AVERY
Seething. That’s the only word to describe what’s going on inside my head right now. I don’t want to scare Marigold, and I made her a promise not to physically harm her father, but that doesn’t mean I don't want to. In fact, I’m itching to hunt him down and make him pay for the marks on her delicate skin.
“Whoa.” She peers around at all the vans and cars parked in front of the house.
Two men carry huge bunches of flowers on their shoulders and march through the front door. A woman fusses loudly at an assistant who’s balancing a cake tier in her hands.
“This is real.” Marigold puts her hands to her face and peeks through her fingers as we pull into the garage. “This is really real.”
“I know you’re excited.” I squeeze her thigh and cut the engine.
“Excited–yeah, that’s a word.” She turns to me. “You just met me, all right? I mean, I was going along with you on this whole marriage thing because you’re loaded and sweet and give me orgasms like I’ve never had before in my life …” She smiles a little, as if remembering the sensation.
“I’ll give you many more.” I open my door and get out, then go around to get hers.
“Wait.” She puts her palms on my chest. “This is nuts. Absolutely bonkers.”
“We’ve already agreed that I’m crazy, especially when it comes to you,” I remind her.
The door to the house opens, and Mr. Lou pops his head out. “The tailor wants to know if you’ve decided on the black tie or the white?”
I tilt Marigold’s chin up. “What do you think, Goldie?”
“Um, what color tux?”
“Black, of course.” I can feel her worry ebbing away as she thinks it over.
“Then I think a white tie would look really nice.”
“White it is, then.” Mr. Lou smiles and closes the door.
“See? This whole wedding business will be exceptionally easy.” I guide her up the stairs and into the hallway. There’s even more bustle in here, workers moving quickly as Mrs. Lou lectures the caterer on the correct way to slice prosciutto to go with the burrata.
“There you are!” Mrs. Lou waves the caterer away and hurries over to us. “Marigold, the seamstress is upstairs. We have a lovely selection to choose from, but she’s going to need to get to stitching to make whichever gown you choose fit perfectly.”
“Oh my God.” Marigold digs in her heels. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
Mrs. Lou and I exchange a look.
“You can, Goldie.” I pull her through the busy kitchen and into the pantry, then close the door behind us.
“I’m just sort of freaking out.” She puts a hand to her cheek.
It’s dark and almost quiet in here, though the sound of chatter and pots and pans makes it through to us.
“Marigold.” I run a hand through her hair and pull her to me. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I don’t know. When my dad came by, he was asking questions about Hoover and you. He spooked me, I guess. And then when I think about how little I know about you, I worry.”
“Ask me anything. I’ll tell you.”
“Really?” She looks up at me in the dark.
“Of course.”
“Where are you from?”
“All over. My parents were operatives in a mercenary unit based out of Morocco. They were still in the business when I was born but left soon after. We had to keep moving to keep their enemies off their trail.”