Gunner slings his arm around my waist and narrows his eyes at Nick. “I’m telling you. Mafia.”
I shake my head at him but thank Roman before we head inside. Roman sits next to Carl, leaving Nick and Gunner to sit next to me. Holden watches from his place at the head of the table. I swear he’s the ref between Carl and the others.
“So, Sophie, how did you get involved in the business?” He asks, a slight tremor to his voice.
I lean forward and wrap my lips around the straw of my drink, very aware of how intently he’s watching me. He bothered the hell out of me the entire ride in the limo, it’s my turn to twist things.
I swallow slowly and rub my arm, which just so happens to push my breasts together to create even more cleavage. “Well, I worked hard in college, then grad school. Dad’s been in business longer than I can remember and it let him travel, see the world, be his own boss and it sounded like my kind of work.”
He nods, pats his temple with the napkin, and struggles to keep his eyes on my face until I shrug and his gaze noticeably drops. I smirk. “Plus, it means I’m in New York and brought me to the four best men the world’s ever created.”
Gunner strokes up the inside of my thigh and I take an unsteady breath. His chest brushes my arm as he whispers in my ear. “Stop baiting him or Roman is going to toss him out with the trash.”
I give him my most innocent face and Gunner digs his nails into my thighs despite the smile teasing the corner of his lips. I shrug, then sweep my hair over my shoulder, showing off the two bite marks and a single hickey that I didn’t bother to cover with makeup.
“How did you get involved with my fiancés?” I ask Carl.
He goes into some winding circular story that is hands down the most boring and confusing thing I’ve ever heard. I look over to Nick for translation. “He was a stockbroker, saw the rise, and got involved before we opened the second location.”
“Ah.”
“Well, if you want to simplify it.” Carl takes a long drink from his glass.
We get through dinner and I take a page from my mom’s book. If Carl’s allowed to ask invasive personal questions I do the same, pretending to be drunk. I like the flustered look on his face, the hungry, pleased glint to Roman’s eyes whenever he catches my gaze, and the way Gunner and Nick tease me with feather-light touches.
Holden takes it all in, only speaking when someone addresses him specifically. Which I hope doesn’t mean I’m bothering him. By the time Carl looks at the time and makes an excuse about an early flight, I pout.
“We were just getting to the good part. Don’t you want to come out and dance with us? Gunner has some new moves he wants to try out and we could definitely use a friend.” I pout.
Carl actually gulps. “I’m not really a friend. I’m more of an acquaintance. I’ll see myself out.”
He runs for the hills and I smirk. “I don’t think he’ll be a problem anymore.”
“You’re impossible, Sophie,” Holden murmurs, but then I see him smile. “But what a wedding present – getting Carl out of our hair.”
“To Sophie!” The guys toast me and I fan myself.
Maybe this wedding stuff is overblown. I can relax and let it all be taken care of by my mom and just give the final say on things without worrying. Especially with the promise of forever hanging in front of me.
ROMAN
The next week is murdering me slowly. Sophia started out easygoing, seeming to enjoy where we were in the planning, able to relax. Her normal self returned to us until she got a call saying there were changes to the dress – that the seamstress had misunderstood something or other.
Then it was rage. Of course, after that, our number one DJ backed out, the venue wanted to up the charge, and they all called Sophia. Sophia, who’s trying to work and hold onto her sanity without letting it slip away.
By Thursday, she’s an unpacked mess of stress living in oversized t-shirts and nothing else. Holden nominates me to handle it this time while he and Gunner check on the tuxes and take care of the DJ issue. Nick is sorting out the Hotel and making sure we have the wedding bands on time.
So I have to get Sophia back to a happy place and get her packing. We’re going to be leaving for Paris in two days and I don’t have the patience to wait until we’re in the air to calm her down.
When I get home, I see her on the phone, face red, eyes furious. She yells and hangs up before gripping her messy hair. Without missing a beat, I toss her over my shoulder and head to my bathroom.
“Put me down!” She squeals. “I’m not in the mood!”
“We’re showering,” I say instead.
“Don’t you bark orders at me!”
I swat her ass. She keeps struggling on my shoulder, but I simply turn on the shower – a cold one – and put her under the water. She squeaks and I let her slide down my body. She glowers at me despite the fact that she’s soaking wet.