No Perfect Princess Read online

  “It’s Margaux.”

  “Right. Sorry. Why can’t I keep that straight? Oh my goodness.” She whirled and giggled to Claire. Again. Claire tamed her response to a polite smile—or was that a smirk?—as I fought the urge to dash into the bar across the street for something that’d make my eyes water and my head swim.

  How could a woman who spoke every sentence twice and put together GaGa-sized wedding spectacles not remember my name?

  And just how many months were left until this event?

  And how was I not going to take my own life before then?

  A moment of weakness. It was the only explanation for why I’d agreed to be Claire’s maid of honor. I wasn’t cut out for this shit. I hated everything weddings stood for. Love, commitment, white lace, promises, a kiss for luck and God only knew what else—

  Yep, here came that latte again.

  “Claire.” I grabbed her arm.

  “Hey,” she answered. “You okay? You don’t look so—”

  “I need sustenance.” I jogged my head toward the door. “Lunch break? I know a great sushi place right up the street.”

  Ginny let go long enough to clap her hands, giddy cheerleader style. “Perfect. Yes, perfect. We can talk about the menu. Let’s talk about the menu over lunch. You don’t mind if I tag along, do you Marge?”

  “It’s Margaux.”

  “Oh, God. There I go gain. Watch me go, go go!”

  Oh how I wished, wished, wished.

  “We just have so much ground to cover. It’ll be great to get the extra time. Right. Claire? So much ground to cover. My goodness.”

  “Of course, Ginny.” Claire answered before I could invent a way to mix bitchy and polite into the same flat turn-down to the woman. “That sounds like a good plan.”

  Daggers. My gaze. Two for one deal, right over the shorter woman’s head, letting Claire know exactly that. In return, she gave me the doe-eyed treatment again. Not buying it, sister. Not this time. This one knew exactly what she was doing.

  “I need to use the ladies room before we leave,” I snipped. “I’ll meet you out at the car.”

  I retreated to the back of the store to do my business and freshen up. When I returned to the parking lot, Claire was leaning against her A8, absorbed in whatever message she’d received on her cell. She held up a finger, a wordless request that I wait before getting in the car. I parked my ass next to her, against the car’s sleek hood, while glancing inside. Ginny was already in the back seat, belt buckled, hands folded in her lap, as prim as a toddler on a preschool field trip. This was not going to be the nice, peaceful, raw fish lunch I’d looked forward to.

  Stowing her phone in her enormous bag, Claire looked up at me.

  “Have you talked to your brother today? He hasn’t picked up his phone for hours.”

  I swung out, landing my fist on her arm a little harder than I’d intended.

  “Owww! Jesus, Margaux. What was that for?”

  I—gasp—actually felt a little sorry for the punch. But only a little. “Ix-nay on the rother-bay, okay-kay?”

  She stared. Then some more. How was this possible? The woman rocked the deer-in-the-headlights thing as easily as the cotton-candy-wedding dress thing. Not fair.

  “M, what are you—”

  “Just don’t call him my,”—time for the clenched whisper—“brother—in public.” I darted a glance around. “The last thing I need is to learn some gossip mag photog freak’s been hiding in the bushes around here, waiting to scoop a lead for tonight’s entertainment circuit.”

  She paled before joining me in the furtive three-sixty for said reporter. Any detail about the day she was going to take Kil “off the market” was media gold right now—meaning Claire and him—and all the rest of us—weren’t enjoying much privacy anymore. We couldn’t even assume a peaceful street like this was safe ground from the vultures.

  “So…you think you’ll ever be comfortable enough to go public with it?” Claire muttered.

  “I don’t know, little bear.” I playfully knocked my shoulder to hers. “Tell you what? One thing at a time. Let’s stress about you right now.” A moment later, her snicker had me slanting a narrower glare. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You know ‘effective diversion’ should be your middle name, right?”

  “That’s two words.”

  “Your point is…?”

  “Shit.” She was the girl preparing to marry the guy with two middle names. Fucking society wanna-bes, thinking they could be royals by giving their spawn a thousand names. You can call me queen bee; I’ll live that fantasy. Riiigght. Because that worked out so well for them all the first time around.

  “It’s okay, Margaux. I’ve been onto you for a while, you know.” She looked at me sideways while digging through her monstrosity of a purse to find her keys.

  I snorted good-naturedly. “I know, baby.”

  She winked. “Glad we’re straight, then.”

  “But that’s part of the problem now, isn’t it?” I hooked an elbow through hers. “C’mon, honey. Let’s ditch Miss Ginny Sunshine and hit a few bars instead of lunch. I’ve got the mother of all tension headaches coming on, and only alcohol or great sex is going to work it out. And since choice B doesn’t seem to be in my immediate future…”

  Her brows shot up. “Wait. I thought things were on the right track with you and Michael. You know how he stares at you, right? Do not tell me he isn’t pulling out every single move in his book when you two are alone.”

  I didn’t say anything as we climbed into the car. Once I glanced back, confirming Ginny was engrossed in composing an email on her phone, I decided to throw my sister a bone. How’s this for ‘distraction’, Claire Allyn Montgomery?

  “Okay, so that’s the problem,” I muttered, leaning toward her. “Michael…I’m not sure if he has any moves.” When her forehead furrowed, I rushed on, “He’s not like any of the guys I’m used to ‘dating’.” I threw air quotes around the last word. God forbid that I say “fucking” in front of Ginny. The fallout from her aneurysm wouldn’t be pretty.

  “What do you mean?” Claire pressed. “Are you sure? Mare, I’ve seen the man in action at bars and clubs. He’s a panty charmer when he wants to be. There’s definitely game there.”

  I let my head fall against the headrest. “That sure as hell doesn’t help.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged and dropped my voice lower. “Meh. Forget it. Maybe I’m not the right quarter for his game.”

  She tempted the Botox gods again. “No. No. I refuse to believe—”

  “Well, believe,” I retorted. “Sorry, bear, but I know what I know. The guy is so—polite—like all the time.” Heavy sigh. “So polite.”

  “Define ‘polite’.”

  “He treats me like I’m made of china, right? One wrong move and I’ll shatter into a million pieces. It’s…frustrating.” Go for it. Just tell her. “I’m used to it—well, I like it—on the rougher side, you know? I’m not a hearts and flowers kind of girl. I need down and dirty, fuck me hard and bruise me fast, you know?”

  “Guess I do now.”

  I rolled the back of my head against the leather cushion. “He may just be from the wrong side of town for me. Or me for him. I don’t know. I…like him. I like him a lot, actually. But he just never makes a move. Like I’m in a glass case…fifty feet over his head.”

  “So shatter the glass. You jump first.”

  Twisted lips. “Uh-uh. Been there. And I’ll be damned if I go there again. When a relationship starts there, I’m already bored. I love the hunt, sister—but only if it keeps me a little scared, you know?”

  “Scared?” she echoed. “Are you serious?”

  I enjoyed the chance to get back at her with the snicker. “Oh, c’mon, Claire. Killian still scares you a little…in the good ways. Don’t tell me he doesn’t still bring that little rush to your chest, that telltale pulse in your pussy—”

  “Margaux!”
/>   “He does, doesn’t he?” I took her secretive grin as a yes. “I made myself a promise to not do the chasing anymore. I deserve better.”

  She nodded while starting the car and pulling out into traffic. “You’re right. You do deserve better. You have so much to offer. I’m glad you’ve finally recognized that about yourself.”

  I slammed my eyes shut.

  Uggghh. I didn’t want this. I sure as hell didn’t need it. Why was everyone so hot to lecture me about how glad they were that I’d turned some mystical corner in my life, and how much “better” I was now than before?

  Better than what?

  I wasn’t “better”, dammit. I was the exact same cold-hearted bitch my mother raised me to be. Different factor at the moment? I had a decent guy following me around like a sweet little puppy, when all I really wanted from him was an hour or so of his doggie side, the harder the better. When the hell had it become so hard for a girl to find a good fuck in this town?

  Michael and I had the prerequisites. I was certain of it. The last time we’d said goodbye, after Andre had given him a lift home in my car, things had gotten more than hot and heavy—and I felt exactly how much “dog” he had to offer between his thighs. I was ready to buy a ticket on the Michael Pearson train that very night but he’d stepped off before we left the station, stoic and gentlemanly, making me go home to dig out my Hitachi. Again.

  I whipped my attention back to Claire with an upsweep of my hand. Damn, my mani looked good. I needed to tip my girl better on the next visit. “Okay, girlfriend. No therapy on the five today, okay? It’s handled; end of story. Just feed me, please. That latte is long-gone and I’m running on a big, fat E.” I reached over to turn up the radio, shamelessly bopping to the newest Katy Perry, winking when Claire shook her head and laughed. A girl could only have so much serious in one day. Thanks to our morning field trip, I’d reached my limit before noon.

  We’d missed the lunch rush so were seated immediately at the sushi joint. Less than five minutes after that, I was gratefully sucking down sake—and able to tune out Ginny a little.

  Until she dropped the bomb heard around the world.

  “So, Mary—tell me what you’re hoping for in the maid of honor’s dress.”

  Claire choked but pretended it was her iced tea. I wasn’t so subtle about my reaction, an open glare at the woman who blithely bit into her ahi roll, unaware she’d just issued the one word I hated more than any.

  Mary.

  She should have just said bitch. It wouldn’t have cut as deep, reminding me all over again that before Andrea Asher decided to use my Pamper’s-covered ass as a pawn in her chess match with the Chicago old boys’ club, I might have been loved for who I was and not the power I represented. I might have been wanted, even loved, by Josiah Stone and a woman I’d never known. Violet Tosca. That had been her name. Yes, had been, past tense—because thousands of dollars and two private dicks later, the only thing I knew besides her name was that she’d disappeared off the face of the earth about a year after I was born. No address. No bank accounts. Not even a death certificate. She’d simply…ceased to exist.

  Damn good excuse to wave down the waitress for another tokkuri of booze. Tossing back more of the sweet rice wine realigned my head with the task at hand. I was going to be the best damn maid of honor the wedding world had ever seen, even if it killed me. And yes, even if this crazy woman couldn’t remember my name if it was being tortured out of her.

  “First things first, Ginny. Margaux. My name is Margaux. Secondly, I’ll wear a burlap sack if it makes Claire happy. And for the record, I’d rock it.”

  I plastered on my best pageant smile, shocked at how easily its falseness slid back into place…masking the pain that clenched so deeply underneath.

  Dammit. Not now.

  I thought I was done with this agony, but with one stupid slip of a name, from a complete stranger, all the anger and betrayal churned my gut again.

  Why couldn’t I deal with this? How the hell did Mother keep me in her clutches, even now?

  I was stronger than this. I was better than this.

  Just not right now.

  “I need the little girl’s room.”

  My blurt blasted the mama bear thing across Claire’s face again. I winked at her, my wordless version of calm down or I will cut you, before slipping out and heading down the narrow hall to the rest room. The heels of my tall boots echoed on the slate floor as I marched—faster, faster—getting to the stall just in time to slam the door shut, drop over the toilet, and sacrifice my lunch to the porcelain god.

  Crazily, I was almost thankful for the moment. At least my mind filled with things other than Andrea. Thank God it’s clean in here. Dammit, what a waste of good food. Too much sake and too much drama do not make for a happy stomach. I’d always had an emotional digestive tract, a trait never appreciated or understood by Andrea. Some things never changed, I guessed—on any level.

  The bathroom wasn’t just clean but vacant—gratitude factor number two—making it possible to blot my face and rinse my mouth in privacy. By the time I returned to our table, no one should’ve been the wiser about my true purpose for the “bio break”, though Claire had clearly renewed her Nancy Drew Club card, shooting me the sideways detective stare all over again. Not bueno. The woman was getting to know me in unnerving detail. People were just so much easier at arm’s length.

  Thankfully, she was distracted by an incoming text. The Timberlake ringtone gave away the sender though Claire’s goofy grin would’ve done the job, too. Killian.

  One look at the expression on my sister’s face and my belly cramped all over again. There was no food left in it to give me fits, so I was forced to admit the real source of the pangs. Claire Montgomery was a women desperately, deeply, in love…and I couldn’t stomach watching it at this proximity.

  Love was for fools.

  And I was many things, but a fool wasn’t one of them.

  Claire’s confused scowl caused my own. “Little bear? What is it?”

  “This doesn’t add up,” she mumbled, thumbs flying as she tapped out a reply text to Kil. “Not even a little bit.”

  “Still in the dark, girlfriend.”

  “It’s my crazy fiancé.”

  Ginny flashed a coy smirk. “Oh, keep them that way, sweetie. The hotter and crazier they are for you, the better life can be. If you know what I mean.”

  Damn good thing the woman finished it off by sliding out for her own trip to the facilities. If she’d hung out with that I-know-what-you-and-Killian-did-last-night smirk, I wouldn’t be held responsible for trying to wash it off—with the rest of the sake in the pitcher. “Crazy with a little c or a big C?” I asked Claire.

  She shrugged. “He says he’s having car trouble and he needs me to pick him up at this address…all the way out in Rancho Santa Fe.”

  “Is he joking?” I held out my hand, palm up. “Let me see that thing.”

  Gawk. Then again. Sure enough, the address was out in the middle of San Diego’s version of Beverly Hills, a neighborhood where even the housemaids drove BMW’s. It wasn’t far but it wasn’t close, either.

  “This is strange,” Claire said. “All of his cars are in excellent condition.”

  “Except for the truck,” I pointed out.

  She rolled her eyes. “He keeps the beater for sentimental reasons.”

  “You think?”

  “And he only takes it out when he goes surfing. If he’s in Rancho Santa Fe, then he must be there for business. Even so, why is he texting me instead of Alfred?”

  “And why is he even texting you?” Revelation struck. A shudder ensued. “Unless the bastard can’t even wait until tonight for a booty call. In which case, ew.”

  That didn’t loosen even a tiny giggle from her. “He knows I’m still with you. But he’s adamant. He wants me there.”

  “And you just jump every time he throws down a summons?”

  “It’s not a ‘summons’. It’s
a request. And I’ve already told him we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “It’s just a few exits north of here. I have to take Ginny back to the dress shop to get her car, anyway.”

  “There’s something to look forward to.”

  After saying goodbye to Ginny, Claire pulled onto the 5 Freeway. We headed north and cut inland after the sparkling stretch of Solana Beach, on a quest to rescue her beau. The coastal views helped me relax again, along with the knowledge that I’d have fodder to hold over Kil’s head for weeks. Running through one-liners to taunt him with, I didn’t pay much attention to the increasing price tags on the homes—make that estates—we winded past, until Claire started mumbling to herself again.

  “This is really ridiculous. If this is where his business meeting was, how is it this person couldn’t give him a ride or help with his car?” She scowled deeper. “I smell a rat.”

  “Rat,” I repeated. “Hmmm. That has possibilities for a good goad…”

  “Huh?”

  The car’s disembodied GPS was my knight in shining armor.

  “You have arrived at your destination.”

  But we were at the end of a street lined with lush trees, with nothing around except a set of iron gates that belonged on Wayne Manor. We couldn’t see where the drive beyond led but I guessed it was a private residence like the others in this “neighborhood”, containing a mansion and grounds that could easily house a medieval village.

  “We’re in the right place,” Claire stated. “This is the address he gave me.” As she tapped out a text, she gritted the same words beneath her breath. “Where… the… hell… are… we? And… where… the… hell… are… you?”

  As if she’d spoken the open sesame for the gates, they parted slowly, perfectly framing a figure strolling down the drive. Sure as hell, it was my brother, definitely looking like a sexy Bruce Wayne update. His cocky grin was in place, and his thick black hair was a windblown contrast to his crisp white shirt and light blue tie. He was jacketless, though the perfect cut of his black pants told me he’d gone for one of his favorite designers looks today, customized Kiton. Damn, the man had great taste. Thank God I’d learned about our real relationship before actually sleeping with him.