Sacrifice of the Pawn: Spin-Off of the Surrender Trilogy (Surrender Games Book 1)

by Lydia Michaels

  He shrugged. “Passing time.”

  “Does she know that?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe you should tell her.”

  “I will at the right time.”

  Why were men such procrastinators in matters of the heart? Other guests drifted onto the path, commenting on the beautiful landscape and remarking about the happy couple.

  He finished his cocktail. “You ready to go back inside?”

  No. “Sure.”

  When they returned, Monique was dancing with Slade. Isadora glanced at Lucian who appeared to take little issue with his friend and his date sharing a moment during a slow song.

  They weren’t dancing like people who just met.

  “She knows Slade?”

  He nodded. “They’re friendly.”

  Apparently so, going by the way his friend held her in his arms. She glanced back at Lucian. Didn’t he see what she was seeing? There seemed a shared intimate knowledge between the two. Very intimate.

  She bit her tongue, deciding it wasn’t her business to comment. Lucian wasn’t a fool and he would realize if anything inappropriate were going on.

  Toni scowled at them as they returned to the empty table. “You left me alone.”

  “You weren’t alone when we left,” Lucian commented.

  “Well, everyone else left me.” Toni’s glare turned to the head table.

  “It’s a wedding, brat. Try not to look so miserable,” Lucian teased, nudging her shoulder.

  Brothers weren’t always good at noticing subtleties, but Isadora noted the way her sister’s eyes shimmered a bit more than usual and the way her arms wrapped around her ribcage as if holding herself together. Isadora followed her gaze and immediately understood.

  Shamus’s date was a beautiful bombshell. Dark hair pinned high on her head, accentuating her long neck and trim build. There was no arguing with exquisiteness.

  Empathizing, she scooted her chair closer to Toni’s and whispered, “It’s sort of an unwritten rule that those in the wedding party should bring dates. I bet half the groomsmen don’t even know their guests’ middle names.”

  Her sister blinked up at her and her eyes cleared, a fragile smile trembling to her lips. “Thank you, Isa.”

  She smiled and patted her knee. “You’re prettier than her anyway. But he’s still too old for you.” She scanned the room. “That boy over there looks about your age. He’s cute.”

  Toni followed her gaze and made a face of absolute revulsion. “Ew! Gross, Isa. That’s Brice McCleary. He’s a total dickwad.”

  “Language.”

  “Can’t curb the truth.”

  Isa laughed and leaned close to her sister’s ear. “Then learn to whisper.”

  After dinner the dance floor filled and Toni’s mood lightened. Her concern for her sister overshadowed her own turmoil. Which, in a way, helped Isa mask her own pain so not to exacerbate Toni’s.

  Taking her own advice, she pasted on a smile and pretended not to care about things she had no control over at the moment. Later, in private, she would care very much.

  Certain men, unfamiliar men she had no interest in knowing, occasionally glanced Isadora’s way, but she used those moments to talk with her sister, appearing too preoccupied to be disturbed.

  Monique was what Toni called “an attention whore”. But Lucian hardly gave into his date’s nagging, which bordered on relentless. Slade didn’t seem to mind playing stand-in, acting as Monique’s dance partner most of the evening and Isa was starting to see why Lucian didn’t care.

  “I think it’s about time I took my daughter for a spin around the dance floor.”

  Isadora looked up as her father stood across from her table, his hand held out expectantly. Startled and pleasantly flattered, she smiled and placed her napkin on the vacant seat next to her—

  “Annie?”

  Toni tensed and Isadora suffered a sharp pang of envy, angry she still, after all these years, fell prey to his vapid attention. She should be happy to see him acknowledging Toni, who’d gone the longest without a father figure. But being overlooked still stung.

  She nudged her sister. “Go on.”

  Keeping her expression blank, Toni stood and took their father’s hand. As they moved into the crowd, Lucian turned to Isadora, but she ignored his assessing stare, hating to be the source of anyone’s pity.

  “Do you want to dance, Isa?”

  She shut her eyes and forced herself not to laugh. If Lucian danced with her after his date had begged him all night to no avail, the other woman would surely throw a fit.

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.”

  She stared at Toni and their father, hoping to see some sort of bonding, but his focus was elsewhere and Toni looked as if she were about to have a root canal.

  “Care to dance?” Her body tightened as Sawyer’s voice carried over the crooning vocals of Louis Armstrong.

  As she stared up at him, she casually noted her brother’s obliviousness. Still, what the hell was he doing?

  “I don’t think—”

  “One dance. This is one of my favorite songs.”

  She glanced at his table, wondering where his date had gone. “Okay.”

  She rose and he took her arm like an uncle might take his niece’s. The intimacy they usually shared in private was completely masked by his impeccable propriety.

  “What are you doing?” she asked though a tight smile.

  “Dancing with the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  “Sawyer—”

  “It’s just a dance, bella. Try to enjoy it.”

  “People will—”

  “People will hardly notice. Your father’s dancing with Toni and you were sitting alone— a crime . I’m merely being a gentleman.”

  He took her hand and pulled her into step, leading her gracefully across the floor. It was the first time they ever danced together, the first time they ever did anything remotely intimate in front of others, yet it wasn’t intimate at all. It was hiding in plain sight and she hated it.

  Her frustration from earlier returned and despite knowing she should wait until they were alone to discuss his actions, she couldn’t help herself. “Who’s your date?”

  He grimaced. “A colleague. She’s on the board at the shelter with me.”

  “She’s pretty.”

  “Do you think?”

  “I do. What’s her name?” Her voice pitched with blasé inflection, fully patronizing him.

  “Paula. Where’s your date?”

  “Slight miscommunication.”

  “Bella, you know we couldn’t be ourselves here. Your father’s sharing my table.”

  That point was made clear the moment he held her arm like a valet driver would assist a stranger. “I don’t want to talk about it. The least you could have done was told me you were bringing a guest.”

  He waited a moment, then whispered, “You’re right. I’m sorry. Slade insisted I bring someone and I assumed you’d do the same.”

  “Why would I do that, Sawyer?”

  He frowned at her like she was speaking gibberish. “Isadora, I’m always encouraging you to keep your options open.”

  How open could they be when they’d been in a monogamous relationship for years?

  “I’m not discussing this here. I didn’t bring a date, because I didn’t want to. End of story. But in the future, a little advance notice on your end would be nice.” But she couldn’t let it go. “So much for exclusivity.”

  “She’s just a friend, bella. I told you there would be situations when social conduct dictates how I attend certain functions.”

  “Fundraisers and things that raise money for causes based on head counts. This is a wedding.”

  “I already apologized. I can’t change anything now.”

  “Then let’s drop it,” she snapped, regretting she’d brought it up at all.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  The song played and he l
ed her easily with the tempo. “You really are the most beautiful woman here tonight. The bride likely hates you.”

  That got a chuckle out of her. “She does not. Vivian’s my friend.”

  “Sometimes friends hate each other. Jealousy can do nasty things to a person.”

  “Are you suggesting I’m jealous?”

  “No, I know you’re smarter than that. You wouldn’t waste jealousy on a meaningless association. You know where my interests lie.”

  She hated that she needed to hear that, but his assurance eased some of her tension. “We could sneak away for a moment.”

  “Not here.”

  His quick rejection struck her with the preciseness of a bayonet.

  He studied her for a long moment as they glided beside other dancers. “You’re disappointed, but I think you know better. Everyone knows us here. We would get caught.”

  Oh, the horror.

  He sighed. “I’d understand if you danced with other men.”

  “I said, we’re not having that discussion here.” Her jaw locked and she blinked rapidly.

  “I’m not the only man watching you tonight. Look around. You could have your choice of any bachelor in the room.”

  “I’ve made my choice.”

  “Make another. At least dance with someone.”

  “Sawyer—”

  “Please,” he whispered. “I deserve it.”

  Her vision blurred and she tried to hide the rush of tears prickling her eyes. A dance was all she was able to get from him tonight, so dancing apparently meant a lot more to her than it meant to him. “You’re ruining this song.”

  “You’ve spent the entire evening talking to Toni and using her as a buffer every time men approach your table. I’ve been watching you. What’s the harm in talking to other people?”

  The song ended and a much faster one began. He released her hand and she glared at him. Surrounded by strangers, there was no proper way to say all she wanted to say without making a scene.

  She loved him, and she truly believed he loved her on some level, too. Yet here he was, trying to pawn her off on the other male guests.

  Maybe he was trying to ease his own guilt. It made no difference. His persistence and pretended indifference infuriated her, insulted her on so many levels.

  Dancers crowded around them, laughing and smiling while her heart trembled in her chest. “What do you want from me, Sawyer?”

  “I worry you’ve made this so much more—”

  “ We made it more,” she snapped, refusing to accept that he couldn’t take accountability for his part.

  How could he say such things here, in public, where she couldn’t react? Why now? Because she didn’t bring some meaningless date with her? What would that prove? This was more than his date. There was something else going on, a distance she hadn’t felt a few days ago.

  Her jaw quivered. “Are you breaking up with me?” At a wedding?

  “Our relationship isn’t like that. You’ve always been free to do as you please. I want you to explore your options.”

  “I’m not some caged creature and I don’t need permission to socialize. Maybe I’m enjoying my sister’s company. Stop trying to change things.”

  “Because she’s safe and familiar, just like I’m familiar. Every safety net has holes, bella. You’re letting opportunities slip through the cracks, because you’re too afraid to step outside of your comfort zone.”

  His expression was so casual, as if they were only two distant acquaintances playing catch up at a wedding, but his words… His words sliced through her until she was shuddering inside and struggling to remain still.

  “Why are you saying this now? Here?”

  “Because you’ve completely closed yourself off to everyone. And seeing you like that, when I know everything you have to offer… It’s infuriating. Especially when I feel partially responsible.”

  “So this is about your guilt,” she snapped.

  “No, it’s about you using everyone around you as an excuse. It’s Toni. It’s Lucian. It’s your father’s absence. I refuse to be one more excuse for why you aren’t living.”

  She. Was. Shaking.

  Her hands balled into fists, the urge to slap him making her dizzy. “Are you finished?”

  “Yes, we should probably return to our tables—”

  “Just a minute,” she caught his arm. “Despite your wisdom, there are some things I know that you don’t. For instance, I know I’m more than a Monday night booty call to you. I know you have feelings for me. But I also know you’ll never admit them. You’re so worried I’m not living. Well, I am!

  “I’ve felt more alive in the past three years than I have in my entire life. There are two people in this relationship—and it is a relationship—so you don’t get to make decisions without giving me a say. I don’t tell you how to live, so don’t assume you have any right to decide for me.”

  His expression was blank as he stared at her. Voice level, he said, “You’re making a scene. People are watching us.”

  Was he even listening? Looking up at him, knowing another song was about to end and they needed to get off the dance floor before people really got suspicious, she drew in a deep breath.

  “I love you, Sawyer. I’m tired of lying. If we have to hide what we have, that’s one thing, but I’m not going to hide my feelings from you . What’s the point?”

  He looked down, away from her face and shut his eyes, slowly shaking his head. Of all the responses she expected, she wasn’t prepared to see his obvious regret. “We don’t have the time it takes to have this discussion here.”

  Unbelievable. All of that and he still didn’t get it. “You see, Sawyer, to most couples it doesn’t require a lengthy discussion. They’re just three simple words.”

  His gaze narrowed as he leaned closer. “Those words are anything but simple! If you knew what real love was you’d know those words are the most complicated in the entire English language.”

  She drew back as if he’d slapped her. If you knew what real love was…

  Her skin prickled as a chill chased down her limbs. Her breathing labored as she fought to keep her composure. A lifetime of lessons in decorum trembled as she lost sight of proper etiquette and lost control to her emotions.

  “Fuck you, Sawyer!” She spun away from him and shoved her way through the throng of dancers.

  Stalking past the tables of smiling guests she bee-lined right to the bar, her body shaking so intensely it was difficult to stand in her heels.

  “May I have a shot please?”

  The bartender looked at her expectantly. “A shot of…?”

  “A fucking shot! Anything! Vodka. Tequila. Whatever’s closest!”

  Chapter Ten

  “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned,

  Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned .”

  William Congreve

  The Mourning Bride

  “Yes, ma’am,” the bartender responded with deliberate politeness.

  A clear shot slid in front of Isadora and she brought it to her lips with a trembling hand, throwing it back.

  “Thank you,” she rasped.

  She reached for her purse only to find it missing. “I left my bag at the table. I promise I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure,” he commented, voice thick with skepticism.

  She pushed through the crowd and found her clutch resting on her seat. Cracking it open, she removed a fifty. She shouldn’t have snapped at the poor bartender. He didn’t deserve her anger.

  “Where were you?”

  Her head snapped up at Toni’s question. “I… I was having a drink. I need to go run this over to the bartender.”

  “Why is your face all red?”

  Her hand fluttered to her warm cheek. “Is it?”

  “Yeah. Lucian, isn’t Isa’s face red?”

  She shushed her sister. “I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?” her sister called as her brother’s asse
ssing gaze marked her quick escape.

  She walked away without offering an explanation. She was twenty-six years old. Lucian answered to no one, and he was five years her junior. She was tired of being treated like a child when she was the eldest.

  She slid the fifty across the bar. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  The bartender’s brow lifted. “It’s cool. Let me break that for you.”

  “Keep it. But I’ll take another shot.”

  He eagerly poured. Turning, she tossed it back and scanned the room.

  Where? Where were all these supposed admirers? She scoffed, not seeing a single person looking at— Well, hello. Aren’t you handsome?

  Holding her clutch at her hip, she sauntered across the ballroom toward a man with sandy brown hair, dressed in a striking Prada three-piece suit. The music pulsed loudly as she reached the edge of the dance floor, nearest to the speakers.

  The man laughed, conversing with another attractive gentleman. She pasted on a smile, eased by the alcohol throbbing through her veins, and drew in a breath to back her words.

  “Hello, gentlemen. Either of you care to dance?” She wasn’t being choosey.

  Their conversation cut off as they both stared at her. Oh boy, maybe Sawyer was wrong. Maybe he really was the only one who thought she actually—

  “Absolutely,” three-piece said, shoving his cocktail at his friend’s chest and taking her hand. “I’m Tyrian.”

  “Hi, Tyrian. I’m Isadora.”

  “You have a pretty name.”

  “Thanks. Are you a friend of the bride’s or the groom’s?”

  He escorted her onto the dance floor. “I went to school with the groom. You?”

  “Bride’s.”

  Enough small talk. They worked their way into the throng of dancers and Isadora mimicked what another woman was doing, unsure how to actually dance fast without appearing to have a seizure.

  Tyrian was a wonderful partner. He stayed close and never broke eye contact. He had a nice smile and straight teeth. Everything was going great until the music changed and couples partnered off for a slow song.

  His lashes lowered as his motions slowed. “Shall we?”

  Catching her breath, she nodded.