Bitter Sweet Deception (The Kingsmen M.C Book 4)

by Oakes, Tara

  Hundreds of happy faces and flashing cameras are staring back toward us. Quickly glancing over the waving children, pointing parents, and people fanning themselves with folded programs, I scan for the large group of familiar faces that are waiting to see me take a seat behind the podium. I am about to give up and turn my attention toward the last step, when I find what I am looking for. A dozen or so adults and a gaggle of little kids all with the same light olive skin and dark brown hair as mine, stand out against the background. I smile knowing that my family is beaming looks of pride in my general direction.

  Concentrating on the task at hand, I carefully walk halfway across the stage to my assigned seat, sitting as gracefully as I can. Mission accomplished. The last thing I need is to trip over my tent of a graduation gown and fall flat on my face before my brothers. They would never let me live it down.

  The sun beats down on us like a fry lamp at any given fast food establishment. Our gazes respectfully aim toward the back of Father Cross' head, but I'm sure I'm not the only one stealing glances of their personal group of fans every few moments.

  Mine is probably one of the larger ones. Sister Mary Francis wasn't thrilled when I handed in my seat count for the ceremony. I'm sure she would have told me to trim it a bit but held her tongue thinking about the amount of zeros on my family's endowment check to the school every year.

  Most of them are here today. Well, the ones living on this side of the Atlantic, anyway. Mom, Nonna, Aunt Rosie, my brothers with their wives and kids... and Theresa and Dom. I take inventory of each of them as I check them off my mental family list. And then I notice it.

  “Miss Katherine Lang”

  Father Cross turns slightly toward us as Kate gently squeezes my hand before getting up to receive her diploma. I smile and nod in return... chuckling a little when I notice the pink smear on her left hand. She had decided to remove some of her war paint before having her perfect smile immortalized for her graduation pictures. Smart move.

  I quickly move my attention back to my personal group of troublemakers starting to share collaborative looks between one another as they sit up in preparation. This is not good. If the four of them are communicating through silent glances and nodding with little smirks thrown in, that means they are all thinking somewhere along the same line. I'm on the receiving end of those lines of thinking more times than I care to recall.

  The applause is loud but polite for Kate. Her family makes the expected cheers with her name being added to phrases such as, “Go Kate!,” “That's my sister,” and “Yay Katie!” Perfectly fine, tasteful and acceptable.

  She grasps her diploma, faces the small group of men with wide-angle lenses stationed below the stage, and I can imagine her flashing the megawatt but slightly plastic smile she is famous for. It's the same smile she gives everybody, every time, exactly the same. I'm sure it was perfected somewhere around thirteen years old in the company of her vanity mirror. Lipstick was probably added somewhere around her sweet sixteen for dramatic effect.

  The applause dies down while Father Cross angles himself back towards the microphone perched atop of the podium.

  “Miss Vincenza Maria Lombardi.”

  I hold my breath and stand up, preparing for the noise.

  I lock eyes with Father Cross, steadily heading in his direction. I have tunnel vision. Just concentrate on reaching the podium and take my diploma when he hands it to me. This is all I can think of to drown out the spectacle starting to erupt about ten rows deep into the crowd.

  My eyes do not budge from that diploma as it nears. The last thing I need to do is give them a reaction. I've learned the hard way over too many years, that if they see the slightest bit of frustration or acknowledgement... then it just carries on longer.

  Father Cross, headmaster of St. Bartholomew's Women's University, looks like a deer caught in headlights. I'll bet he's never had this happen in the twenty-plus years he's given this same drawn out commencement speech, handing out these leather bound diplomas. I can't ignore the touch of irony in the situation, though.

  Here stands the man who time and time again refused to change the outdated school curriculum after countless petitions and student senate meetings.

  Finishing and Etiquette courses are mandatory no matter the degree you were completing. After all, St. Bart’s is well known to be one of the finest (and few remaining) institutions where the daughters of the upper-crust can be educated in all things “proper and polished”.

  With families like this seeking out their services, why would they change protocol? It isn't like the students are paying the bills or granting the ostentatious endowments. The families do, and the last thing Father Cross will let happen on his watch would be for the benefactors to suddenly loose faith in his archaic and traditional policies.

  And yet here we are on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, enjoying the fruits of his labor... while the wealthiest, most financially generous family that this school has likely ever seen is making a scene the likes of which St. Bart's gentry have ever witnessed.

  A very small, crooked smile is fighting through all of my efforts of suppression. It is the same type of smile this man has given me every time I presented him with the school year’s latest petition to no longer mandate trivial classes such as“Traditional dance,” “Entertaining,” and“Social graces.”

  I extend my right hand out toward the deep burgundy leather portfolio he is grasping and my left hand to take his salutary greeting. Widening into a full smile, I turn in the direction of the photographers below, and the clicking sounds begin. His palm is sweaty, but cold. Weird and gross at the same time.

  My peripheral vision begs my attention. They're on their feet, hands in the air, pumping. Fingers are cupped around mouths to project the hooting and hollering further, louder. My little nephew Johnny is being held up in the air to add his own voice to the mix of calls being shouted my way.

  WAIT. There's a sign. Fuck. Really? A sign? I can't resist the urge any longer, and stare full-force in their general direction, taking in the entirety of it.

  Mike, the youngest and most mischievous of my three older brothers (and most likely the ring-leader of today's affair), is holding up a rather large white cardboard sign with professional lettering sprawled across it... huge letters shining and sparkling in the bright sunlight.

  WAY TO GO BABY V!

  The blood rushes to my face before I can try and contain it. Mike is waving the sign back and forth, slowly, while doing his best impersonation of a rabid sports fan. His brown hair flops around from the sudden motion of jumping up from his seat. He sees me watching him and adds a nodding motion to his yelling.

  John is next to him, holding little Johnny high above the crowd. Pure glee is painted across Johnny’s (“JJ” as only I call him) round little face. As the eldest of my brothers and head of our family, John should know better than to encourage the next generation to jump on the“Baby V” bandwagon. As angry as I am with him, I can't help but notice the look of pride on John as he holds his first born and only son up to watch me receive my degree.

  Tony is next down the line of men making fools of themselves. His perfectly gelled coif and artificial tan stand out among the crowd of W.A.S.P.y alabaster complexions. The Jersey Shore has nothing on my brother Tony. He is suave to a fault and a killer lady's man. My inner Gloria Steinem is itching to add the phrase “man slut” to the mix, but Tony has a heart of gold and has never treated a woman badly. He treated them well in fact... all of them. But, he's a tamed man now, and married faithfully for over a year. Tony is so excited and laughing hard enough that he practically doubles over. Dom is slapping him on the back while laughing himself.

  Dom. Gorgeous Dom with dreamy eyes. Tony was a ladies man, but he was just a wingman compared to Dom. Dom can have any girl he wants... and probably has. Growing up, all of my friends swooned over him like flies on ice cream, and he loved every bit of it. Domenico is not a blood brother to me like the other three, but close enough that I
never hesitate adding him to their collective title. They are simply, “The brothers.”

  Dom's eyes lock with mine long enough to see his famous grin and sly smile, before he adds the loudest boast yet to the ordeal.

  “Way to go, Baby V! Bring it on home!”

  Before he can finish as enthusiastically as he started, Theresa elbows him hard enough to ensure there isn't a follow-up. That's my girl! Although Theresa is Dom's younger sister, she always has my back. As the only two girls in our family, we have an unspoken allegiance to each other.

  Theresa has had her share of the boys' antics growing up, but, as the baby of the group... I bear the brunt of it.

  Dom pretends to be injured, cowering away from his little sister while she returns her attention my way, and politely claps... just as I had done at her own graduation ceremony last year.

  The two are quite a pair. For however handsome Dom is, Theresa is equally beautiful with her huge almond eyes, and long, wavy, blown-out hair. She is the closest thing to a sister as I'm sure I'll ever find.

  After the full five-second timeframe perfected during countless hours of graduation rehearsal, I turn once more to Father Cross. His lip quivers a little in restrained anger as he issues his standard well-rehearsed words of wisdom.

  “Congratulations my child... and God bless you.”

  Simple. Sweet. And probably more than a little difficult for him to say at the moment.

  ~*~

  In a matter of moments, the great lawn has been transformed into a sea of chaos as relatives and loved-ones swarm around in search of their particular graduate. It probably doesn't help much that we are all dressed in the same identical burgundy ceremonial gown. Twice now, someone has grabbed on to me only to find that I was not exactly who they were expecting.

  Maybe this will be easier if I just park it somewhere and wait to be found, instead of playing the maze-game with several hundred well dressed but impatient audience members? I head over toward the largest oak tree in the center of the lawn to relax under its shade until the craziness settles.

  The temperature instantly drops a few degrees as I feel the trees relief from the brutal sun. Pressing my back against the ancient tree, I graze the crowd looking for my mom. She is the only person I want to see right now as I'm still angry at the boys for their little graduation present from thirty minutes ago. Instead, I see another familiar face walking toward me, making an audible“Tisk, tisk” sound while smiling.

  “How is it that you can turn something as boring as a graduation ceremony into a small scandal?,” the friendly visitor finally asks as he joins my shaded spot.

  I reach out to hug him, thankful for the lighthearted distraction. He follows his chiding with a soft embrace.

  “Hey Conrad. So... you saw that, huh?” I ask back sarcastically. I haven't seen Conrad since spring break when he came to pick up Stephanie to take her home. He laughs lightly in my ear before tightening his grip and whirling me around.

  “Of course I did. I was nodding off, listening to Cross ramble on and on until all hell broke loose!” He gently places me back down and lets go of his grip to look at me. “So... Baby V, hmm? What's that about? I've never heard anyone call you that before. Something new?”

  “No... something old. Annoying, and old. Have you found Steph yet? I saw her over by the flower garden a few minutes ago,” I quickly change the topic away from my personal humiliation.

  He moves us deeper into the shade. “Yeah, I found her. She's taking pictures with our parents. So, how does it feel to be amongst us grown-ups, in the real world now?”

  Ha! I can barely call Conrad a grown-up. He is no more an adult than his sister or I am.

  “I am officially declining to answer any such questions until after the Summer is over. I figure I can stretch out one last season before joining in the trenches,” I answer back while shaking my head.

  “All right…,” he gives me a pass. “I'll ask you again in September, then. Enjoy it while it lasts. Steph tells me you two are going to be roommates in the city this fall?” He takes on a visibly confused exterior. “Seriously, I don't get chicks. I've spent eighteen years living under the same roof as her, and I couldn't wait for us to go to college just so I wouldn't have to deal with her every day. You two get paired up for four years and can't seem to let it go. I've seen how she keeps her room, V.”

  He rests a playful accusing finger on my chin, “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  I step up to defend my friend, even in jest, “Steph's not that messy. She's just organizationally challenged, I think. Yeah, we're going to look for an apartment downtown while we both get internships. Hopefully.”

  I had no idea Steph had told her brother about our plans for the fall. I scramble to think of a polite way to ask Conrad to keep it on the quiet side until we definitely have plans set, when I see him look over my shoulder, his face tensing nervously.

  “There you are. We've been looking all over for you.” I turn to see Dom standing a few feet away from me. His deep brown eyes looking from me to Conrad and back. “I told your mom I'd find you for pictures.”

  Conrad recovers from the sudden discomforting intrusion.

  “This must be one of your loudly-proud brothers then? Nice to meet you,” he speaks to Dom as he politely extends his hand. “Conrad Thomas, Stephanie's brother,” he introduces himself.

  Dom hesitates for a split-second while looking down at me. He's always been substantially taller than I am, but I somehow feel him grow in height. He reaches out for Conrad's hand and shakes it casually while maintaining his fixed gaze on me.

  “No, I'm not V's brother. I'm a really good friend,” he reluctantly shifts his eyes to Conrad. They probably should have let go of their grip, but keep it going awkwardly.

  “Dominic DiBenedetto. Good to meet you. I didn't know Stephanie had a brother.”

  He finally releases the younger boy's hand.

  The two of them can't be more than eighteen inches apart, facing each other. Dom is definitely the taller of the two, but Conrad straightens his shoulders as if to gain a few inches to make up the difference. Neither of them break their stare. I think fast to come up with something to say before this starts to become even more uncomfortable. Dom beats me to it.

  “But... you see those three goons over there? Standing by the fountain, staring at you? Those are her brothers. I think they want to see their baby sister and congratulate her,” he slowly states with a subtle hint of disdain as he places his opened palm on my lower back, adding a slight amount of pressure to will me to move with him toward where he's pointing.

  “Uh, yeah. That's fine. Congratulations, V. I'll catch up with you later then?,” is all Conrad can manage to speak before I am out of earshot.

  “Thanks! I'll call Steph about meeting tonight. You in?,” I call back slightly increasing volume as I am being led away.

  He nods over-enthusiastically.

  “Sure! Talk to you then!,” he finishes while still standing in the same spot under the oak tree, trying to figure out what exactly just happened.

  No longer trying to yell out to Conrad, I turn fully toward Dom and stop walking, placing more weight in the heels of my shoes to counter his gentle guiding. He realizes quickly that we have slowed and looks down at me, not releasing his position from its place on my lower back.

  “What?,” he playfully lets out while rolling his eyes. “Come on V. Are you really that pissed at what we did? It was Mike's idea. But it was a good one,” he continues his argument. “You're the last one to graduate... we couldn't pass it up.”

  I exhale deeply and loudly, “You are all idiots, you know! Really! You couldn't just act your age and at least pretend to be mature for one afternoon, could you?”

  I scold him as my pointed finger presses into his tie. I was expecting to push into his chest for full dramatic effect, but meet resistance under my fingertip. Dom practically lives at the gym... but I guess I didn't give him enough credit. His chest was a
lot firmer than I thought it would be.

  He moves his free hand to cover my accusing pointer finger and presses it so that my palm flattens out over his silky tie. Keeping his hand covering mine while changing his tone from one of jest to a softer, sweeter one, he begins the apology.

  “I'm sorry, V. Really... I am. You know us. We bust your chops. That's all. I mean... you must have expected us to do something...?”

  His brown eyes are somehow softer now, no longer laughing silently as they were before. His hand is strong on top of mine, as if he is holding it to reassure me of his words. Not wanting to brow-beat him any more than necessary as he obviously thinks I'm damn mad at him, I pull my hand back and use sarcasm to return to our usual and familiar banter.

  “A sign?... Really? With Glitter! That's above Mike's planning skills, Dom. Neanderthals can't read, let alone write.”

  I turn on my heel and storm off toward the other three idiots about to feel my wrath.

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  About the Author

  Tara Oakes is a new author from Long Island, N.Y. She lives with her husband and their little pet family. She is an avid reader, a DIY'er and writer of all things romance. With several completed works, A Lil' Less Broken marked her debut into e-publishing.

  When not writing or reading, Tara enjoys gardening (without much success) and all things Real Housewives related. Please feel free to contact her as all feedback and fan interaction is much welcomed and highly appreciated.

  http://www.authortaraoakes.com

  www.Twitter.com/Lil_Oakes