by Marcus Weber
Gladstone stopped talking to his goon and looked at what was happening between his daughter and her disgraced husband. He hated that Antonio had been the one to kill King, but as things stood he was at the very least glad that someone had done it. He looked down at the blood that was pooling around his shoes and stepped back to ensure that his Gucci loafers wouldn’t be ruined by something so base as blood.
“Antonio,” Paige started, “you saved us.”
* * *
When Jackson and Emil walked into the hospital room to see Hayden and Antonio side by side in their own beds and Senator Gladstone Tillary in between them, they almost turned around and left. Emil and the Senator had interacted before, and it was never pleasant considering Gladstone spent all of his time trying to put Emil behind bars on behalf of Max King. But King was dead now, thanks to the Cartwright bloodline, and that was something that Emil could hang onto in the battle of pride that was about to go down.
“Emil,” said Gladstone seriously.
“Senator Tillary,” said Emil, his words dripping with false politeness like it had been coated in oil before it came out of his mouth. “This is my son, Jackson, and it appears as though you have already met my other son,” he said, gesturing to the unconscious Hayden in his hospital bed. Gladstone chuckled.
“And of course, the third son,” he said, pointing to the awake Antonio, who was glaring at Emil. He blamed him for this, even though he really should have been blaming himself for having gotten into the business in the first place.
“Senator,” said Emil, “you should have known better than to have gotten involved in street affairs.” He was not the kind of man to beat around the bush, and he had come to the hospital for one thing and one thing only: to fix the mess that killing Max King had caused. “Politically, you know this is a disaster. I know that you will find someone to pay off to keep your name out of the news, but as for my sons, this will ruin them if Paige has to testify about what went down in that warehouse and everything before it. Help me, help you, protect your daughter.”
It was at that moment that Paige walked in holding two coffees, one for her, and one for her father who she had been so grateful had stayed by her side the whole time. Everyone in the room turned to look at her. She gulped.
Chapter 13
The End or The Beginning?
Paige curled the fingers of her left hand into her palm in an attempt to stop the trembling. She squeezed so tight her knuckles paled, and her perfectly French-manicured nails (the only thing that seemed the same in her life) left half-moon shaped dents behind. Her heart punched against her chest wall and fine droplets of sweat cropped up at her hairline.
“You have to do this, Paige. Remember that,” she mumbled to herself. She’d thought all sorts of things within the past ten seconds. Would she bother going through the process of changing her name to Paige Roberts again after she’d already changed it back to Paige Tillary? Would she go on a honeymoon this time since she’d suffered morning sickness and stayed in bed the entire seven days the first time? She shook off those silly thoughts. Of course not! A marriage of convenience didn’t call for all of those things. Right?
Her brain started with the questions again. Paige swallowed hard so that her sparkly diamond choker rose and fell against the ladder of her throat. She would’ve paced in circles if she didn’t have on what she called her thirty-minute heels—the kind you wear for making rounds at an event and slip off after thirty minutes.
“We are almost ready for you,” Donna, the venue host said, interrupting Paige’s thoughts.
Paige turned around, smiling beatifically. She’d been practicing that smile all morning.
Donna patted her shoulder. “You look amazing, by the way. I can’t believe how fast you pulled this together. Amazing.”
Paige nodded and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, balancing carefully on her custom made, Swarovski-crystal-covered Manolo Blahnik pumps. Despite everything, in true Paige Tillary (or soon-to-be Paige Roberts) fashion, she’d once again gone all out for the occasion. It wouldn’t have been authentic if she hadn’t. Her family had called her crazy for doing this again.
“So much has happened, Paige. I don’t see how you can even consider doing this, again.” Her mother had said. “These people could kill you for God’s sake.”
“Don’t think that you have to do this. I can help you. I know people . . . powerful people. Just don’t do this again, Paige,” her father had said.
* * *
“Are you ready?”
Paige looked up, startled. She blinked a few times and looked to her right and smiled. “I guess so,” she replied, jamming her right fist into her hip, with her arm bent at the elbow to make an opening for her brother to slide his arm through.
“You look amazing, sis.”
Paige’s stomach clenched. Her father had said almost those exact words the first time she’d gotten married. You look amazing, baby girl.
A small explosion of heat lit in Paige’s chest—one part anger, one part sadness—as she thought about her father’s nerve when he refused to give her away a second time. She closed her eyes and exhaled. She shook her head, wishing away her worries. She couldn’t focus on the past right now. If she did, she might not make it down the aisle this time. And this time, the marriage was a necessity, not just a want.
“You clean up nicely yourself.” Paige looked up at her brother, her fake smile perfected now.
It was true. Gladstone Tillary, Jr., had come a long way since his latest stint in rehab. Even with his neck tattoos peeking from his shirt collar, he presented well—classy and sharp. Paige was sorry she’d ever gotten him involved in everything that had happened. Her heart broke every time she thought about how she had turned her back on him in his darkest hour, yet he had stood by her in hers.
“I really appreciate you getting rid of those awful dreadlocks, too,” she said, her tone playful.
“Well, they’re gone but not forgotten,” her brother joked, running his hand over his neatly trimmed hair.
They laughed.
Paige needed the laugh. She’d take anything to ease some of the muscle-twisting tension that had her entire body in knots.
Finally, the low hum of her wedding song, You by Kenny Latimore, filtered through the outdoor speakers.
“That’s our cue.”
Her brother squared his shoulders and tightened his lock on Paige’s arm, forcing her closer to him.
“Thank you for being here, Junior,” Paige whispered. She meant it. She knew he’d probably endured a harsh berating from their parents for agreeing to give her away. That was the one quality she had always admired most about her baby brother since they were kids. He never cared what her parents said or thought, unlike Paige, who had spent her entire life walking the fine line of being an individual and making her parents happy. She always wanted to be the “good one,” as her mother called her.
“C’mon. You know I wouldn’t miss the free food and wine,” her brother joked.
Paige giggled. Then she got serious. “No wine for you,” she chastised in a playfully gruff voice.
“All right. Here we go.”
Paige looked down and smoothed her left hand over the fine, hand-sewn iridescent beads on the front of her haute couture gown. She found a lone bead to pick at with the hopes it would help calm her nerves.
“Loosen up. You’re a pro at this, right? Second time’s the charm?”
Paige parted a quivery-lipped smile. “The way I’m shaking you’d think this was my first time.”
She sucked in her breath as she finally stood at the end of the beautifully decorated aisle in the pastoral Breaux Vineyard. One-hundred-year-old weeping willows swayed in the wake of the breeze with their wispy, white bud covered tendrils calling her forward. Pink rose petals dotted the path in the center aisle, and tall silver stanchions holding white and lilac hydrangea globes flanked every other row of white Chiavari chairs. Dreamy, romantic, and heavenly wer
e all words that came to mind.
With her arm hooked through her brother’s, Paige plastered on her famous, toothy smile and carefully navigated the vineyard’s emerald green lawn in her heels. Collective awestruck gasps rose and fell amongst the guests seated on either side of the decorated bridal path. The absence of her parents and her best friend, Michaela, didn’t go unnoticed. But, it was the Cartwrights—Emil, Hayden, and Jackson—who caused Paige to stumble a bit.
Focus, Paige. Focus. She knew they were there to make sure she went through with it, their presence like a threat whispered in her ear. It’ll all be over soon, she told herself.
Antonio stepped into the aisle to meet her. He wore a smile that said, “I’m trying to make this seem real too.” Unlike Paige’s penchant for the grandiose, Antonio was simple. He wore a plain black suit, forgoing the obligatory tuxedo, white cummerbund, and shiny shoes.
Paige felt something flutter inside her like a million butterflies trapped in a jar. With everything they’d been through, Paige had lost sight of how handsome Antonio was. He looked more gorgeous now than he had years ago when they were just two young, high school lovebirds. Back then, Antonio was a gangly six-foot-three-inch kid with a bulging Adam’s apple and a hairless baby face. Now, he’d transformed into a distinguished gentleman with a neatly trimmed goatee, thick square shoulders that filled out his suit jacket, and a muscular barrel chest. He looked more like a Calvin Klein underwear model than a former professional basketball player. Paige had certainly forgotten. Anger, hurt, bitterness, and the threat of a life sentence had a way of changing perspective, she’d learned.
Antonio took her brother’s place at Paige’s side. She looked over at him, her heart dancing in her chest.
“Shall we begin with a prayer?” the officiant said, his Bible splayed over his palms.
Paige lowered her eyes. She blinked a few times, remembering where she was and why exactly she was there. This was all part of the agreement that had saved their lives. The wedding ceremony was a blur. It was not until cheers erupted from the small crowd of sixty guests that Paige realized it was done. She’d married Antonio for a second time. To hell with the reasons they had divorced in the first place. The reasons. Thinking about the reasons made Paige think of Michaela, her absence at the wedding as noticeable as a huge sinkhole in the middle of widely traveled road.
Paige felt sick, but still, she flashed a smile.
“And now I can kiss my bride,” Antonio beamed, playing his role. Paige welcomed his tongue into her mouth for a long, passionate seal of their vows. It didn’t matter what she felt. She knew it would make for better headlines in the media. Better ratings, too. It would also set her in-laws at ease. Remarrying Antonio needed to solve their problems. It needed to save their lives. It needed to right all of the wrongs. It needed to keep her from having to testify against him . . . them.
Antonio and Paige pulled apart and turned toward their spectators. Cheers arose. Paige’s cheeks flushed, and the bones in her face ached from grinning. She deserved an Academy Award.
Antonio wore a cool grin as they slowly made their way down the aisle. He squeezed Paige’s hand as if to say, “at least this part is over.”
“Wait right there . . . hold that pose!” the photographer called out. “Kiss her,” he instructed, hoisting his camera to eye level to ensure he captured the exact moment their lips met. The flash exploded around them. Cameras rolled. Money shot after money shot were captured. This was great.
Paige and Antonio turned to each other on cue, their tongues engaged in another scandalously intimate dance. The photographer’s flash lit up in front of them like heavenly beams of light, and the crowd erupted in another round of cheers. Perfection.
The sun basked the couple in abundant light and warmth. It was truly the perfect May afternoon for an outdoor wedding. If only everything else in their lives were this perfect.
“Walk slowly forward now,” the photographer instructed, the camera crew backing up for the wide angled shots.
When Paige and Antonio finally made it to the end of the aisle, they were bombarded by guests eager to snap photos with cell phones and personal cameras. Noticing the paparazzi disguised as regular guests, Antonio waved like a politician and Paige flashed her debutante smile. Everyone wanted to get the story first.
“Antonio.” Jackson Cartwright stepped into their path, clapping his hand on Antonio’s shoulder.
Paige’s smile faded, and she bit down into her jaw.
“I didn’t think you’d go through with it. I’m proud of you. Maybe you’re braver than I thought,” Jackson said, smiling. He turned his attention to Paige. “Congratulations.”
Paige shivered.
“One more!” the photographer shouted, jutting his camera forward for a close-up.
Paige twisted away, happy for the distraction. Antonio and Paige faced each other, their fake happiness hanging over them like a freshly blown bubble. He kissed her chastely on the nose. She giggled at his playfulness. What a performance! Paige pictured them standing hand-in-hand on a stage, accepting a Tony Award for best actor and actress.
“Antonio!” a voice boomed.
Paige’s head whipped left, then right. It was hard to determine what direction the voice had come from until it sounded again. This time, louder. More sinister.
Antonio’s head jerked to the left. Paige craned her neck, but there were so many people in front of them.
“Antonio!” the voice boomed again. “You should’ve played by the rules!” Screams erupted as the wedding goers saw the source of the voice first.
“Oh my God! Gun! He’s got a gun!” a guest screamed.
Antonio’s eyes widened. Frantically, he unhooked his arm from Paige’s and stepped in front of her. Before he could make another move, the sound of rapid-fire explosions cut through the air.
Antonio’s fake groomsmen, who were really Emil’s goons, ran at full speed down the aisle, guns drawn. Dirt and grass flew in their wake as more shots rattled off. Two of the security guards were picked off, falling to the grass like bowling pins. Screams pierced the air from every direction.
Antonio’s body jerked from the impact of the bullets. His arms flew up, bent at the elbow and flailing like he was a puppet on a string. His body crumpled like rag doll and fell into an awkward heap on the ground.
Paige stood frozen, her feet seemingly rooted into the earth around her. This was just a bad dream. Another bad dream. Another fucking nightmare. It wasn’t real. She couldn’t get enough air into her lungs to breathe.
“Antonio!” Paige shrieked, finally finding her voice.
“Get that motherfucker!” someone yelled.
The sounds of tires screeching and more loud booms exploded around Paige. She coughed as the grainy, metallic grit of gunpowder settled at the back of her throat. She inched in the dirt to where Antonio lay, gasping for breath. The smell of bloody, raw meat wafted up her nose. The earth around Antonio pooled into a bright red lake of his blood.
“Antonio!” Paige screamed. Her throat burned with acid. She grabbed his shoulders and shook them, hoping for a response. He had to live, or this would’ve been all for nothing. Deals had been cut. They had to be remarried to make sure that her father stayed loyal to Max King and to make sure the Cartwrights kept their end of the bargain. Everyone’s lives depended on this.
“There’s another one!!” a man screamed. “Get him!”
Paige looked up just in time to see the end of a silver gun.
“No!” she sobbed, throwing her body on top of Antonio’s. More deafening booms blasted through the air.
Paige hovered between consciousness and oblivion. The thundering footfalls of fleeing guests left her feeling abandoned and adrift. She lay on top of Antonio, her breathing labored. An explosion of heat passed through her body, spreading like wildfire in a California forest. The origin was hard to pinpoint, as the pain seemed to radiate from every pore of her body. I’m shot. Her eyes rolled back; then darknes
s came down on her like a guillotine. Paige had no choice but to welcome the darkness with open arms.
* * *
It seemed like eternity when Paige’s eyes finally fluttered open. The raging fire in her throat and pounding between her ears indicated that she was not dead. No, she was very much alive, and each ache in her body made her painfully aware of that fact. Paige immediately started gagging. She kicked her right foot and lifted her left hand to grab the thick breathing tube running down her throat that was making her gag. The heart monitor next to her bed sounded off with a high-pitched scream. Two nurses rushed toward Paige’s bedside. Lillian jumped up from where she had been holding vigil at Paige’s side.
“What’s happening?” Lillian huffed, panicked and moving toward Paige within seconds.
The nurses ushered Lillian to the side of the room, away from the patient.
“Don’t touch me! Do you know who I am? I want to know what’s happening with my daughter!” Lillian demanded, ready to fight.
“Please, stay back. We need to treat the patient!” a nurse chastised from Paige’s bedside.
Lillian curled her hands into fists. “Bitch, don’t push me again!”
Gladstone grabbed Lillian around her waist.
“No! That’s my child laying there! They can’t just turn me away like that! I want to know what’s happening to her!”
The nurse drew one side of the curtain around Paige’s bed, shutting her parents out.
“Mrs. Tillary . . . it’s going to be okay. Shhh. . . . Don’t do that now, you’ll injure yourself,” a tall nurse with piercing blue eyes said.
“We’re going to have to ask you both to step out,” the other nurse instructed as she peeked out from behind the curtain.
“I’m not going anywhere!” Lillian boomed. Gladsone tightened his grasp and tugged her toward the doorway.
“I know, I know. Breathing tubes are a bitch when you’re awake, but that collapsed lung you got there is worse, so try to relax and let the machine help you. I’ll give you something to help you sleep,” the short nurse comforted, maternally patting Paige’s arm.