Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  We sit in the front row, and I've never been more nervous about anything. Mark is standing in front of everyone already. He looks like Alec, but in a slicker sort of way. Shorter hair. Smugger expression. Not as attractive as the one Alec usually wears. He grins at Alec and tips his head to me before his eyes slide away. Guess we're officially introduced.

  The seats behind us fill quickly—and before I know it, my nerves are standing up so straight they're about to pass out, because Alec's father is ushering his mother down the aisle to take their seats. Next to ours.

  Alec's father greets me with a smile, but it falls flat in his eyes. He exchanges a long, unreadable glance with Alec. Well, not that unreadable. Pretty sure under the bland surface of his expression lies a layer heavy with disappointment.

  I'm going to have to fucking shine at work. There must be an audiobook out there on how to impress your boyfriend's father when he's also your gazillionaire boss…

  Alec's mother's smile doesn't reach her eyes, either, but she offers me her hand anyway. "Nice to meet you, Teagan."

  I don't know why it shocks me that she'd know my name. Of course she does. Alec told her when he announced I'd be his date tonight. And I have a feeling Mr. Chambers has been bitching about me ever since. I wrap my hand around hers, giving a small shake. "This is a beautiful wedding."

  "It reminds me of my own," she says, a bit of her sour expression relaxing. "We were married here years and years ago."

  "It must've been as magnificent then, if not more so," I say, proud of myself for sounding so… I don't know, able to carry on a respectful conversation, maybe? I'm also filled with a melty sort of relief that this moment is way less stressful than I'd imagined it would go. Rich people and their civility. They might loathe me, but it's barely discernible right now.

  "You're sweet," she says, and before I can respond, the music changes and everyone stands.

  Candace, the bride, is gorgeous in a dress that accentuates her thin frame and a sheer veil edged in lace trailing down her back and along the rose-lined aisle. Through the veil, her skin is dark and dewy, and her eyes are round and excited. She's luminous with the glow of someone in love, and it strikes something deep inside of me.

  "She's stunning," I whisper.

  Alec agrees. "Wait till you meet her. She's so nice it's almost painful."

  "I thought you said she was the wrong girl for your brother?"

  He shoots me a look, and I realize maybe I'm whispering too loudly. But everyone is craning their necks, focused on the bride—and Alec, the only one looking at me instead, cracks a smile. "She is. Mark is the one who doesn't deserve her."

  My gaze darts to his father for a moment, the salt-and-peppered back of his head. I wonder if Mark's a chip off the old block when it comes to monogamy. I turn to Mark next, but his expression is so excited it's contagious. Whatever Alec's reasoning is for not thinking he deserves his bride, right at this moment, he definitely seems enamored.

  The ceremony is short, and Alec's mother cries through the entire thing. Politely, of course, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief. Mr. Chambers doesn't show any emotion at all. I wonder if he's thinking of his own wedding. Or maybe he's biding his time to get back to his mistress.

  Gross.

  Maybe I shouldn't worry so much about impressing him. Maybe my goal should be to impress Denise enough that she wants me to work for her—regardless of whom I'm dating. Perhaps in spite of it, actually. I get the sense she'd be less than thrilled to think I'd sleep my way up the ranks of the company.

  Shit.

  But, I look down where Alec's fingers are twined with mine… He tightens his grip, rubbing my hand with his thumb. Oh, well. Let Denise think what she will. Let anyone think what they will.

  I'm not giving this up.

  That's my girl, my mother whispers. In my mind, I stab her with a kitchen knife. In real life, I slide my hand out from under Alec's. When he gives me a puzzled look, I scratch the back of my neck.

  I'm not sure if I hate myself or my mother more right now. Giving a big old fuck you to both of us, I place my hand back on Alec's.

  Because, really, fuck my conscience.

  We follow the newlyweds out of the barn for dinner—surf and turf so delicious my new goal in life is to be rich enough to eat lobster every night—and then dancing. They cut a cake taller than I am and more delicious than anything I've ever tasted. Except lobster.

  I don't drink much, just a glass of champagne, and Alec doesn't either. But he does kiss me after the champagne toast. He does dip his tongue into my mouth, searching for traces of the bubbly drink like he promised he'd do, making me drunk with how much I need his tongue on other spots of my body, in other spots of my body…

  And we do dance.

  We dance for what feels like hours—and also only the blink of an eye—under the twinkling lights, and though we're surrounded by miles of people and a six-piece cover band, we're in our own world. Giddiness is its own sort of drug and I'm so high on it I don't know how I'll ever come down. I can't stop laughing, and when he asks me what it's about, all I can tell him is, "You."

  A moment later, he's laughing with me.

  And still, we dance, his hands on my waist, running along my spine, sliding down my arms to spin me out and back again.

  Eventually I have to beg for a break to get some water. The fans placed discretely around the reception may be keeping the area cool despite the muggy summer heat, but I'm freaking parched. And starting to sweat. And I'd rather not be gross for…after.

  I'd be embarrassed with how quickly I gulp down the ice water Alec brings me, but he downs his just as fast—and goes for another round without my having to ask.

  "You're pretty fun," he says, pulling me in for a quick kiss. "Not that it's new information for me. But you know how to show a guy a good time."

  "You think this is fun," I say, nervous my next words will make me blush. "Wait till later."

  "Later?" he asks, his head tilting, a curious—and maybe hopeful—smile stretching across his mouth. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Everything," I say. "I have everything in mind."

  He goes still. So very still. Still enough that my own grin rises uncontrollably in the sweetness of the silence between us.

  "Tell me what this is," he says, finally.

  "Same answer," I say, easily, honestly. "This is everything."

  "You figured it out," he says, and before I can agree, he pulls me in for another kiss. This one much better than the last. His lips are slow over mine, lingering—and simmering beneath their gentle graze with a heated passion I can't wait to tease fully out of him later.

  I break it off because, well, one of us has to or we're going to end up naked in front of all these people. From the corner of my eye, I see Piper heading toward us. She notices me at the same time and winks before she glares, turning on her heel and heading the other direction. I laugh. She's good. Could be an actress.

  Behind her, though, is Mr. Evans. He sees me and doesn't break stride, coming straight over. My stomach clenches at his approach. I knew he'd be here and wondered when we'd run into him. Usually, I'd seek him out. But usually I'm not with someone he disapproves of me being with.

  Still, his face is a mask of polite pleasantry as he reaches out to shake Alec's hand. "You're looking well," he says. "And Teagan, my girl, you are close to upstaging the bride."

  I knock his hand out of the way when he offers it to me and hug him instead. "Where's Mrs. Evans?"

  "She wasn't up to it," he says, motioning to the dance floor and surrounding area. "Crowds."

  He doesn't need to explain further. I know they've come a long way in their grief since Jason's death, but Mrs. Evans still isn't much for celebrations.

  "How'd the Berkeley Group meeting go?" Alec asks, smoothly steering the conversation elsewhere.

  Mr. Evans' eyes light up. "Please, tonight's no time for business. But we've come up with something you'll love."

&nbs
p; "Berkeley Group?" I ask. "Why is that name familiar?"

  Alec only winks at me, though. And Mr. Evans says, "I'm hoping you'll let me steal Teagan away for a dance?"

  "Like Alec has any say in the matter," I say, taking his hand. "It's time you let me see that jitterbug, Mr. Evans."

  The band has other plans, though, switching to something slower. Mr. Evans shrugs, a charming little disappointment across his face, and pulls me in for a dance better suited to the music.

  "I told you to call me Brad," he reminds me.

  "I grew up with you as Mr. and Mrs. Evans. It's a hard habit to break."

  "Use whatever you're comfortable with, but you're like family to us, honey. Seems a waste to use such formal titles."

  Like family to us.

  No crying tonight, I remind myself, but I have to change the topic of conversation before I lose it. "I understand if you don't approve of me being here with Alec, but—"

  "He told me the truth about his…irregular relationship," he says. "I'm sorry I misjudged you. You know, I always sort of hoped you'd end up with our Jason." He pauses, his eyes going dark for a moment before his expression clears. "But it's clear you deserve someone who'll stick around. And judging by the way Philip's son's eyes follow you, he's not going anywhere."

  The way he implies Jason chose not to stick around hurts me. I tense in his arms, waiting for the gale force of grief to slam into me—but it doesn't come. Instead, I'm able to relax and keep my steps in line with his. "I miss him… Jason," I add, though the clarification's unnecessary.

  "Every minute of every day," he agrees, and his easy admission eases the sting of his censure toward his son. It must be hard, to have so much anger mingling with all that love. No outlet for it other than the passing of time.

  I think about Jason while we dance in silence. I really think about him. About what I felt. And I think… I think it's been easy to pin my broken hopes on a boy who died almost two years ago, because I didn't have to move forward with the thing that scared me most: finding someone like Alec. Finding someone who makes me feel like I deserve everything my grandparents spent their lives showing me I didn't.

  And that's… Well, that's some fucked-up shit I'll have to bring up at a future therapy session, because I'm done thinking about it for tonight. With his usual impeccable timing, Alec asks to cut in, and I swing myself easily into his arms.

  "I couldn't stand watching this dress and everything in it spinning to the turn of someone else's hand," he says. And then he spirals me beneath his own like a ballerina dancing in place on a jewelry box.

  "Berkeley Group," I say, smiling when it hits me. "They're one of the startups you want to invest in."

  The corners of his lips curl up. "Mr. Evans thought it might work if we invested in one company to show my father what sort of success we could have—and then branch out to others."

  "Smart. Why didn't you tell me you'd teamed up with him?"

  "I was waiting till it was a done deal. I wanted to watch your face light up—though what it's doing now is better than anything I'd imagined. Now," he says, with a grin that can't possibly top my own, "no more work talk." He pulls me in close and then shoves me out, whirling me in circles.

  "What was your sister's name?" I ask after, breathless from his spin, hastily adding, "If you don't mind my asking?"

  I've been wondering, and I don't know why I haven't asked before. Maybe because I've never been so sure of him—of us—as I am in this moment. I can ask him anything.

  I'll tell him whatever he wants to know.

  "Elodie," he tells me. "Her name was Elodie and she was the only thing this family ever got right—until we didn't." A shadow casts its web across his eyes for the briefest of moments.

  I open my mouth, but he spins me again and when he yanks me back to him, it's to crush his lips against mine, kissing me so hard I can't seem to remember to breathe. It makes me dizzy.

  He makes me dizzy.

  And then he spins me yet again.

  "How much longer do we have to stay?" I ask when he sweeps me into his arms and sways me in an easy rhythm. I rise on my tiptoes to get closer to his ear. "Because if you like my dress, what's underneath is even fancier."

  "They already cut the cake, and the limo's on standby," he says so quickly I laugh. "We can leave whenever we want. Which, for me, is right fucking now."

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  WE MAKE IT almost all the way to the side of Alec's grandfather's mansion when his father swoops in—I swear—out of thin air to stand before us. Yeah. So I guess on top of being super rich, he's a freaking wizard, too.

  "It hurt your mother to watch you walk out without saying goodbye," he says to his son, completely ignoring me. He's not even sweating like he ran to catch us. Maybe he's able to ride air like a speedboat…

  Oh, man. This is not the time to giggle. I barely catch one slipping up my throat.

  Maybe if I release it, some of the sudden and unwelcome fear in the pit of my stomach will leave, too.

  I try to disentangle our fingers, but Alec only pulls me closer to him. "I'll see Mom tomorrow. She looked busy before."

  Mr. Chambers' eyes flash, but I speak before he can. "We should've said goodbye. I'm sorry—it's my fault. My…" Oh my God, I want to lie and say my stomach's bothering me or something but I stand here gaping instead, unable to bring myself to do it. I…don't want to lie to him. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  "Your…?" Mr. Chambers prompts me to go on, and I want to swallow my tongue.

  "We," Alec says, saving me, "will go say goodbye now."

  "Why don't you go ahead," Mr. Chambers responds, holding out an arm to me. "I'll keep your assistant company."

  My instinct is to look at Alec, to beg him with my eyes to protect me. My reality is that I've always protected myself, and I'm not going to stop here. I place my free hand on Mr. Chambers' arm, right as Alec says, "Not a fucking chance." He looks at me like I'm crazy when I step away from him to stand with his father. "What are you doing?"

  "I'm…" What am I doing? I take a breath to steady myself and inhale the thick scent of cigar that lingers on Mr. Chambers. "Discussing things with your father while you're gone."

  Alec studies me, and I see clearly in his expression how much he wants to stay. But I also see the moment he reminds himself that I can handle things. I see the respect that sharpens his focus—and then the irritation when he turns his gaze to his father. "We spoke about this."

  Before Mr. Chambers responds, I say, "Y'all spoke about me? Well, Alec, you go on and say goodbye to your mama, and I'll let your daddy give me all the details." For some reason my sarcasm comes out in a syrupy, forced Southern accent, which is embarrassing but somehow feels fitting, too. My stomach is a twisted knot of brambles, but I refuse to let it show on my face.

  Alec opens his mouth, but I jerk my head toward the sounds of the wedding around the house. After one long glance at his father, he leaves, promising, "I'll be back in less than a minute, swear to God."

  I allow myself the few seconds it takes him to disappear around the corner before swallowing and readying myself to face his father.

  "He's too good for you." Mr. Chambers speaks first, angling his body more toward mine, towering over me the way his son does. Though I feel absolutely nothing like what I do when I'm faced with Alec's height. Instead of tingles, there's only a fierce sense of intimidation. Not that I'll let him see it.

  I drop my hand from his arm. "If you didn't believe that solely because of how rich you are, I'd agree. He is too good for me. Not because I grew up with nothing, but because he grew up with everything—and still managed to come out with a kind heart."

  "I can't fire you," he says, steepling his fingers over his stomach. It's startling, the resemblance of his all-business tone to one I've heard his son use. Startling the way the shapes of their face match, the angles of their jaws. "But I can make sure you hate your job."

  I start to slide a finger beneath the high
neck of my dress—because it's suddenly itching, and I need a bit more room to breathe—but I stop myself, because, no. Fuck that. It's rare that I'm grateful for how much practice I have being a bitch, but in this moment, I've never been happier to have the spine I created.

  "You sound like a villain in a movie," I say. "But you raised the boy who became the man that Alec is. So I know you're not a bad guy. You love your son. And I love my job. So good luck making me hate it."

  I probably wouldn't recognize the glimmer of respect that shines in and out of his expression if I hadn't seen the identical flash on his son's face a second ago. So, I understand the game now. Direct honesty is the way to win with Alec's father. I ask, "You're worried I care for Alec because you're rich?"

  "I know where you came from. Of course I am."

  "Where I came from?" I want to laugh. Or maybe cry. Mostly, I don't want to understand him the way I do. But I say, "Yeah, I get it. You're right to worry. Sometimes I worry about the same thing, about whether or not there's a small part of me subconsciously attracted to Alec's wealth." This time, I've shocked him—his eyes go wide and then way narrow. And I almost smile. "But if I had to live out of a cardboard box if it meant getting to be with your son?"

  He nods, barely, waiting for me to go on.

  I take a moment longer to consider my answer, wanting to make sure I speak the truth. "Hell, I'd live out of a shoebox if I had to."

  "Really now, Miss Walker." His expression says he doesn't believe me, but his tone is amused. "A shoebox?"

  I don't miss his use of my name. It's a step up from my work title. Score.

  "Yes. A shoebox. And let me tell you something else, too. Alec knows better than anyone—the first time he does something to buy me in any way? I'm gone. Not that he ever would, but I will never be the type of girl who wants to be kept." I'm not my fucking mother, I almost say. "And that is why I love my job. I want to make something of myself. Trust me, you won't have an employee who works harder. And if I need to sign something with HR to date Alec—or I don't have to work for Alec… If that makes this situation better, I'll work for someone else who needs an assistant. Or a second assistant. Or anything." Oh, God. I can't shut up. "I'm a quick learner. Well, okay, no I'm not. But I'll put in extra time and ef—"