“What about giving your heart to a murderer?” I ask.
She looks at me, shocked. Her brow knits. Then, she laughs. She actually laughs. “You aren’t a murderer.”
I should feel relief. But I don’t.
Something she sees in my face makes her laughter catch in her throat. “Oh, Brauny.” She runs her hands through my hair, over my cheeks. She pulls my face to hers. “You were only defending yourself. Your people. You think I would have done anything less, that night, had I been put in the same position?”
I search her eyes, her face, looking for the disgust I had feared.
In her gaze is nothing but true, pure love.
My heart runs away from me.
Who is this woman? So certain of her beliefs? So certain of... me?
I’m the luckiest man in the world.
Tell me you feel the same.
I’ll give you my whole life.
I’ll promise you, ‘I do.’
I gather her face in my hands. The kiss is one that comes from the very center of my being.
As our mouths meld together, a deep sense of healing wells within me. Healing for my crime. It’s as if her approval is the forgiveness I’ve been waiting for. The pain of the past melts away.
It leaves me thinking only of my future.
My future is Paige.
I pull away, whispering in her ear, “Marry me. Be my wife.”
She finds my gaze. Her deep brown eyes lock on mine.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
* * *
Luckily, the Bachman Beauties, as Paige has taken to calling them, can put a wedding together in six weeks.
Paige wants longer. I refuse. I would have dragged her down to the courthouse as soon as the sun had risen after the night I proposed if she would have let me.
I can’t wait another minute to make her my wife.
She’s rolled her eyes, huffed and puffed, but I know she is secretly delighted by my intensity.
I’d been stupid to wait so long. Thank God for Mary’s wisdom. And Paige’s love.
I let Paige take care of every aspect of the wedding, save for one tiny detail.
I will pick the dress.
It will be antique white. Satin. Form-fitting. Little cap sleeves showing off her slender arms and smooth shoulders.
It will be Dior. And she will love it.
She insists on paying for the bridesmaid dresses out of her own money. Eventually, I stop arguing with her about it and cave. Paige has decided the gowns will not be matching. They’ll be chosen according to what the woman always dreamed of wearing. Each one unique, like the ladies who would be attending her at the ceremony.
There are thirty of them in total. Half of them in wheelchairs. Plus Jane and Alice.
Paige says there is no way she is choosing between them. She loves them all. And according to Paige, this might be their last chance to be in a wedding.
God, I love this woman.
Luckily, at my disposal, I have a brotherhood of handsome men who share my last name and all have tailors on call. They’ve all fallen in love with Paige. After they met her, it was easy to round up the first twenty-five volunteers. The next five fell in line when I showed them a picture of sweet, single Jane in her nursing scrubs. She has big green eyes, a long blonde ponytail, and an air of innocence about her. I have no doubt there will be a few Bachman Bachelors vying for Jane’s attention at the rehearsal dinner as well as the reception.
It’s dress shopping day for the girls. We stop by the bank first. Paige wants to know the exact amount in her account, so she has a budget. She knows she should have plenty, since I’ve been making her save half her earnings.
When we first opened her account, she knew the rules—half in savings. I’d found out she was cashing all her checks and spending them. I spanked her soundly for it. Since then, I’ve made sure she puts half away.
Not that she needs a penny. I’ll give her everything she desires. But my expectations were clear.
Now, the teller writes the number on a sheet and passes it across the counter to Paige.
I brace myself. I know what’s coming.
Paige reads the number. She balks to the clerk, “But that’s everything I saved, plus as much as I paid Hank for the improvements at the house. And more. It’s more than I’ve ever made at Bachman’s.”
She turns to me, an accusatory look on her face.
I give her a sheepish grin. “I couldn’t let you spend your hard-earned money on fixing up that building. Ingrid lives there.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “How’d you manage it, huh?”
“Quite a bit of it you’ve put in yourself. After our little chat. I paid Hank what you owed him, plus a little extra. He would bring me any cash you’d given him, and I’d deposit it back into your account.”
“Plus a little extra?” she asks, slapping her hand onto her hip.
I shrug. “Plus a little extra. Now take that sassy hand down from your hip.”
There’s a quiet murmur in the crowd behind us. Her face flushes. Her hand drops.
Ms. Beeman elbows her way to the counter, saving the day. “For goodness’ sake, girl. Don’t fight him on it. You sure pick a bad time to throw your feminist notions around. Just look at all these bridesmaids! We’re gonna need every penny that man gave you.”
Lucky for me, Ms. Beeman grabs Paige’s arm and drags her off toward the door. We are due at Daughtry’s.
Glancing over her shoulder, Paige shoots me one long look in false protest. Then a smile.
We both want these ladies to have the very best, today.
I’ve booked the store for the entire day. We’re going to need it. The ladies come to life inside the walls of the boutique. Hooting, hollering, teasing one another. They try on silk, lace, denim. Each one eventually finds the dress of their dreams. The women working rush about. Picking up discarded dresses, grabbing larger sizes from the back. They smile as they work—they know they will earn their largest commission on this day.
Paige’s smile is the biggest of all.
She does so love to bring others joy.
The total comes to more than I spent on my first car. Paige has plenty to cover it. She hands her card over to the salesclerk with a little smirk that makes me think we might have to have a little chat about manners.
Days turns to weeks, time flying by as it seems to do when you’re in love.
We are only one day from the wedding. We have the clothes. The venues. The food and drinks for the rehearsal dinner are taken care of. The church is booked. The hall at the home is already decorated for the first reception. The caterers are prepared with their menu of soft, bland food and heaps of buttercream cake for the party at the home. The private rooftop Bachman reception is planned to a tee.
Things have gone smoothly.
But I’m afraid we’ve hit a little bump in the road.
I’d heard about women becoming difficult before their weddings. Carter filled me in, telling me Sasha was incredibly obstinate since the moment of their engagement (news for Carter: Sasha has always been obstinate).
I just never thought it would happen with my sweet, sweet little Paige.
I was wrong.
It turns out that even Paige can become a Bridezilla before the wedding.
Thank God I have Mary to talk to. She tells me this behavior is perfectly normal. And that I just need to be patient with Paige.
And for goodness’ sake, don’t spank her for it!
But every Bachman man has his limits. Mine just happen to be tighter than most.
And Paige is about to cross my line. Tonight is our rehearsal dinner. Only twenty-four hours to make it to our wedding without taking her sassy ass over my knee.
I think to myself, I can make it. I’m heeding Mary’s advice.
Then, I remember Paige’s change in demeanor and my palm slaps against my thigh.
It’s my wedding. I want it my way.
Those Bachman men
have another think coming if they really think they’ll be decorating our getaway car.
Don’t even think of wearing a tux you already own. It has to be new.
I don’t even recognize my little bride sometimes.
I want my sweet Paige back. There is only one way I know of for that to happen. My hand to her ass.
But Mary has advised, no.
Surely, I can make it one more day. Then, we’ll be married. The pressure of planning the perfect wedding will be behind her and things will go back to normal.
I’ll have my sweet Paige back.
And our souls will be tied to one another for eternity.
She’ll officially be a Bachman.
I can’t wait to give her my name.
Only twenty-four more hours.
Let’s just hope I can keep my promise to Mary.
But everyone knows this about me: I cannot tolerate brattiness.
Chapter Nine
Paige
The rehearsal dinner has to be perfect.
I need to get to the restaurant early to be sure the staff has everything in place, the way I’ve ordered.
We’re hosting the event at Buon Cibo. The Italian restaurant where Bronson bogarted my date with Peter. Who happens to be coming to the wedding.
As a guest of Alice’s.
I can’t be more thrilled for her. After Bronson told me about that dark moment in his past, I’d been hoping, praying she would find love again.
And it looks like she has.
Just like me.
He came to Bachman’s the Saturday after Bronson botched our date. He was hoping for an explanation. Instead, he got a very unfriendly greeting from Bronson, who happened to have his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders.
Alice had shown him the door. They had both stepped out onto the sidewalk, Peter shooting me a curious look. She told me later, he’d asked a few questions about Bronson. She redirected the conversation to his teaching career. She said she found it adorable how his face lit up as soon as he began talking about his students.
They’d grabbed a coffee that afternoon. And he’d been coming back to the city every weekend since.
I rarely see Alice outside of work hours, she is so busy with Peter. And I’m so busy planning the wedding. It’s a lot more complicated than I’d thought it would be.
It’s not the money—Bronson’s personal bank account is apparently bottomless, all legal, thanks to his knack for playing the stock market and making investments. The day after we became officially engaged, he handed me a red leather Hermes wallet, lined with platinum cards and stuffed with cash, telling me all the accounts linked to them were legit. I’ve been as frugal as a woman with my humble past and love of nice things could be. And he hasn’t uttered one word of complaint.
I’ve had plenty of help organizing, thanks to the Bachman Beauties. They’ve lovingly welcomed me into their clan. Of course they were a teensy bit reserved, skirting my questions and not offering up too much information on the ways of their secretive lifestyle. Mary assured me that once I’ve been initiated into the family that will all change. Apparently, the Beauties live for girl talk.
Sasha’s been surprisingly supportive. At first, she refused to even acknowledge my engagement to Bronson—she was too pissed off that I was tying the knot before her. After a little chat with Carter, she’s been nothing but kind and helpful.
Out of earshot of our fiancés, she even taught me a few tricks about laying down the law with your man. I’ve taken her advice, and Bronson is finally letting me do what I want while biting his tongue. Though he does get this pained look on his face when I boss him about. And he’s doing this funny thing with the palm of his hand, slapping it on his thigh whenever I tell him to do something.
He’ll get over it.
It’s not easy planning two weddings. First, we have the simple church ceremony. Everyone from home will be there, and all the Bachmans, to witness what promises to be a tear-jerking show. Then we take my family back to the home for a meal of soft foods and cake. The Bachmans will be waiting at the Village for the second reception—a rooftop evening of drinking and dancing.
Before all that can happen, we have to get through tonight.
Would I have chosen Buon Cibo for my—I mean, our—rehearsal dinner?
Of course not.
I would have gone with something much, much classier. But it’s sweet. Bronson said that was where we had our first official date, and so there it had to be. He’s rented the entire place out. For the whole day and night.
It’s cute how sentimental he is.
But I’m only doing this once. And it must be perfect.
Now, I slip into my little blue dress. Check my hair and makeup for the umpteenth time.
Flawless.
I head down to the street. Bronson’s driver is waiting for me on the curb. He opens the door and I breathe a sigh of relief—Bronson’s respected my wishes to go first, alone to get things the way I want them. He’ll be meeting me there. I hop into the car, and we’re off.
Nervous, excited butterflies tickle my tummy as I watch the shops pass. The minutes tick like hours. I ask the driver to step on it. He shoots me a look that makes me bite my lip. Finally, we’ve arrived. The car slows to a stop. I open my own door. I step onto the sidewalk and take a deep breath.
The hostess greets me at the entrance. I’ve gotten used to excellent service.
I step inside. Delight wells in my chest.
Impeccable.
Huge globe lights hang from the ceiling. Their warm glow shines down over the round tables. Each is covered in a starched white cloth, a gold silk runner cascading down the middle and over the sides. On the runners sit white pillar candles.
Each place setting has a gold charger beneath a white porcelain plate. To the right of each plate, two forks and two spoons sit on a white linen napkin, and to the left, two polished knives. There is a cut crystal goblet for wine, and one for water.
There will be three courses. A soup, a salad, dinner, and a dessert. Red and white wines will be served with the entrée, and just before dessert, a champagne toast.
It is perfect.
I busy myself, rushing around the room, adjusting this and that. The wait staff flock around me, ensuring my satisfaction. Soon, guests begin pouring in. I’m so busy greeting, kissing, hugging, and complimenting them, I don’t know that my fiancé has arrived.
My eye catches his profile as he appears next to me. I turn, my breath catching at the sight of him.
He’s striking.
Dressed in the navy suit I demanded he wear—he has to match me, and I match my diamond—and crisp white button-down, he looks like he belongs on the red carpet. His dark hair is slicked back, giving his good looks a dangerous edge.
I feel sorry for the other men in the room—no one can hold a candle to him.
He kisses my cheek. “You look stunning.” He wraps an arm tightly around my waist. Normally, I love his embrace. But not today, when I’m wearing silk.
I push him away. “Careful. You’ll wrinkle the dress.”
Men.
He grabs my arm, bends down, and whispers in my ear, “May I talk to you a moment?”
“Not now,” I hiss between my teeth as I see more guests arriving. I have to play the role of hostess. Peter and Alice have just arrived.
Catching sight of Peter, Bronson asks me, “What’s he doing here?”
“I invited him. A guest of Alice’s.”
At first, he’s confused. Then, a light shines in his eyes. “Oh. Very good.”
“See. Just leave it to me, I have this thing under control.”
He stiffens beside me. I’m not sure why.
Everyone arrives. It’s time to be seated for dinner.
Bronson links his arm through mine, leading me to the head table. He pulls out my seat, and I slide into it, carefully smoothing the delicate fabric of my dress beneath me.
My face feels warm as I look over
the room. It’s all so beautiful. Guests are chatting, enjoying the ambiance, the wine, one another’s company.
The servers bring out baskets of just baked bread. Dishes of fresh butter sit on the tables.
“Would you like one?” Bronson asks. He reaches out, taking a roll and opening it, steam rising from within. The scent of the bread reaches me. My stomach gives a growl. I hadn’t eaten all day in order to fit into my gown. I’m suddenly starving. He takes his knife, scooping a bit of the butter, and spreads it onto the hot bread.
He goes to place it on my appetizer plate.
I watched in horror as a drop of melted butter drips over the edge of the bread and lands in the lap of my dress.
“Look what you’ve done! You’ve gotten butter on my dress,” I hiss. I’m fuming. Taking my cloth napkin, I dip the corner of it in the ice water and dab at the fabric. The dress absorbs the water and the dark spot spreads. “I can’t believe you did that! So careless.”
I mistake his silence for an apology. When he doesn’t speak, I turn to look at him.
His face is a mask of stony anger.
I gulp and put my napkin down on the table.
His dark eyes flash. His low tone is icy as he speaks. “I would never, ever speak to you in that manner.”
“It’s my dress. For my rehearsal dinner—”
He puts up a hand to stop me. The sheer size of it has me squirming in my chair. “Our rehearsal dinner. And it’s just a dress.”
“Just a dress! Just a dress!”
“Lower your voice or I will lower your panties,” he growls.
A wave of shock runs through me. As well as a tightening in my core.
But his threat is not enough to erase my temper. I lean toward him and hiss between my teeth, “You. Wouldn’t. Dare.” I give him my best ‘looks could kill’ glare.
His brow narrows. “Wouldn’t I?”
There is a moment of silence as we stare at one another. You could slice through the tension between us with the butter knife.
The battle of wills ends with me crying, “Oomph!” as he tugs me by the upper arm, pulling me from my chair.
Bronson turns to Carter on his left. “Excuse us just one moment. Would you please keep the courses coming until we return? My future bride and I need to have a little chat.”
Bronson: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 13