#Heart (The Hashtag Series Book 6)

by Cambria Hebert

  I could tell she was surprised by my display of affection, but she hugged me back anyway.

  When I pulled back, it looked like she might have something to say. But then whatever it was disappeared. “I’ll see you later at the boutique?”

  “I’ll be there,” I said, taking in her bright-blue skinny jeans, black boots, and oversized black cowl-neck sweater. Her hair was up on the top of her head in a sleek knot, and her makeup was flawless as usual.

  She didn’t look like anything was wrong.

  “Awesome!” Her white teeth flashed.

  But I knew better than anyone that looks could sometimes be deceiving.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Romeo

  Mom invited the entire Knights institution to our engagement party. That alone was a crap ton of people.

  All but about ten percent of the entire staff came. The entire team was here.

  I saw that as a good day for me in football.

  Yeah, I know. I was at some fancy pants party, and this wasn’t a football game. But every day was a day in football, whether it was a game day or not.

  The way I saw my teammates’ presence tonight was a show of loyalty. A show of respect for who they all knew was going to be the team leader. No, it hadn’t been announced yet, but it really didn’t need to be. I knew it by the deal my father got for me. I knew it by the huge amount of money they were paying me to play for them for the next four years.

  Know how else I knew?

  I knew by the way Blanchard looked at me. I hoped the guy never played poker, because if he did, he would suck. He had no ability to look at a person and conceal the way he felt.

  And when he looked at me, I saw resentment.

  Not hatred, not loathing, or anything equally as alarming.

  It was just resentment. Anger with me for taking his top spot away. Anger with himself for losing it. Hell, he was probably even mad at the calendar because I was younger than him.

  Football was a game of high stakes and big money. It was a tough pill to swallow when the game you excelled at suddenly turned on you.

  I had no doubt if I had been any other position or a quarterback on any other team, Blanchard and I would get along. Hell, maybe we’d even go out for beers. This wasn’t necessarily personal, but the sting of the cut sure made it feel like it was.

  When we first locked eyes across the room, I made a choice. I could acknowledge the way I knew he felt and fuel that fire, or I could pretend I didn’t notice.

  I didn’t do either.

  Starting a fight wasn’t my thing. But backing down sure as hell wasn’t either.

  Instead, I opted for respect.

  I met his eyes, keeping my gaze as strong and steady as his. After a few beats passed, I lifted my beer to him, a sign of esteem and also an acknowledgement that I understood the undercurrents between us.

  I didn’t want a fight with the number two quarterback on the team.

  I was tired of fighting.

  We didn’t have to be friends, but I didn’t want to have to watch my back every time I walked through a door.

  Blanchard wasn’t quite as diplomatic as me. He didn’t raise his glass or even smile. He lowered his chin and then turned away.

  Well then, so much for not watching my back.

  I made it a point to make eye contact with the guys who stood around him. His friends who had been loyal to him far longer than they’d ever known me. I hoped they wouldn’t be a problem. I hoped they were smart and recognized a shift in power when they saw it.

  I wasn’t an asshole. But I knew how to be. And if anyone wanted to challenge me on the Knights, I’d accept the challenge and I’d win.

  All but one of the players returned my look and raised their beers.

  Respect.

  They didn’t have to like me, but the respect was mandatory.

  Rimmel slid up to my side, and the familiar feel of her hand in mine made me forget about the team.

  “Have I told you how absolutely beautiful you look tonight?” I asked, glancing down at what everyone assumed to be my soon-to-be wife.

  Really beautiful was in understatement for the way she glowed tonight. Rimmel was a beautiful woman without even trying, but holy hell, when she tried… she was breathtaking.

  And tonight, I found myself in the position of not being able to breathe an awful lot.

  She looked like an angel dressed in a white lace gown. I knew Ivy was the one who picked it, so of course it was going to be a nice dress, but my new sister had outdone herself with the choice. It looked exactly like something Rimmel would wear.

  As I said, it was snow white in color, made completely of lace with white silk underneath. It was long-sleeved, but the sleeves were sheer, giving me glimpses of Rimmel’s creamy skin and making me ache to run my hands over her naked body.

  Rimmel told me the neckline was called a sweetheart, but all I knew was it afforded me a nice view of her chest and, once again, a mouthwatering view of her smooth skin.

  The dress hugged her chest, bringing her narrow form into a slight V shape at the waist, but then the dress flared out, billowing out around her hips and thighs, making her look like she was heaven sent.

  Once again, I got a glimpse of skin because the gown wasn’t long. The front ended mid-thigh and then gradually became longer around the back so it draped like a waterfall toward the floor. The entire uneven hemline looked as though it had been dipped in gold. But not the kind of gold that looked gaudy or even painted on. It was more of an understated golden hue that colored the lace and wasn’t too shiny, like someone threw a jar of glitter at her.

  Rim’s thin legs stretched to the floor into the gold heels perched on her feet. How the hell Ivy got her to wear heels I would never know. Honestly, all I could think about was how they would feel wrapped around my waist.

  Yes, okay. I just said she looked like a heaven-sent angel, and she did—the way she floated around the room—and yes, maybe it was wrong to think such spicy thoughts about a woman who appeared so divine.

  But hell. I never said I was an angel.

  “Once or twice.” She smiled and reached up to adjust my tie. “You look like a golden statue come to life.” The long length of her hair was down tonight, curled into long, loose waves and pinned up on the sides away from her face so it could cascade down her back.

  “It’s the tie,” I said and leaned down to kiss her softly. People around us clapped, and I felt like a circus animal. “Think if I do a trick, people will throw snacks at us?” I whispered in her ear.

  “Certainly would be entertaining,” she mused.

  A few photographers appeared in front of us, and I set my beer on a tray that was passing by. I didn’t care to give the impression I was a drinker, especially not before the beginning of my first season as a starter.

  Rimmel was holding a champagne flute in her hand, and the golden bubbly only accentuated the entire goddess look she was going for. So when she tried to put it down I shook my head slightly. “You’re perfect the way you are.”

  She made a face at me and handed the glass off Ivy, who had approached me from behind. “Until all the papers decide your new wife is a drunkard and start making up headlines about rehab.”

  I would have laughed at the ridiculousness, but she was probably right.

  We turned toward the cameras and smiled, posing for picture after picture until they all drifted away.

  “My face hurts,” she muttered, and Ivy stuck the champagne under her nose.

  Braeden materialized right beside Ivy and handed me a fresh beer.

  “I have to say,” Ivy said, “Valerie did an amazing job. This place is freaking amazing.”

  “Moms has style.” Braeden agreed.

  “Be sure you tell her that,” I told him. “She’ll live on that for months.”

  “It’s a done deal.”

  Rimmel sipped at her champagne and glanced around the huge ballroom, taking in the décor. It wasn’t the first time
she’d done that tonight, and I’m sure it wouldn’t be the last.

  “It really is beautiful.” Rim agreed. “See what I mean about the wedding?” Her comment was directed at Ivy.

  “Oh, I can see it.” She agreed and crossed her arms. “But I’m still not convinced.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked.

  “Wedding stuff,” Rim said.

  I grunted and drank some beer.

  “Where’s your champagne?” Rimmel asked Ivy, and I noticed she was the only one without a drink in her hand.

  Ivy shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not drinking tonight.”

  Didn’t seem odd to me at all. There were quite a few times when we went out in the past several months that Ivy didn’t drink. After everything that happened to her, I understood, and with tonight being such a large crowd and filled with so many people she didn’t know, I thought it was a smart choice on her part.

  Not that anything would happen to Ivy tonight. Braeden and I would make sure of that.

  Rimmel didn’t seem to think along the same lines, though. I felt the air around her shift, and when I glanced in her direction, she was studying Ivy with a calculating glint in her eye.

  Odd.

  Movement from across the room caught my attention, and I saw Ron Gamble talking with the head coach of the team. Both of them seemed relaxed and jovial with drinks in their hands.

  I leaned down to Rimmel’s ear. “I know it’s our engagement and all, but I was wondering if you minded a little football talk?”

  She glanced toward the men I’d just been looking at and then to a group of my teammates standing nearby. “Braeden?” she whispered.

  I nodded. “It’s a good time to introduce him around.”

  “Is that even allowed in the football league? Is that like fraternization or something?”

  “Who the hell knows?” I said, surprised she would even think about that. My girl was wising up to the game of football. “This is a social setting. It’s just uncontrollable who one might bump into at a party,” I said casually.

  “By all means, you and Braeden go do whatever it takes to make sure my brother gets to play with my husband.”

  I bent down to look directly in her eyes. Even with heels on, she was still just Smalls. “You’re sure?”

  Her eyes softened. “We had our night. This night is for us, but it’s for our family, too. Now go take care of B. Give me a signal if you need me to step in and do some charming.”

  In that dress, they’d all be putty in her hands.

  “I fucking love you,” I growled.

  “I fucking love you, too.”

  “Let’s go find a broom closet, have a quickie.”

  “You have a one-track mind.” She shook her head, but she was smiling.

  “You know it turns me on when you say the word fuck.” It totally did. Hearing that dirty word come out of her pure little mouth never ceased to make me horny.

  “Later.” She promised and tugged on the gold tie my mother picked to go with the suit. I didn’t like it so much at first. But now I didn’t mind it.

  “B!” I said and straightened. “C’mon, we got shit to do.”

  He turned to Ivy and made a face, showing her all his pearly whites. “I got anything in my teeth?”

  “No, but I sure wish you had some manners,” Ivy quipped.

  Braeden dived forward and kissed her. She laughed.

  “Love you,” he said.

  “Times two,” she whispered, and then I clapped him on the back so he would move his ass.

  We had some schmoozing to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Rimmel

  I was in a fairy tale.

  A literal fairy tale come to life.

  I knew what Valerie had planned for tonight. I knew the color scheme, and I knew the location. But I hadn’t known it would be this gorgeous.

  The grand ballroom of the hotel was a huge open space with high ceilings that had to be at least twenty feet tall. They rose up in the center like a steeple, and running horizontally across the wide space were large wooden beams that added a rustic touch to an otherwise austere place.

  In between the beams, lights hung down from the ceiling, clear glass that looked like water drops with a single bulb in the center. They sparkled and glowed around the room, and while the room itself was far too bright for the pendants to look like stars, the effect was no less dramatic.

  Everything was decorated in a white and matte gold scheme. Not the kind of gold that looked brassy and plucked right out of the eighties, but a modern gold finish that seemed to play perfectly with the white.

  There were round tables draped with white linens and large over-the-top centerpieces of white daisies and gold-painted baby’s breath bursting out of planters that stood tall, finished with an aged white texture. Where Valerie found so many perfect white daisies in the middle of winter I would never know.

  Because the planters stood on what looked like thick podiums, the space on the table beneath them was filled with clear glass votive holders and lit white candles.

  The dishes on the tables were white, edged in gold, and the linens were the exact same shade of gold on everything else.

  Champagne flowed freely throughout the room, going around on trays and also being poured at the two bars on opposite sides of the room.

  Canapés were being served and later, there would be a sit-down meal. There wasn’t a DJ. Oh no. There was a live band, and they seemed to seamlessly play a mixture of current popular songs and songs that would never go out of style.

  Who the hell needed a wedding when you had an engagement party like this?

  “Do you think Romeo knows all these people?” Ivy leaned in and asked.

  I laughed. “Definitely not. I’d be surprised if his mother knew them all.”

  “Did you know someone from People is here?”

  I shook my head. “No, but I’m not surprised. They’re trying to get exclusive pictures from the wedding.”

  As if on cue, a stylish woman wearing what I knew had to be a designer dress approached us. “Rimmel Hudson?” she asked, and I thought, It’s Rimmel Anderson now. “I’m Rachel Wintor, the head editor at People.”

  “Wonderful to meet you. Thank you so much for being here tonight,” I said politely and offered her my hand.

  She took it and then looked between Ivy and me, then back at me. “I have to say you look more beautiful tonight than I’ve ever seen you look. Would it be okay if I asked who you are wearing and quote you on it?”

  Even though Ivy was standing there, the picture of poise and style, I knew she was probably going to pee her pants any minute now.

  “Of course.” I smiled. “Please meet Ivy Forrester. She’s my stylist. Every nice outfit you’ve ever seen me wear is courtesy of her brilliant eye.”

  “Ivy.” Rachel turned her full attention to my friend. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You certainly seem to know your way around a closet.”

  I laughed lightly. “I’ve never met anyone better. She’s currently in the process of starting up her own YouTube channel dedicated to style and teaching clueless people like me how to look their best.”

  “Really?” Rachel seemed interested.

  “Yes, she’s in high demand where we’re from.”

  Ivy gave me a look and then turned back to Rachel and turned up the Ivy charm. She had the kind of personality that attracted people. They gravitated toward her confident air and beautiful face.

  And she certainly looked beautiful tonight, with her hair straight and sleek around her shoulders, dramatic smoky eye, and retro inspired lip color. Her dress was simple and stunning, a black curve-hugging design that went all the way to the floor. It was long-sleeved and had a modest scoop neckline, but when she turned around, it was completely backless.

  To finish off the look, she was wearing large square faux diamond earrings, a silver cuff bracelet, and a teardrop-shaped pendant necklace on a chain so thin you might
not notice it at all except for the way it glittered beneath the light.

  She finished off the look with a sky-high red heels that occasionally peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown.

  “I’m not the only one who knows her way around a closet,” Ivy said, her blue eyes sparkling. “Is that a gown from the spring Lager Collection?”

  I had no idea, but clearly, Ivy did. Rachel smiled. “You know your designers.”

  Ivy looked put out. “I wouldn’t call myself a stylist if I didn’t. I didn’t think the Lager Collection was available yet.”

  “It isn’t. But Lager is a friend of mine.”

  “Well, he keeps you very well dressed.” Ivy smiled.

  Rachel turned back to me. “So who are you wearing, Rimmel? Your gown is stunning.”

  I glanced at Ivy because I had no idea who I was wearing. It could be Target for all I knew or cared.

  “It’s an indie designer by the name of Sophie Blanc. She’s extremely talented, and I think you’ll probably feature her on the pages of your style issue someday soon.”

  “An indie?” Rachel purred. “Bold choice.”

  Ivy shrugged one shoulder delicately. “I wouldn’t say bold. It’s clearly a beautiful gown, and it complements Rimmel’s body shape perfectly. Sophie was very accommodating in tailoring it to fit her measurements, and the craftsmanship is amazing. She even added the gold trim to the hem at my request because I wanted something to make the dress really special. There’s a whole lot of talent in the indie design world. People with a fresh eye and a lot of determination to make it. They just need a chance to shine.”

  “Well, this designer is certainly shining tonight, courtesy of Miss Hudson here.” Rachel nodded. “How do you spell the designer’s name?”

  Ivy spelled it out while Rachel wrote it in a small notebook. When she was done, she looked up. “And who did you hair and makeup?”

  “Ivy,” I replied.

  Rachel gave Ivy another interested glance. “You’re talented yourself.”

  “I’ve been styling Rimmel for a while now. I know what works best on her,” Ivy answered pragmatically.