and tie. His hair was a little mussed, like he’d been running his fingers through it. It makes me wonder if he’s stressed about this wedding, or if by the end of any normal day his hair looks like that.

  Guess I’ll find out.

  Guess I’ll find a lot of things out.

  One thing I’d like to figure out is why his grandfather chose me. It’s not like I knew the man like Savannah did as his nurse. She used to come here every afternoon and take care of him. I would tell her time and time again not to become friends with the devil, but it’s like she took my advice and did the opposite. She’d spend most of her time here at the Prince estate, waiting on Joseph Prince each day.
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  Savannah was my best friend. There wasn’t anything in the world I wouldn’t do for her.

  We were only a few years apart, and she often times hung around the more popular crowd in school as I hung back, keeping to myself. I’ve always felt that way. Like I’m on the outside looking in. I don’t try to isolate myself away from people, but it’s just something that happens. When I’m with a crowd of people, I find myself remaining quiet, watching, listening, learning from other people. It isn’t a mental decision to try to stand on the outside, it’s just something that happens.

  I think that’s why I like decorating cakes. It’s quiet when I focus on my designs and try to make it all come together. There’s no one else in the kitchen when I bake, and create. It’s soothing.

  Like this tub. I let the water turn almost cold before I finally step out.

  A silk robe hangs on the bathroom door, and I slip it on after drying off.

  Savannah fills my mind as I climb in bed. I cry myself to sleep, letting the memories bleed out through my tears on the pillow.

  “Tell me everything Gabriel related,” Erin says, as I look over the orders for the day.

  “Well, there’s not a lot to tell.”

  “Your life is so different now,” Erin says.

  I shrug. “Not really. Not as much as you think. Just location, really.”

  It’s true. It’s been three days since I moved into his house—if you can even call it a house—and I haven’t seen him once since the night he walked in on me taking a bath. I haven’t even heard anyone utter his name. My days have been filled with getting Tennyson ready for preschool, dropping him off and going to work like nothing has changed. And not much has changed. Well, except that Mayer is now my driver. This being married to Gabriel will be a cinch if he’s never around.

  The bell on the door chimes, and I glance into the green eyes of Darla Rothchild, bridezilla, and hide my cringe. Behind her is her fiance, Jordan Masters, Erin’s childhood friend.

  Last week, the two of them came into the shop to book a cake tasting appointment, and to say Erin was shocked to see him would be an understatement.

  Jordan’s crystal blue eyes, accented by black rimmed glasses, land on Erin before moving to his fiancée. “Slow down, Darla,” he says as Darla barrels toward Erin and I behind the counter.

  Her bag brushes against a display of candles, sending some to the floor. She keeps moving.

  “What does he see in her?” Erin whispers next to me.

  “We’re here for the tasting,” Darla says, stopping in front of us and brushing her red hair off her shoulder.

  I plaster on a smile. “Absolutely, follow me.”

  Jordan picks up the candles, placing them back, then runs a hand through his jet-black hair, leaving it sticking up in an array of madness. He ambles across the store until he stands next to Darla.

  “Hi, Erin,” Jordan says before turning to follow me into the tasting area where we have a table with a white-linen tablecloth for couples to taste cakes before ordering one for their wedding.

  Erin doesn’t answer, and I wish my boss hadn’t booked this appointment. It’s clear Erin isn’t happy about Jordan’s impending wedding, even though she says she hasn’t seen him in years.

  “Where will the wedding be held?” I ask as they take a seat.

  Darla rolls her eyes just a tiny bit. “Well, we wanted to get married at the Juniper. Buuuut,” she draws out the word, “someone bought out all the dates for this month in the off-chance they would get married on one of the days.”

  The Juniper is a five-star, five-diamond hotel with extravagant ballrooms that house weddings for the rich and famous. It’s the place to have your dream wedding.

  “That must have cost a fortune. Who would do that?”

  “Gabriel Prince.”

  I’m speechless.

  “Darla wants to get married by the end of the month,” Jordan says. “Not really sure what the rush is.”

  “Not sure what the rush is?” Darla’s voice escalates after each word. “I told you Daddy wants to make sure we’re married before he moves you up at his company.”

  I decide to change the subject before a fight breaks out. “So, cake,” I say with pep in my voice to get everyone, including me, back on track.

  Darla smiles. “Yes, cake.”

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes with your samples.”

  I head into the back kitchen and grab my phone. I send off a quick text to Gabriel, “Did you book every day at the Juniper for our possible wedding?”

  He takes seconds to answer, “Yes.”

  “Why? Maybe I don’t want to get married there.” Let me get one thing out, I would love to get married there—and may have even dreamed about it a time or two—but, I hate having my choices stripped from me. And this is all so fast.

  “Clementine, you’re testing my patience. Where would you like to get married then?”

  My fingers fly over the keypad of my phone. “At the Juniper.”

  He doesn’t answer for a while, and right when I’m about to set my phone down and get back to work, the usual chime of my notifications is replaced by my ringtone.

  Gabriel’s calling me. Butterflies take flight low in my belly at the sight of his name flashing across my screen.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Are you fucking with me?” I can hear the annoyance in his voice. “You just said you didn’t want to get married at the Juniper, but then seconds later you said you do. If the Juniper is not to your liking, I’ve also put deposits down at the Four Seasons, the Ritz-Carlton, and the Carlisle. We can also have the wedding at the estate. You choose and pick a date this month.”

  “You’re going to let me pick?” I ask.

  “Yes. Choose whatever you want and I’ll be there to say, ‘I do.’ Just plan the whole thing with whatever you want.”

  Since choosing not to get married isn’t an option, I answer, “Two weeks. Saturday at the Juniper. You can cancel the other dates.”

  “Done.”

  The finality of his one word resonates in my bones as I hang up the phone and set it on the counter. I’ve never hyper-ventilated, but this must be what it feels like. I breathe in through my nose and slowly out of my mouth. In two weeks it will be official. I’ll be Clementine Prince.

  When I have some semblance of calm, I plate three slices of cake—traditional vanilla, red velvet, and pink champagne—blocking out the fact I now have to do this for myself.

  When I return, Darla is gone, and Jordan and Erin chatter away at the front counter.

  “Where’s Darla?” I ask, setting the samples on the counter.

  “Outside. She got a phone call from the Juniper. They had some openings,” Jordan says. “I should check on her.”

  He gives Erin a half smile before heading toward the door.

  “You and Jordan looked cozy,” I say to Erin, once he’s out of the shop.

  “We were just catching up,” she says, avoiding my eyes.

  I run a hand down her back and say in a soft voice, “Erin, he’s getting married.”

  “I know.” Her face isn’t happy about the fact that he is. “But, not everyone getting married is in love. Look at you and Gabriel.”

  “I think Gabriel and I are a unique situation,” I say, gently.

  “I know.” She blows out a breath. “I’ve just always had a thing for Jordan.”

  “I know you have.”

  “And he’s not happy with her.”

  “Erin, you don’t know that.”

  “I just wish things were different,” she says.

  I give her a hug. Sometimes, life isn’t fair. I know all about wishing things were different. Unfortunately, wishes don’t always come true.

  Sixteen

  Gabriel

  * * *

  Most of the time, people come to me when I need something. Today is one of the rare instances where I’m too impatient to wait. My private jet lands at the Dubai airport, and I ch
arter a helicopter to take me to Dean Maddox’s man-made private island off the coast.

  He couldn’t just buy a house somewhere exotic, no, he had to have an entire island. I get it, though. When you’re in his line of work, privacy is important. And so is me speaking to him about the wedding.

  After the helicopter lands, I exit and walk to where Dean stands near the helipad on his little oasis. “Must be something pretty important for you to fly all the way out here.”

  I shake his hand. “I’m getting married.”

  “Oh, shit.” He laughs a little and we hop into his golf cart so he can take me over to his main house.

  “Place looks great,” I tell him once he pulls up to his sun-bleached palace. The sprawling house opens straight to the beach, with floor-to-ceiling glass walls that disappear to let the breeze in, allowing the white curtains to wave in the wind.

  “Let’s hope it stays here. I’ve had to bring more sand in to keep the whole damn thing afloat.”

  “Yeah? I’ve been hearing there’s been a few issues.” I exit the cart and look up at the palm trees.

  Dean laughs. “A few?” he asks, sarcastically.

  I follow him inside, glancing around at all the white furniture decorated with sea-green pillows. “It’s a really nice place, though.”

  “Yeah, I invested for one of the bigger islands. I love it.” He moves toward the kitchen that overlooks the main room. “Did you want something to drink?”

  “Got a beer?” I take a seat on a metal stool at the counter and realize I probably need something stronger, because the first thought that went through my mind wasn’t how cool this place is, it was ‘Dean could never have a kid in this house.’ Everything’s white. Floors, furniture, walls. Even his kitchen is immaculate, with white state-of-the-art appliances and cabinets surrounded by granite-white countertops.

  He opens the fridge and pulls out two Heinekens. He pops the top off one and slides it toward me. “Now tell me about this wedding of yours.”

  I take a long swallow of the ice cold beer, letting it coat the back of my dry throat before I launch into the whole deal with my grandfather using this marriage as a ransom over my livelihood.