Page 18 of King of Deception

It’s Colorado. It’s going to smell like pine.

Then she hits me with the line she’s said five times already, “Are we certain we don’t want to have this wedding in New York? Colorado is so… woodsy.”

“Mason’s choice,” I murmur, tossing my brother under the bus. In some ways, this is far more his wedding than it is mine. Except for I’m the one who will be tied to Preston.

Though Mason will be joined with Preston too, I guess. Once the contracts are dry, Preston will be impossible to remove from Kincaid. Then again, Mason is cunning. Has he found a loophole?

Even if he has, that won’t change my fate.

I can’t marry him. I know it deep in my heart. I’m just not certain how I’m getting out of it.

Still, it feels like some invisible clock is now ticking. Gris is my brother’s enemy. We share this big secret. I’m in so much trouble.

Now there is no way to do this without ripping my family even further apart. And damaging Kincaid Enterprises too.

I half listen to Mrs. Wingate as she looks at the dress samples for the bridesmaids. “Red? Really? It’s so tacky.”

“It’s fall in Colorado,” I answer, with a furrow to my brow. It was Maggie and Cici’s pick, a deep russet red that will match the foliage. But the other bridesmaids agreed that the color suited them as well. With every bridesmaid on board, the decision is not up for debate.

“Really, Ella,” Mrs. Wingate waves an airy hand, her tell that she knows she’s getting my name wrong. She’s doing it on purpose. “You’re marrying a New York socialite, not a woodcutter.”

“Bella,” I say through clenched teeth. I look up at the wedding planner who stares back aghast as I grip the table with both hands, wondering if it’s more alarming that my future mother-in-law has questioned my every decision or that she can’t get my name right.

Bile rises up on my tongue as I fight back the urge to tell this woman to take her opinions and stuff them.

The Wingate family made money alongside the Vanderbilts at the turn of the century, but the Wingates lost it even faster. Mr. Wingate has made enough in stocks to keep them at the Yacht Club, but Preston, despite being educated at Yale, hasn’t accomplished even his father’s success.

None of them hold a candle to my brothers in terms of earning potential.

Still, I’m letting Mrs. Wingate get under my skin.

This isn’t me. I don’t get angry and yell at people. I’m the peacemaker usually.

So why am I fantasizing about tearing out Mrs. Wingate’s throat?

And why haven’t I done a better job of managing my brothers? Then again, I might have sensed there was no keeping the Kincaid men together. I tried. By agreeing to marry Preston, I was going to help Luke get out, help Mason succeed.

But I’ve messed everything up.

I lick my lips, drawing in a deep breath. Maybe what I need to do is get Luke and Mason to make up. If Mason doesn’t have to buy out Luke’s shares, then he doesn’t need Preston’s friends to invest, and I don’t need to get married.

It’s an idea that has me tapping my fingers on the table.

“What’s that about?” Mrs. Wingate points at my fingers.

I stop drumming. “Just thinking.”

“Do it quietly, Annabella, it’s unbecoming to think so loudly.”

My mouth snaps shut as I hold my tongue, not bothering to correct her.

I glance down at my watch, realizing that my lunch with Gris is in forty-five minutes. Butterflies fill my stomach at the idea of seeing him. Of being alone with him.

At least we’ll be in a crowded restaurant. Then again, that’s problematic as well. What if someone sees us together?

I shake my head. I’m acting like a guilty person. Which I am.

But if Gris was at the benefit last night, that means he travels in the Kincaid social circle. Who is to say we’re not old friends having lunch? For all anyone knows we might have dated in the past or… This line of thought is not helping. I only end up picturing him naked.

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