And he’s my guardian. He wouldn’t hurt me. I have to believe in that, because without that I don’t know what I’d think. I don’t know who I could trust.
I try to imbue the words into the bow, into the strings—I trust you, I trust you. But I’m afraid they aren’t completely true. I love him. I need him, but I don’t necessarily trust him. Maybe it’s part of growing up to realize that they aren’t the same thing—and I’m forced to look away.
He finds me after the ceremony. “We should talk.”
I give him a pointed look.
“Still giving me the silent treatment?”
When I was twelve years old, on the cusp of homelessness, of ruin, it was enough to know Liam would take care of me. I didn’t need details. Maybe I didn’t want details.
Now it feels scarier not to know, to go into the world misled.
Without a word I tuck my violin case beneath the risers near the house. It’s always strange to walk around carrying something worth a quarter of a million dollars. Some people say the violin is like a limb, but it’s more than that. It’s my heart. My soul.
And it’s sitting in a velvet-lined case on the grass. No one would dare steal from Liam North, and technically the instrument belongs to him. How vulnerable it makes me to have something vital to my existence belong to another human being.
A massive white tent covers endless platters of meat, pork belly sliders with homemade coleslaw and beef chuck-eye roast with a paprika herb rub. The bar serves blueberry mojitos with muddled mint leaves and fruit.
A little glass pot contains scoops of warm tri-colored mashed potatoes. I add chives and shredded cheese before carrying it with me, circling the edges of the party. This far away I can see Liam with a mug in his hand, surrounded by people. He’s holding court, I realize. Some of the guests are clients of the company. Even wealthy men, successful men, look to him. He grants his audiences rarely with a reserved nod.
He gives approval even more rarely.
Josh slides into the seat beside me, a beer in his hand. “Nice job on the music,” he says. “Half the bridesmaids started crying, I have a hell of a time hitting on a girl with mascara running down their cheeks.”
That makes me snort. “I wouldn’t think that would stop you.”
“Well, I’m not saying I’m going to stop.”
“If you want my advice, pick one this time.” There was an incident last year where he’d lured two women into his bed for a threesome. Except he had only mentioned it to one of the girls. The other one had not been pleased to realize she wasn’t the only one joining him.
“In my defense, I was falling down drunk.”
“How is that a defense?”
He grins, unrepentant. “She still called me for a date the next day.”
I can’t help but glance at Liam, where a woman touches his arm as she laughs, leaning close to give him a view down her dress. Will he invite her to his bedroom? There’s no question what her answer would be. Morosely I take a bite of the mashed potatoes, but even the buttery carbs can’t soothe the jagged edges of jealousy.
“You have nothing to worry about here,” Josh says, his voice dry.
“I’m not worried.”
“He hasn’t slept with a woman in so long I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten how. Or maybe key parts of his anatomy have atrophied and fallen off. It’s not healthy.”
I give him a sideways glance. “How would you know?”
“Because no one who’s gotten laid would be that tense.”
He does look tense. His knuckles are white where he grips the coffee mug. And who drinks coffee at a wedding, anyway? Everyone around him laughs and dances and flirts. These men put their lives on the line every time they take a job. They work hard, and they party even harder. This reception will continue long into the night. It won’t stop when Hassan and his pretty new wife leave for Hawaii.
Liam looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Is it the Red Team?” I ask. Those kinds of things are top secret, but you hear bits and pieces when you spend hours outside the office every day.
“Maybe,” Josh says. “But I think more than that, it’s the wedding.”
“It’s beautiful.”