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  I frowned. “What’s your point?”

  “What’s yours?” He pivoted to face me fully. “You’ve all but told me that you found the woman of your dreams, but you’ve also told me that you let her leave the state and ignore the fuck out of you for nearly four weeks. This isn’t behavior from the Killian Stone I know. Remember him? The unstoppable freight train? The same guy who let Trey and me dunk him repeatedly in Echo Lake every summer, only to grin like an idiot and beg for more the next day? That’s one of a thousand examples, so let me know if you want more.”

  “Want an example, asshat? Meet me at the club pool tomorrow morning and I’ll show you all about dunking.”

  “There!” he exclaimed. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  “What you’re talking about how?”

  “Why doesn’t that Killian Stone have his ass on a plane for California? Why didn’t he do it a goddamn month ago?”

  While Lance’s hoo-yah for my cause was awesome and unexpected, it didn’t change a word of my answering argument. “Because I’ve had a chance to evaluate this shit—and conclude that Margaux Asher, in all her manipulative glory, likely did me a favor.” I blew out a weary breath. “Because despite how my mother’s so certain about my imminent suicide, maybe this was for the best.” I inhaled deeply to prep my conclusion. “Claire Montgomery deserves better than what I can give her, Lance.”

  He narrowed his gaze. “Excuse me?”

  “The truth.” I loathed that even evoking the word made my head pound. “And yeah, I mean all of it. All the crap that went down in my penthouse that night… It wasn’t the first time she’d been laid out by a man’s betrayal. She saw what she saw and believed what she did about it because she’s been lied to before, in huge and disgusting ways. Even if that weren’t the case, integrity and truth are hardwired into her emotional needs. I’ve seen that circuitry at work hundreds of times over the last three months.”

  Lance gave a scoffing huff. “Kil, she makes a living from media spin and altering public perception.”

  “By taking the truth and letting it shine, not by fabricating attacks and lies.” Even in the midst of my purgatory, a smile warmed my chest and burgeoned to my lips. “It’s the most unique thing I’ve ever seen. She pulls out seeds from the shittiest situations and transforms them into the PR version of roses. She simply turns people into better versions of themselves.” I couldn’t help snorting out a laugh of self-deprecation. “Hell. She’s turned me into a better person.”

  “I already like this woman.”

  We chuckled softly together. I rolled my shoulders, still nervous. On a day I hadn’t even tried for the goodwill of my brothers, I stood here laughing with Lance. It was a smack of bizarre on top of the surreal my life had passed back in March. I didn’t know what to do with it.

  “I think she’d like you too. When Trey’s behaving, she even enjoys him.”

  “Someone who inspires you to your best, though they’ve seen you at your worst…” His face mellowed into a faraway expression. “That’s good stuff. I like it. I get it.”

  I studied him harder. “Yeah. You do, don’t you?”

  “It’s what Zack has done for me.” He turned his stare back to mine. “I’m in love with him, Kil. And God help the man, he feels the same way.”

  I returned his smile. “I’m glad for you, brother.”

  As fast as it had started, the man buried his lapse of sentimentality. The arcane cowboy artist returned. “I’m glad for me too—to the point that if Zack had the tiniest suspicion I’d been with someone else and then ran away and blocked my ass at every communication attempt, I’d be looking for the next transportation I could find, be it a two-thousand-dollar airline ticket or the back of a goat farmer’s truck, to get my face back in front of his. Once I was there, I’d make him take a bath in my gaze until he couldn’t breathe from the love I drowned him in and then dare him to walk away again.”

  “Even though you two have to hide what you feel?” I nodded toward the pool, where Father settled beside Mother once more. “From them, at least.”

  “Not for much longer.” He returned my startled glance with a serene nod. “Yeah, I know they probably know already, but I’m going to tell them, Kil—out loud. Oh, not today. Ruining Mother’s bash wasn’t what I came here for.” Resolve firmed the jaw beneath his beard. “But life is too short and precious to hoard secrets, brother, especially those that shackle you from grabbing at the big brass rings…the shit that really matters.”

  “You mean killing the enemy ninjas and taking back the base?”

  He cracked a grin at my mention of our favorite boyhood adventure. It mellowed to an expression that stunned me. For the first time in our lives, it seemed Lance was at peace in his own skin—and, because of it, more confident than I’d ever seen him. “Joy and love, Killian,” he answered. “Joy and love…and the right person to share them with.”

  Our stares locked for a second. I was fascinated by this person I’d known my whole life but didn’t feel I’d truly seen before today. Some of that change was traceable to the changes in my own outlook, but most of it was Lance’s power. He’d girded his balls, sucked back his fear, and yes, had fought ninjas—those in his soul—in order to face his truth instead of run from it. Now he stood here offering to lend me the same strength, a beacon of direction from the last place I ever would have imagined.

  And I paid him back by clinging to my hesitation. Without apology. “I’m fucking proud of you, brother. I mean it. But slipping on my devil’s advocate horns for a second, my coming out would spread much bigger ripples in the Stone Global pond than yours.”

  Lance returned a measured nod. “We all have levels of truth. Admittedly, yours are more complicated than most people’s. I can’t tell you which layers to peel off, Kil—but I can tell you that the one tangling your gut, strangling your heart, stealing your sleep, and dragging your psyche is the one you must fight for. She’s the one you must fight for.”

  His words galvanized me. And terrified me. In a guttural mutter, I told him, “I’m scared shitless.”

  “Then you’re headed in the exact right direction.” There was a chuckle in his voice, making me want to hug him and deck him at the same time.

  “This isn’t a dunk in the damn lake, Lance. And I’m not the steel-sided freight train, either. This is bigger. Things could get…broken.”

  “No shit.” He laughed again. Bastard. “Like your heart.”

  I dug a savage toe at the grass. “Yeah, goddamnit. Like my heart.”

  “Which means you have to dig deep for the courage this time, deeper than ever before. But if anyone can do this, it’s you, Killian Aidan James Jamison Klarke Stone.” He returned my sudden gawk with an assuring smile. “You want me to add on a few more names? It still wouldn’t matter. The labels aren’t you. Embrace the truth of you, Killian—the warrior who’s always been my dauntless brother, no matter what anyone chooses to call you. Get your ass out of these castle walls, and go find the woman who cherishes that truth in you. Don’t waste another second. Do it. Now.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Claire

  Early June in San Diego was one of the most beautiful times of the year. Southern California wasn’t big on seasons, but the transition from spring to summer always brought a palpable change to the air, a livelier kick to everyone’s step. The flowers seemed brighter. The bay seemed bluer. The sun was warm, and the breeze was balmy.

  It was a perfect time for brides and weddings and fairy tales.

  And heartache and headaches and desperate attempts at faking happy.

  Yes, I was miserable. And saw reminders of Killian nearly everywhere I went, in almost everything I did. But if an Olympic event existed for faking happiness, I was training for the gold during my efforts at being the best second-string maid of honor in wedding history. What better reason to push myself than Dad and Andrea’s big day, right?

  While dunking my pain in miles of tulle and organza
, I did everything humanly possible to steer clear of Margaux. That included making myself available to Andrea and Colette, her psychotic wedding planner, for each and every task they dreamed up. I forced myself to say yes no matter how trivial or mind-numbing the project.

  In fact, the more mind-numbing, the better.

  I spent an entire weekend hand-addressing envelopes for thank-you notes corresponding to gifts that hadn’t actually arrived yet. Another weekend was spent hand-wrapping each of the wedding favors, cut-crystal flower vases in the art deco theme of the wedding. The seating chart took another weekend, and for three days after, I referred to myself in the third person, as was Colette’s habit.

  It didn’t matter, though. As long as I stayed busy, I didn’t think. Which meant I didn’t think…

  About…him.

  No matter how many times his phone number showed in the window of my cell. Or a package arrived from him at my condo door. Or a memory of his touch panged me as I undressed. Or the beauty of his name spilled from my lips when I pleasured myself. Or the darkness of his eyes, haunting my sobs afterward.

  It would get better. It had to. One foot in front of the other. Somehow.

  Today, I had no other option. The big day had come, and the stage was set. The Crystal Ballroom at the US Grant in the historic district of downtown San Diego had been reserved almost the moment my father had proposed to Andrea two years ago. They were lucky to secure the hotel for a Saturday night in June, but the Grant was well aware of the publicity potential of having the Asher-Montgomery wedding in-house. The showpiece of the city’s Gaslamp District specialized in weddings, and today’s event was like no other. Andrea had hand-selected every element of the occasion to coincide with the ballroom’s opulence, which transported guests to the hotel’s heyday during the 1920s and ’30s, when celebrities from all over came to enjoy the building’s splendor.

  Andrea was stunning in her custom gown, looking like a modern-day Jean Harlow as she walked down the aisle to Dad, who got misty the second he saw her. By the time she arrived at the rose-covered altar, his handsome face was streaked with tears. His emotion sent me over the edge too. I sniffled through the ceremony, my heart bursting with jubilance for him. By the time the ceremony was finished, they both practically glowed, and I nourished a sliver of hope that Andrea cared for Dad beyond wanting a piece of movie star-hot man candy on her arm. Maybe I really did need to give her a second chance. Maybe she wasn’t the zero-depth dragon I kept making her out to be.

  “Claaaaiiirrreee. Claire, darling!”

  Or maybe I’d had a moment of temporary delusion.

  I was tempted to answer “Yes, Mommy Dearest” but bit my tongue, set down the first plate of food I’d seen all day, and slapped on the fake smile I’d perfected to an art while scurrying to the bride’s side to see what she needed—this time. At least I was actually able to move. Andrea had been sympathetic in choosing our dresses, opting for simple but stunning navy silk sheaths with jewel-encrusted spaghetti straps, making it easy to be at her beck and call. Not that the main maid of honor would know about such things. Margaux had slunk off to the bar as soon as her receiving-line duties were finished, almost seeming afraid to be around her mother. I had to agree that in full bridal glory, Andrea packed more force-of-nature punch than usual. The urge to genuflect before the woman did occur as I approached her, now standing near the head table mooning over Dad, her French-manicured fingers caressing his classic gray cravat.

  “Andrea, I’m here. What can I get for you?”

  “Oh Claire, you’re such a dear. I left my lip gloss in the bridal suite when we went back to freshen up. I must have left it on the vanity.” She winced. “I should have left behind these shoes instead. They’re killing me.”

  Dad gently kissed her cheek. “Ohhhh no, love. We can’t have that. Just take them off, darling. Nobody will notice.”

  “Everybody will notice. The line of the gown will be ruined. It’s all right, Colin. I’ll be fine for a few more hours.”

  “At the price of your arches?”

  She ignored Dad’s mutter. “Margaux still has both the key cards to the room, Claire. Can you ask her for one and then hang on to it in case my silly brain forgets anything else?”

  “Sure,” I said, forcing the smile again. “No problem.”

  Dad stepped over and bussed my cheek. “You’ve been such a big help today, honey. I’m so proud of you…and thankful for how you’ve gotten close to Andrea.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Montgomery, let’s move toward the dance floor to set up a few candids.” The photography team ushered Andrea away, giving us some privacy.

  I kissed him back and then hugged him tightly, sniffling again as the backs of my eyes stung once more. He brimmed with a radiance I hadn’t seen since my graduation day, and even that paled in comparison. I would do everything in my power to keep that look on his face, for today and forever if I could.

  “Daddy?”

  “What, magical one?”

  “Please…just make sure…she always treats you right, okay?”

  “Awww.” He pulled me in again. “I will, sweet Claire bear. And someday soon, your prince will come too, and you will be as happy as we are.”

  As I tugged away, I rolled my eyes. “That’s not a subject for today, Dad.” Or ever. Too late on the hint to my heart, a memory churned to life with bone-melting vividness. I’m not standing here with a glass slipper, Claire. Killian had murmured it before climbing out of the town car to watch every step I took into the hotel before giving that bashful, beautiful little wave I’d remember my whole life.

  Sure you will, girlfriend. Until you get a clue and consider how many others he’s used that wave on before. Maybe even Margaux, who was dazzled by it as much as you—and then did something about it.

  I allowed myself a glance toward the bar. For someone who’d finally gotten her hands—and God only knew what else—all over Killian Stone, Margaux appeared confusingly miserable.

  “You need to stop working so much and get out a little bit, Claire.”

  I shook myself from my ruminations to nod indulgently at Dad. “Yeah, yeah.”

  After we hugged one more time, I swiped at my tears and made my way toward Margaux for the suite key. As I watched, she was approached by Michael, Chad, and Talia, our teammate who’d finally returned from her crazy assignment in New Orleans. Their smiles were full of forced politeness, though Michael actually dared a hug as well. To my shock, Margaux accepted the gesture with a little smile. I released a relieved breath. Michael and his kindness might have just eased my day somewhat.

  “Sorry to break up the party, gang.” I gritted a smile of my own at my new stepsister. “Can I grab the bridal suite key and ask you to keep an eye on things for a few minutes? The new Mrs. Montgomery has a cosmetics emergency,” I explained. “I’ll be back fast.”

  Margaux fished in her wristlet before extending the keycard with a heavy-lidded glare. So much for Michael and his magical hugs. Apparently they weren’t as wonderful as Killian’s.

  On that morose thought, I turned to make my escape—grateful as hell that Chad grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray and quickly fitted it into my free hand.

  “You can probably use this more than me right now,” he muttered.

  “You’re right. Thanks.” I left out the part that I’d only had a granola bar and a banana since this morning. This would be my third glass of champagne, and I anxiously waited for the buzz to kick in so I could finally forget just one word in my head.

  Like that was happening, after the flashback I’d just entertained.

  Hair in the wind. Gentle smile. Dorky wave.

  Killian.

  I slammed the champagne back, wishing it was Patrón.

  But I still had lip gloss to retrieve. I hastened my step toward the elevator after I shut the ballroom doors, hearing a sizable commotion in the room behind me. The lift opened just in time. I stepped in and mashed the button, deciding that wh
atever the crisis, Margaux could handle it this time.

  The hallway was deserted as I arrived on the floor, made my way to the bridal suite, and slid the card through the reader. By the third unsuccessful try, I was pretty sure Margaux had given me the key to her room instead of the suite. “Shit,” I whispered, settling my forehead against the door. I barely paid attention when the elevator dinged again, but that changed when the approaching footsteps on the carpet registered. Heels. Hard and angry.

  Speak of the devil, in all her Louboutin-and-Tiffany glory.

  Margaux stopped, shot out a hip, and whipped out another card. As she cocked her head, her soft blonde curls contradicted her defiant green glare. “I gave you the wrong key.”

  “I was just figuring that out.”

  “So…what, Claire? Do you expect an apology? Because you won’t be getting one. Not from me, at least.”

  Her flare-up wasn’t a stunner. Now that we were away from the guests and our parents, the woman was unleashed to let her true colors show. That was fine by me. I didn’t feel like making nicey-nice anymore, either.

  “Trust me, Margaux, that’s the last thing I’d expect from you.” I edged the retort in sarcasm, but the bravado was a complete act. She was the last person I wanted to be standing here with. Just glancing at her was a piercing reminder of what I’d believed in once again and lost. Of who I’d lost. “Thank you for bringing this up. Now get the hell out of my face before I decide to crack this key in half and use it to slice yours open.”

  Through the haze of my anger, I heard loud stomps in the central stairwell, back near the elevator shaft, but Margaux moved in, wedging me into the alcove in front of the door. My sights were filled only with her leering face now, though I sensed a new presence in the passage with us, getting stronger…distinctly masculine.

  And smelling of Armani?

  No.

  Enough with the stupid mind games, Claire. Three glasses of champagne and no protein, and you expected yourself to keep thinking straight? My terrible sleep habits weren’t helping the situation, either. Rousing at three a.m. for two-hour bawling jags had made me feeling like a certified loon by now.