No Limits (Stacked Deck Book 5)

by Emilia Finn

  “Little bit,” I snicker. “I don’t think she heard a thing I said. Or, well, she heard it, but she won’t have absorbed it. In her head, I’ve become one of you guys. I’ve crossed over to the dark side.”

  “Aw shit, look at you quoting Star Wars.” Laughing, he pulls me in tight and turns us back toward the church. “Come on, Turdsky, come back to the party. Evie doesn’t seem all that put-out about her dress, and Ben thinks he’s hit the lottery.”

  “She’s self-conscious,” I whisper. “She knows everyone is looking, and there’s nothing she can do about it.”

  “She’s strong enough to be fine with it. Trust me. If the wrong person looks for too long, she’ll knock them out and turn this into the wedding Jenna assumes you’re at.”

  “Damn trailer trash,” I tease.

  He snorts. “Can’t take us anywhere.”

  Bry leads me into the wedding reception, which is being held in the same hotel where my art gala was hosted. It’s in a different room, smaller, but the interior shares the same sense of elegance.

  Evie and Ben went for bold contrasts, red and white, so the sea of crisp black suits that move through the guests add that final flair. The ladies wear beautiful gowns in a rainbow of colors which will likely be repeated again next month at our event.

  The event I’ve been piecing together in my spare time at work.

  Things at the office are… tense. Despite the endorsement deal Monaco has with Stacked Deck, therefore making the event something I would normally create during work hours, my father has been burying me with unrelated tasks. He’s keeping me busy, and, worse, out of reach when it comes to his affection.

  We’ve never been a truly affectionate family, unlike the Kincaids, so I’m used to a certain degree of distance. But ever since the meeting in my office, it’s been arctic. The cold greetings, the handshakes. The total silence at the dinner table on the nights I go home.

  No one asks me how my day is, no one asks what’s new in my life. I’m being made to feel like an outsider, and the longer it goes on, the easier it seems to be for them.

  I don’t know if knowing Bryan and his family makes me want more connection in my own home, or if I’ve always felt this way, but now the urge is stronger. I see the other side now. I’m the one who has changed, and knowing that, knowing who I used to be, has left me with a pit of anxiety in my stomach for weeks.

  The only time I don’t feel that sickness is when Bryan is right in front of me, giving that mischievous grin and reminding me why I fell in love with the one and only man I was never supposed to love.

  Damn him for enchanting me the way he did. The way that, legend has it, the original Bryan enchanted Nelly.

  “Look at that cake,” he murmurs as we wander through the reception room’s doors.

  It’s kind of refreshing for me to attend an event that I didn’t organize. I get to marvel at the chandeliers. At the table settings. At the seven-tiered cake that would have cost an easy grand or more to make.

  Atop the highest layer stands a couple. The bride in white, the groom in black with a top hat. But where one might expect the ornamental couple to be dancing, or hugging, or simply holding hands, this couple is mid-brawl. The bride’s dress – without the massive boobs – sways in the imaginary breeze. Her veil swings with the momentum. Her fist rests right by the groom’s jaw. And him… well, he still has hearts for eyes and a wide smile.

  “That cake topper is so messed up.”

  Bry barks out a loud laugh and hugs me close against his side. “Yup. But we’re classy like that. Are we assigned seats?” He swings back to the door in search of instructions.

  I tighten my hold on his arm and continue walking. “Yup. Table two. I already checked the list.”

  “Table two? These motherfuckers have me at table two, like some kind of reject?”

  Laughing, I rest against his arm and shake my head. “Table one is Evie and Ben. They get their own, because they don’t wanna talk to you. Table two is their nearest and dearest. Including–” I tap his chest, “you. So chill out, crazy.”

  “Wanna go find an empty closet for a second?” He presses a kiss to my temple. “My dick could do with a little love.”

  “You’re horrible.” Then I laugh when I consider this could be the rest of my life. “And sure. Later. I don’t wanna ruin my lipstick yet. I’m sick of reapplying.”

  “Reapplying what?”

  I gasp when Bry’s grandmother follows us to table two and slides into a chair. She looks stunning in a forest green gown that stops just below her knees.

  “Um…” I flounder wide-eyed, and my heart stops in my throat. “Er…”

  “Her lipstick, Grandma.” Bry releases me and presses a noisy kiss to her cheek. “We were discussing naughty things.”

  “Bryan!” I smack his arm so hard that my hand stings. Then I drop down in my seat and bury my burning face. “Why do you tell people this stuff?”

  “It’s in the blood, honey.” Nelly reaches forward and pats my arm. “It’s in the blood. You look beautiful, by the way. I didn’t get a chance to tell you at the ceremony. We were… uh…”

  “Distracted?” I groan. “And thank you. I love your dress. The green really makes your eyes pop.”

  “Aw, thank you. I went shopping with the girls a couple weeks back.”

  “Want a drink?” Bry leans forward and inserts his face between me and Nelly. “Wine, Princess?”

  “Sure. White, thanks.”

  “Gotcha. Grandma? You gonna get rip-roaring wasted with me tonight?”

  She laughs. “Maybe. I’ll start with a single glass of wine, and see where the night leads us.”

  “Got it. Back in a minute.” Bry slaps a noisy kiss on the back of my head and walks away, and every step he takes, Nelly follows him with her eyes.

  Her lips curve up in a soft smile.

  The second he leaves our sight, she sighs and looks back to me. “You love my grandson.”

  It’s not a question. Not a gentle inquiry.

  “Um…”

  Continuing to smile, she releases me from her intense gaze and begins fussing with the nametag set out in front of her plate. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s also okay to want to bash him over the head on a day-to-day basis.”

  “I do.” I laugh. “Love him,” I finish with a nervous crackle in my voice. “And want to bash him unconscious on a daily basis.”

  Reaching forward, she drops the name card and instead takes my hand. “These days, this early love…” The way her voice cracks almost undoes me. “These will be the best of your life. He’s going to frustrate you, but hold on, sweetheart. Hold on and don’t let him go.”

  “I don’t think I can let him go anymore.” I play with the rings on her left hand. “What was it like?”

  She pulls back just a little, and tilts her head with curiosity. “What was what like?”

  “To fall in love with the same man, but fifty years ago? To run away from the plans your family made for you, and choose love instead?”

  “Falling in love with the first Bryan was…” she sighs. “It was so easy. It was like gravity, a gentle slide. It was as natural as breathing air. And just like we need air…”

  “You can’t breathe now that he’s gone?” Tears rest in my lashes and force me to sniffle. “It hurts?”

  “Every single day,” she declares in a quiet whisper. “But he gave me such wonderful children. He gave me something to live for, and then those children had children, and now look; I’m sitting with the woman that has fallen deeply in love with the new Bry like he’s oxygen.”

  I reach up and swipe a finger below my eye. “Yeah.” Then I press a hand to my stomach. “It’s hard to breathe when he’s not around.”

  “I’m so blessed,” she murmurs, “so truly happy I get to watch you and my grandson during this time. Young love, the moments that you fight against because it feels too heavy, too consuming. I know it’s scary, but when you accept it, it’s like an
exhilarating rollercoaster that you never want to get off of. You’re young, Maddi. You have time. But when it’s time, oooh,” she presses a hand to her heart, “I sincerely hope you make sons.”

  “Do you regret it?”

  Her eyes grow wide with surprise. “Regret what?”

  “Falling in love with a man you couldn’t keep forever? If you knew how it would end, would you have done it anyway?”

  She presses her trembling lips together and considers. Then she nods. “I would do it a thousand times. I would carry that hurt over and over again if it meant I could arrive right here, at this wedding, at this table, and watch my grandson love you. It’s the greatest gift you could give me, and it humbles me that I’m able to witness it.”

  “You humble me.” My voice cracks as I change my grip and hold her hand. “You make it sound like I’m worthy.”

  “Oh, but you are.” She squeezes my hand. “You really are. It takes a special heart to love these men. It takes patience and understanding, and an extremely dark sense of humor.” She snickers. “That’s not to say we’re perfect. We’re not. But we’re perfect for them, and they’re perfect for us. And that right there, that’s what matters.”

  “I was born a Tosky.”

  She smiles. “Serendipity at its finest.”

  “I was raised to hate the Kincaids, because of my grandfather’s grudge against you and Bryan.”

  “And even with that hate poured into your heart, you’re still here with my family, loving us, becoming us.”

  “My best friend ruined Evie’s dress.”

  “Oh goodness!” She giggles. “She didn’t order it like that?”

  “No!” I burst out in tearful laughter. “The woman I considered my best friend my entire life vindictively ruined that dress just to hurt Evie, and by extension, both Bryans.”

  “And yet,” she grins. “I’d say Benjamin is awfully in love with what he saw today.”

  “Boobies.” I laugh. “Jenna ruined the dress in the wrong direction.”

  “I’m certain you know this, Maddi. But other people’s actions are not our fault.”

  I sniffle and look down at our clasped hands. “Bry said the same thing. But I’m so humiliated, Nelly. So sorry for her actions anyway.”

  She only shrugs and smiles when Bry makes his way back to us. “It doesn’t matter. My granddaughter is still married, she’s happy. And in just a few minutes, she’ll arrive with her groom and show us that beautiful smile. Later, no one will remember what Miss Price did, because he’ll tear her dress off and have his way with his wife.”

  “Grandma!” Bry stops by our table and sets down two glasses of wine. “Who’s tearing off whose dress?”

  “Oh, I brought a date tonight, honey. Grandma intends to lose this dress in just an hour or two.”

  His sparkling eyes turn to fire. “Not funny.”

  “Well… if you can’t handle the answers, don’t ask the questions.” Lifting her wine, Nelly brings it to her lips and winks for me. “Now sit down, baby. Tell me more about this event next month.”

  Ben and Evie arrive not more than twenty minutes after the rest of us, and though they have their own little sweetheart table just for them at the top of the room, it takes only a few minutes for them to pick the whole thing up and bring it to ours. They sit with us, they drink and eat with us, and when they’re bored with our antics, they pick their table up and move it on to the next.

  It’s a little… unconventional, I suppose, but it’s what makes them happy, so we go with the flow and pray Evie doesn’t completely spill out of her dress at an inconvenient time.

  Meals are served, wine is consumed. The band sets up on a small stage to our right, and plays something beautiful as the couple stands and dances for the first time ever as husband and wife.

  An acoustic version of “I Am Yours” gently fills the dark room, while a family friend’s low, gritty voice serenades the couple, and the skirt of Evie’s beautiful dress sways around their feet as Ben pulls her around the dancefloor.

  Ben Conner is a large man, a heavyweight champion fighter, so he’s tall and broad, and I could be forgiven for assuming he’d he heavy-footed and clumsy. But he’s not. He’s gentle, and elegant. He presses a hand to Evie’s lower back, and while they sway, they stare into each other’s eyes and speak. They smile, and murmur their secrets. And on an extended circle, Evie throws her head back and laughs.

  The ill-fitting dress is forgotten, the weird music from the church forgotten as Ben leans in and kisses his bride for all to see. And though I look around my table and find Evie’s dad refusing to watch while his daughter makes out in plain sight, I still consider this a beautifully romantic moment.

  Bryan leans closer as the singer plays his guitar, and when his shoulder touches mine, Bry takes my hand and molds it into the sign he wants.

  I love you.

  I meet his gaze with a smile, and accept his kiss when he presses it to my lips.

  Ben and Evie’s dance lasts almost five full minutes. Not enough time, not nearly long enough, as they slowly sway and make their way past the extravagant cake. But then the song changes to “Butterfly Kisses,” which means it’s the father of the bride’s turn.

  Tears nestle in my lashes as Aiden Kincaid stands from our table and drops his napkin.

  In the middle of the dancefloor, Evie waits alone, crying but smiling, as Ben backs away and heads toward his mom, and Aiden makes his way to her.

  They join like the perfect puzzle piece; she wraps her arms around her daddy like she’s unable to stand without him, and the whole time they dance, I think about this family that mine hates so much. I think about the love they share, the kindness, the acceptance.

  If I were to walk into my wedding with my boobs hanging out like she had – even if it wasn’t my fault – there would be no acceptance. There would be no gentle teasing, and then getting over it. My daddy would call the dressmaker, the dressmaker’s mother, the dressmaker’s governor. He would halt my entire day, not to defend me, but to exact revenge on what he’d call disrespect.

  Instead, Ben enjoys his new view, and Aiden dances with his daughter anyway.

  “May I?”

  I look to Bry when a voice pulls me from my contemplation, but then I glance to the right when my brain catches up.

  Bobby Kincaid stands with a hand extended, a grin that looks just like his son’s, and eyes that dig deep into my heart. “I would be honored if you’d dance with me, Maddi.”

  “Daddy.” Bry shakes his head. “You’ve already got your own. Leave mine alone.”

  Snickering, I set my napkin on the table and take Bobby’s hand. Because this might be the closest to a daddy-daughter dance I’ll ever get. “I’d be honored. Thank you.”

  I let him pull me away from the table, and the moment our feet touch the wooden floor rather than carpet, Bobby gently pulls me into his arms and studies me with a smile.

  “Is this the part where you warn me not to break his heart, or else?”

  He chuckles. “Nah. I think you guys have it under control. This is just me wanting to dance with my son’s special friend, because I feel like you might be around awhile, and I want to make sure you feel welcome in my family.”

  “This isn’t how it would go if the roles were reversed.” I step in closer and lay my cheek to his chest. “In my family, my daddy would be too busy gossiping with whoever was the most important person in the room. He wouldn’t even know there should be a daddy-daughter dance. In fact,” I pull back, “since, at this point, the wedding certificates would be signed, he’d be talking business. Because you know he’d only have approved of a wedding for his daughter if it made fiscal sense.”

  Deep chocolate eyes study mine. “And while discussing mergers, he’d have missed out on his beautiful daughter, in a beautiful dress, wanting to dance on the day that will become one of the most important in her life.”

  Firming my lips, I only nod. Because that’s all I can do without runni
ng the risk of crying.

  “But at that wedding,” he grins, “I’ll be there. And I’ll dance with you when my son decides to take his mother and grandmother for a spin. I know we’re not quite the merger your father would have hoped for…”

  I laugh under my breath and let him spin me out slowly.

  “But we come with loads of entertainment value. And cake.” Grinning, he turns us to study the cake as the waitstaff comes out to take it away to serve.

  Ben taps his new father-in-law on the shoulder, and extricates his bride from Aiden’s hold, but while they’re busy doing that, they don’t see what I see.

  “Hannah?” I scramble out of Bobby’s arms when my friend, the accountant, makes her way toward the cake with a vindictive smile. “Hannah! Don’t you dare.” I zoom across the dancefloor, and though I don’t shout, my movement is still noticed by many.

  I have to remind myself that this room is full of fighters. And fighters are fast on their feet.

  Evie sprints across the dancefloor with a shouted “Noooo!”, and Bry flies out of his chair with balled fists.

  These people don’t even know who Hannah is. I wonder if they’ve ever seen her in their life. But they see me. They see my eyes, my defensive stance, and they hear my scream when Hannah, with a hand on the third tier, fake-trips in her black and white server’s outfit, and shoves the cake forward.

  The scene plays out in front of me in slow-motion. I have time to cross the floor, Evie has time to sprint. Bry has time to snag my hand as the columns of the seven-tiered artwork begin to collapse.

  Then I do something I’ve never done before.

  I ball my fists, and roar my battle cry, like I’m Mel Gibson, and this is my last stand in Braveheart. I’m ready to beat the shit out of my friend for what she’s done, but Bry swings me up into his arms as the tower topples.

  Hannah steps back with her ‘oh dear!’ face, and Evie dives in to catch her cake. The seven tiers she’s been so excited about.

  Bry swings me around, but not fast enough that icing doesn’t splash against my legs. Evie tries to catch her cake, lightning-fast reflexes, but it merely slides through her hands, fills the cups of her dress, stains the ivory, and smudges against her chin as the music tapers off.