“Sounds good.” No one liked having their cock strangled by their obnoxious dress clothes.
“If you’ll wait here, Mr. Price, we have the vest in the back.” The man took his flirty little assistant and headed for the back of the shop.
I wasn’t against custom-tailored suits. I owned a shit ton of them. My objection stemmed from the fact that my mother-in-law, as fake as that title was, currently occupied the fancy-ass couch behind me.
“Cannon, dear, do you have a preference between the notched lapel or the peak?” Mrs. VanDoren asked as she flipped through the tailor’s book of options.
“No, ma’am, I don’t,” I replied.
“Hmmm…” Her brow crinkled as she flipped between two pages. She reminded me so much of Persephone. She had the same willowy, petite frame and blue eyes, but she kept her silver-streaked blonde hair up in a French twist. The woman was classic, but even better, she was kind. “I think the notched will look better with those broad shoulders of yours.” She held the book up as if she could picture me in it.
“What are we discussing?” Andromeda flounced into the fitting area, flipping her gold-blonde hair over her shoulder.
“Oh, hello, darling. Why don’t you sit next to me?” Mrs. VanDoren patted the seat next to her.
“Hi there, Cannon. Don’t you look dashing in a tux.” She gave me an appraising look that made my skin crawl. I’d seen that look far too many times on the faces of women who saw me as a challenge. They wanted to climb Mt. Everest once in their lifetime, but it wasn’t like they wanted to set up a home at altitude or anything.
“Thanks, Anne.” She’d demanded I use the nickname on her second day in my home. We were going on day eight, and she had both Persephone and me on edge with her constant whining and demands.
How the hell had such a graceful, dignified woman like Mrs. VanDoren raised such different daughters? Then again, how could a woman with such life in her eyes be terminally ill?
Anne plopped down next to her mother and looked over at the book. “Such good options. You know, from what Sephie has told me, you’re not really a fan of tuxes.”
“I’m not a fan of anything tight around my neck,” I answered, glad that the tailor had given me an extra half inch at my collar when I’d asked for it.
“And you’re still willing to wear a tux for the wedding?” Mrs. VanDoren asked with concern in her eyes.
“It’s what Persephone wants,” I answered simply. If the woman asked me to show up wearing a G-string and pasties, I’d probably do it just to see her smile. She was so sad lately. Frustrated with her sister’s overwhelming presence and the doctor’s inability to find her mother a donor. I found myself joining her in that department.
“You two are going to have such a beautiful life together,” Mrs. VanDoren remarked with a little sigh. “I’m so glad you’re letting me do this—plan this little affair. It means so much to me to see my little Sephie walk down the aisle.” She smiled up at me with a slight tremble. “Now if she’d just make time to get to the tux fitting,” she teased.
“She said she’d make it if she could. Persephone is an incredibly busy woman,” I replied with a nod as the tailor came back in. “She loves her career and does a lot of good around Charleston with the foundation.”
“Aren’t we all just proud of her,” Anne quipped with a tight smile.
“Of course we are,” her mother said softly. “And Cannon, I really appreciate you letting us be here. Seeing as you don’t have your mother with you.”
“Where is mommy dearest, anyway?” Anne asked, taking a bottle of water from the end table.
My stomach clenched.
“She died when I was younger. Is that for me?” I asked the tailor, hoping the abrupt change of subject would signal that my mother’s death wasn’t up for discussion.
“Yes, Mr. Price.” The tailor handed me the vest, and I put it on, then buttoned the avocado green fabric over the tuxedo shirt.
“The color’s all wrong!” Mrs. VanDoren chided as she stood.
“This is the color you ordered, Mrs. VanDoren,” the tailor assured her.
“It most certainly is not. Maybe if this was nineteen seventy four, or we were looking for baby-vomit, but I assure you, that is not the color we ordered.”
“I have the order right here,” his assistant said, flipping through her notebook. “The color was called in last week by Andromeda VanDoren?”
Anne stood and folded her arms. “I ordered silver like you asked, Mama.”
“Oh,” the assistant’s brow furrowed. “Well, there’s only two numbers different from silver, so maybe I took it down wrong?”
“Of course you did.” Anne arched an eyebrow. “And you’d better get it fixed before the wedding.”
I would have bet my entire year’s salary that Anne had called in the number wrong on purpose. She’d been a bitter little witch the entire week whenever Persephone brought up the wedding.
“Okay,” Mrs. VanDoren put her hand out to her daughter to settle her down. “I’m sure something can be done. Let’s not panic. Claude, why don’t we step into the back and see what fabric you might have on hand. Cannon, do you mind waiting for just a second?”
“No, ma’am. I’ll be right here.” This entire shitstorm my life was wrapped up in was to make the woman happy, so I’d stand here until the shop closed if that accomplished the mission.
“Thank you, dear.” The three of them walked out of the fitting area, leaving me with Anne and a massive headache.
“Why don’t you call her Sephie? I’ve been meaning to ask you.” Anne asked as she walked closer.
“Because Sephie is the name of a child, and Persephone is a grown-ass woman,” I replied, examining the cuffs of the shirt.
“Hmmm. Is she, really?” Anne challenged as she walked around the dais, studying my pants. “The fit is good.” She grabbed a handful of my ass and squeezed. “Really good.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I seethed, stepping away from her. Was it the first time a woman had grabbed at me without my permission? No. Boundaries were something that some fans didn’t quite understand. However, it was the first time the sister of a woman I was involved with had done it.
Are you really involved with Persephone? Or just married to her?
“What does it look like I’m doing?” Anne stepped up on the dais and immediately came at me like I was going to welcome her advance.
“Back the fuck down,” I warned her as I stepped off the platform. “I’m married to your sister.” Jesus, Persephone was going to be crushed when I told her.
She scoffed. “Married? So what? Sisters share.” She shrugged.
“I’m not a fucking sweater from the GAP,” I hissed softly, hoping her mother wouldn’t hear. That would definitely fuck up mission Keep-Mom-Happy. I folded my arms across my chest and stood my ground. I wasn’t letting her chase me all over the goddamned shop.
“Like I’d shop at the GAP.” She stalked forward, eyeing me like prey. “And come on, Cannon. I know your rep, both on the ice and with the women. There’s no way a man like you could be satisfied with a frigid, fragile little princess like my sister.” She smirked. “Because I’m well aware that she doesn’t know how to please a man. And honestly, no man would look as frustrated as you do all the time if he was getting what he needed at home.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Rage blossomed in my chest, fierce and undeniable. I’d never put my hands on a woman in my life, but I’d never encountered a snake like Anne, even living in some of the shittiest situations a kid could be put in.
“I’m sorry?” She looked genuinely confused.
“Holy shit, are you that used to getting your way that you can’t understand that I don’t want you? That there’s zero fucking chance I’d ever touch you willingly? Persephone is everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I will ever want. So I’ll ask you again—are you out of your fucking mind?” It didn’t matter if I really was
as sexually frustrated as she’d accused. Hell yes, I was on edge. I slept next to Persephone every single night, wondering if it would be the night I finally snapped and took everything she’d offered back in the library—took everything I wanted. My control was a single, thin, fraying thread when it came to my wife, but there wasn’t anyone else I wanted.
Anne’s eyes flew wide, but she stepped the fuck away from me, so I counted it as a victory.
“She sure as hell is!” Persephone stood in the doorway, looking furious as hell and all the more beautiful for it. And shit, her mother occupied the other.
“Sephie…” Anne turned with her palms facing outward. “You misheard—”
Persephone marched forward. “I didn’t mishear shit.”
“Girls,” their mother beseeched softly.
“No, Mama,” Persephone shook her head but didn’t look away from Anne. “She’s fucked up her last three marriages, and that’s on her. I’ll be damned if she’s going to try to come between my husband and me.”
Damn, my wife had bite. She wasn’t some docile little kitten, though her looks advertised otherwise. She was a full-grown tigress with the claws to match. She was holding her own in a situation where I would have stepped in front of her and handled a year ago. That emotion welling up through me? It was pride.
“That wasn’t—” Anne started.
“I heard it all!” Persephone snapped. “Now in the interest of our mother, I’m telling you to get in my car so I can take you back to my house, where you will promptly pack your shit.” Even with her sweet, southern drawl, the words packed a punch.
A corner of my mouth lifted at my wife’s use of shit, fucked, and damned in front of her mother.
“Oh…but…” Anne looked at her mother, who shook her head. Then she turned to me.
“What? Like I’m going to help you? What my wife says goes in our home.” I shrugged.
Defeated, Anne raised her chin in the air, plucked her bag off the couch, and walked out of the shop ahead of Persephone.
“I’ll see you at home?” I called out.
She turned and offered me a sad smile. “Don’t stay out too late.”
“I’m right behind you.”
With that promise, Persephone left the shop. The silence was broken by Mrs. VanDoren’s stuttered sigh.
“Don’t worry about them,” I assured her, sitting her down and cracking open a bottle of water for her.
She sipped at the water with a straight back and a shaky grip. “I’m so sorry, Cannon. Andromeda…she’s…” Her eyes squeezed shut.
“You don’t owe me an apology.”
“I do. I just…I love both of my girls. I need you to know that.”
“I do. They know it, too. And they’ll work it out. Don’t worry.” I spotted her driver lurking near the doorway.
“How do you know?”
“Well, first, Persephone agreed to drive her home. She’s not making her walk, and second, they’re sisters. I would do anything for my sister.”
She pressed her lips in a thin line but nodded. “Right. You’re one of the good ones, you know that? Persephone’s own knight in shining armor.” She patted my cheek, and I let her.
I muttered my thanks and made sure she got to the car safely with her driver, keeping my thoughts to myself.
I wasn’t Persephone’s knight. I was her personal devil.
I ditched the tux, then picked up takeout from Persephone’s favorite comfort food restaurant and headed back home. It had to have been about an hour and a half after she’d stormed out with Anne, which meant she’d had an hour to deal with her sister.
Carrying the takeout bag in one hand, I walked into the house through the garage, unsure of what was waiting for me.
The smell of bleach stung my nostrils as I hung my keys by the door. But it wasn’t Monday or Thursday, which meant Margaret, our housekeeper, hadn’t been here.
“Persephone?” I called out as I walked into the kitchen, where the bleach smelled the strongest. “Are you trying to get rid of a body? Because I’ve heard lye is the way to go.”
“Right here.” She was scrubbing the shit out of the counter in the corner of the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” I set the food on the counter and approached my wife carefully. For all the time I’d known Persephone, I’d never seen her so…frenzied.
“Of course, everything is okay!” she snapped, working an area of granite so hard I wondered if we’d have a permanent divot there. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”
“Princess…”
“Don’t call me that! Not after she called me…what was it? A frigid, fragile little princess?” She moved slightly to her left and started scrubbing even harder.
“You’re not any of those things,” I said softly.
“You should have heard her once we got home.” She shook her head, flipped the sponge over, and started again. “Saying that I’d never keep you. That a man like you needed more than a woman like me. That I should have let her have you, because then at least you’d be satisfied enough to stick around with me, and the worst part is maybe she’s right!”
I reached my arms around her and captured a wrist in each hand. “Drop the sponge. You’re murdering our counter.”
“It’s not our counter!” she cried as the sponge slapped against the granite. “It’s yours because we’re not really married! I don’t care what that license in the safe says!”
My heart didn’t just hurt. It ached at the raw pain in her voice. I made quick work of removing her rubber gloves, then turned her in my arms and caged her against the counter so she wouldn’t run off before I’d had my say.
“Persephone.”
When she wouldn’t look at me, I tipped her chin up and found her blue eyes sparkling with tears and rage. Now that was a feeling I knew all too well.
“I don’t want your sister.” She looked away, and I waited until she dragged her gaze back to mine. “I wouldn’t want her even if I wasn’t married to you.”
“I appreciate that.” So ladylike.
“We’re legally married. That counter is half yours. It’s going to be all yours if you keep scrubbing it like it’s personally offended you.”
Her lips twitched in a smile, but it faded fast. “I’m just so mad. So fucking mad.”
“Damn, it’s hot when you swear,” I muttered with a grin.
“You’re beautiful when you smile.”
I blinked. Gorgeous, hot, fuckable…those were the compliments I was used to getting. “You’re always beautiful.”
Her lips parted.
I cleared my throat and backed up. “I know how to work out the rage.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Does it include removing my clothes so I can prove I’m not frigid?”
Damn, that word must have really hit home for her to dwell on it like this. “No, but it involves you getting cold.”
Her brow puckered, and I motioned for her to follow me. I led us through the kitchen and down the hall toward the steps that led to the basement. I flipped the switch and shut the door behind us as we descended, then opened the door at the bottom of the staircase as we approached.
Cold air smacked us in the face as I shut the rink door.
Persephone’s jaw dropped as she saw why this house only had two bedrooms. The entire basement was a half sheet of ice. “This is amazing.”
“Cost me a pretty penny, but it keeps me from punching the shit out of people when I get mad, so I figure it’s out-earned itself bail money.” I led her down the rubber-floored walkway to the alcove that served as my personal locker room. It was lined with four giant, wooden lockers. “You never realized it was here?”
She shook her head as I handed her a pair of brand new skates. “When you gave me the tour, you pointed to the basement door and grunted, ‘mine,’ so I steered clear.”
Had to love a girl who respected a man’s privacy. Love? I wiped that thought straight out of my head.
“Those are your size
. I had them made for you when you moved in.” I quickly got my skates and sat on the wide wooden bench.
“That’s so sweet,” she whispered, running her fingers over the lavender laces. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I motioned to the locker behind me. “I have a clean sweatshirt in there so you don’t freeze.”
She glanced down at her yoga pants and tank top. “Oh. Right. I changed right after I threw Anne in a cab.”
I quirked a brow as I started lacing my skates under my athletic pants. “No driver?”
“Nope. She can kiss my ass.”
I laughed, then helped her get her skates tied once she had my sweatshirt on. “They’re stiff when they’re new. You’ll have to break them in.”
“Are you saying I can skate down here?” she asked as we walked toward the ice. Her steps were steady. Good, she’d spent some time on skates.
“Any time you want.” I grabbed one of my sticks and one I’d bought for her, then picked up the bucket of pucks and stepped onto the ice. “Can you skate?”
“A little.” She glided out onto the ice easily. “I’ve never been in hockey skates, though. Only figure skating ones.”
I dumped the pucks in a pile about ten feet from the net as she made a small loop around the rink, testing out her skates. My sweatshirt dwarfed her, almost reaching her knees. She was pretty much shapeless in that thing, and yet I’d never seen her look sexier. Her hair was up in a knot, showing off the line of her neck, and something primal sat up and took notice when I saw her skate away with my number on her back.
“Okay, get over here and vent your rage,” I ordered, holding out her stick.
“Oh, I’m left-handed,” she remarked.
“I know. It’s a left-handed stick.”
Her eyes flared. “You notice way more than people give you credit for.”
“Not really. I just happen to notice everything about you. Now start shooting.” I moved over and took a few shots myself so I didn’t have to see her face after that comment. I wasn’t even sure why I’d said it, other than knowing that she needed to feel desirable, to know that her sister was an evil, wrong bitch for what she’d said.
Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5) Page 9