Page 36 of The Billionaire's Ride

She shrugs again and slides off the bed. “Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. But either way, you can keep that leather skirt.”

Chapter Fifteen

DREW

I can’t believemy brother’s getting married here this week. I stare up at the twin Gothic towers and stained glass rose window. Westminster Abbey. The perfect place for a perfect guy to have his perfect wedding. Though to give Mick some credit, I doubt it was his idea to have a big show here. It was Davina’s. The bride-to-be. She’s obsessed with the Duchess and seems to be playing out her royal fantasy with all this.

Smack.

Someone swats my arm. “Is that Drew?”

Hey, I know that lilting voice.

Dahlia Bonnaire, my cousin, greets me with a wide grin, dressed in a sunflower-patterned summer dress and Converse sneakers. The sun glistens off of her dark sunglasses while her auburn hair sits haphazardly atop her head.

“Dahlia!” I bring her in for a hug. “How are you, love?”

“I’m living my best life and happy to see you!” she says, turning on her British accent, which she does sporadically during conversations. Dahlia is the product of my Uncle Grant’s second marriage after he ran off to America for a better life. Specifically California where she grew up. Every summer she would visit the U.K., arriving with a valley girl accent and leavingwith a London one. But she’s also an actress and loves to play with dialects, depending on her mood.

“Good to see you too. It’s been a while. You must be busy landing all those auditions.”

Her lip snarls. “Hardly. I keep toying with the idea of ditching L.A. and moving here to do theater. But what Cali girl in her right mind would give up 365 days of sunshine for dreary old London?”

“Looks like you brought the sunshine with you.” I peer up at the clear blue sky overhead, shading my eyes with my own dark glasses. A stark contrast from the rain and rolling thunder in the ethers last night while I dove into the depths of the California girl I’ve been dreaming about. Kate. I can’t help smiling at the thought.

“What happened to your hand?” she asks, bringing me back down to earth.

A gauzy dressing covers a scrap from the tree bark on my left hand. A souvenir from last night’s adventure in the park. But I don’t want to disclose this to my sweet cousin. “Cat scratch.”

“But you don’t have a cat.” Dahlia raises an eyebrow. “Oh, I get it. Acatscratch.” She mimes air quotes at the word. “Still up to your old tricks, huh? Haven’t changed a bit.”

I wear the title of bachelor like a badge of honor. I’m free. I’m fun. And everyone knows it. But there’s something unsettling about her words. I’m not a trickster. But she’s right about one thing: I haven’t changed. The way she says it infers that I can’t change. Is that true?

“Anyway, we should probably go inside. We’re late.” Her gaze draws up to the grand cathedral. “Mick’s getting married here, eh? Westminster freaking Abbey.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“You know, they shaped these to symbolize a woman’s pussy, right?” She points up at the high arches as we enter the building.I’d much rather be entering Kate’s arches now than parading around as a groomsman.

“I wouldn’t say that to anyone here if I were you.”

Dahlia and I walk down the black-and-white checkered floors, our steps echoing along the way. My father, dressed in a three-piece suit as if he’s just returned from Sunday service, approaches us.

“Uncle Dean!” Dahlia calls with her arms wide and crashes into my dad, embracing him in a hug. A loving gesture he could probably use more of. His eyes bulge like her hug takes the air out of him.

“Dahlia, darling, lovely to see you. You’re looking quite . . .” his eyes scan her outfit, and I’m confident he doesn’t approve of her wearing sunglasses inside Westminster freaking Abbey. “Summery,” he finishes, and she responds with a proud grin. “I believe the wedding coordinator is looking for you. Why don’t you trot on over there.” Dad points ahead toward the rest of the group, who seem to be in deep discussion about the big day, and Dahlia runs off as told.

Dad turns to me with a scowl. “You’re late.” No warm greeting for me.

“Nice to see you too, Dad,” I say and walk ahead.

“Drew! You made it. C’mon, mate!” Mick greets me with his big, handsome smile and brings me into the group. “We’re just about to rehearse the wedding procession.”

Yippee.

Davina, flanked by her four bridesmaids, sends me a tightlipped smile. One of the birds nudges her in the arm. “Well, introduce us,” the bridesmaid says, fluttering her fake lashes at me. Davina politely introduces them one by one, but her jaw seems tight, and I get the sense she’s annoyed at the task. Each girl is prettier than the last.

Like typical birds, they begin pecking at me. One touches my arm, another tugs on my leather jacket, and another even swipes her finger along my chin and comments that I have a scrumptious face. Yes. Scrumptious. All four of them reach for my bandaged hand with wide eyes and soft words, asking if I’m all right. I enjoy engaging with good-looking, thirsty women as much as the next bloke, but today, it doesn’t really do it for me.

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