Cannon (Carolina Reapers 5)

That familiar rage bubbled in my chest, and it took a great deal of time to stop it from boiling over. My mother didn’t deserve to see my contempt for my sister, didn’t deserve to see her two daughters fight. Not when she had so little time left.

Which is why it would be even harder to tell her the truth about Cannon. Something I planned to do, after a few more deep breaths.

“A few weeks, I believe,” Mama answered me. “I’ve drawn up the guest room for her the way she likes. Had Harold put up those ghastly black-out curtains she simply can’t sleep without.”

Have patience. Exude grace. Be forever grateful for your lot in life.

I repeated the words my mother raised me on while taking a deep breath. I was grateful for all we’d been given. It was no secret us VanDoren girls were blessed at birth. We were born into the money and privilege my family had worked hard for, and I’d spent my entire life ensuring I didn’t take a second of it for granted. My sole focus since grade school had been to spread our wealth to those who needed it more, and the endless charity work I’d done simply because I love doing it landed me the career I had today. I’d never dreamed of being able to do what I’m passionate about and get paid for it until the day Asher Silas—owner of the Carolina Reapers—offered me the job as the head of his charity foundation. And he’d surprised me even more when he agreed to my request for my salary to be spread among the charities we chose together each year.

A sizzle of heat licked right up my spine as the thought of the home I’d made with the Reapers raced through my mind.

Tattoos—ink and color and designs everywhere. Swirling or jagged, the ink covered nearly every inch of his skin.

The memory flashed, cloudy and distant, as quick as a blink.

Had I dreamed of seeing him without his shirt? Or had that actually happened?

Heaven save me, I was in a world of trouble.

And that trouble would triple once I said what I’d come here to say.

“You didn’t bring your hockey star,” Mama said, a chiding look in her eyes.

“No,” I said on a breath of air. “I didn’t.”

“I did make your father lock the guns up,” she said, leaning closer. “I’m not so foolish as to invite the husband we’ve never met and not take some precautions.”

A half-panicked, half-sincere laugh tumbled from my lips. The idea of my father pointing a shotgun at Cannon…a cold chill raced across my skin. I don’t believe the man would even flinch. Cannon kept himself locked in a hard exterior as impenetrable as Fort Knox, and yet, somehow, he’d allowed himself to get so far gone we’d gotten married. I still couldn’t make sense of it.

“You see, Mama—”

“You don’t have to be ashamed, darling,” she cut me off. “I know how love takes hold of us in unexpected ways and never lets go. I understand the strength of passion and how it can push us to do terrifying yet beautiful things.” She flashed me a conspirator smile. “That’s how you know it’s good.”

My lips parted, the words getting tangled somewhere between the shock of my mother’s approval of such a rash decision and her romanticized talk of passion.

“Can I ask one thing, though? Beyond meeting him, of course.”

I tilted my head, speechless.

“Please let me plan a real wedding.” The hope in her eyes hit me like a hammer—the big kind that took no issue cracking fissures down a line of concrete. “Lord knows I’ll never be able to do it for Andromeda. I’ve lost count of how many marriages and annulments she’s acquired on her travels.” Mama leaned a bit closer, lowering her voice. “I believe that is the source of your father’s…frustration with this Vegas business. But I told him it’s not fair to punish you for your sister’s mistakes.”

“Thank you,” I choked out.

She nodded and continued. “Anyway, with the donor waiting list being so long and my health deteriorating so fast…well, I know how to do the math. It would bring my heart so much joy if I could plan a real wedding for you and your man. Watch you walk down that aisle and take your vows.”

The only thing that kept me from dropping my jaw was years of practice at schooling my features—being a proper VanDoren, we never showed our hand before we had to.

“Is it too much to ask?” Mama asked sincerely. “I mean, who doesn’t love a party? And we would obviously work around his schedule, unless…” her eyes dropped to my stomach. “Unless there was a pressing reason you tied the knot in Vegas.”

I laughed, shaking my head at the absurdity of that claim.