Page 18 of Unbroken

“Nope, not yet. You?”

We shared a weary look of understanding as mom shook her head. “He’s in showman mode. You know I never liked this side of him.”

My father loved being the center of attention, and sometimes I wondered if it was the real reason for his choice of profession. Appearances mattered to him. Back when my parents were still living together, he made sure that his wife and son were always in the front pew, perfectly turned out and smiling as an example to others. We were meant to look like a model family, totally ignoring the fact that their marriage had been functionally over since I was still in diapers.

Multiple times over the years, my mother had asked for a divorce. It always ended with my father shouting at her until she was in tears. As obsessed as my dad was with keeping up appearances, I was shocked when my mother finally got him to agree to a separation. Not that he had much choice. She’d simply moved out. She’d timed it carefully, waiting until I’d turned eighteen so we wouldn’t have to deal with any headaches over custody. Technically, they were still married even if they were legally separated. I never knew if it was stubbornness on my father’s part or an actual desire to remain together, but even now, whenever my mother approached him for a divorce, he wouldn’t hear of it. Appearances mattered to him that much.

I had always tried to be the son my father wanted me to be, but I just didn’t have it in me to walk through life performing for an audience and never being honest.

Speaking of performing for an audience… I craned my neck over my shoulder again.

Damn it, wherewasshe?

“You can leave early,” my mom reassured me quietly. “Slip out when no one’s looking as soon as the main course is over.”

“And why would he want to do that?”

We turned at the same moment and spotted a grinning, slightly breathless Fiona.

“Oh, hey,” I said, trying not to look as shocked as I felt, because holyhell, did she look amazing.

Her auburn hair was gleaming in the late afternoon sun and looked so smooth that I wanted to reach out and stroke it. Her cheeks were flushed, probably because she’d been busting her ass to get here before the ceremony started. I let my eyes drift down.

Thatbody.

I’d mostly gotten used to being around Fiona when she looked like her usual naturally pretty self, but there was a whole country mile between the functional ranch clothes she wore when we worked together, and the dress she’d poured herself into. It was emerald green and skimmed her curves like it had been cut to her body, and there was a twist right below her breasts that accentuated them to the point that I wanted to praise the fabric for its hard work of keeping them contained.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” she said, her gaze jumping between me and my mom. “Mrs. Carter, it’s nice to see you again. We only said hello when I first got to town.”

Fiona held out her hand.

I watched my mom to see how she’d react. She was never outright rude—the woman was polite to a fault—but she had a way of making people understand how she truly felt.

My mother gave Fiona’s hand a light squeeze that wasn’t quite a handshake. “It has indeed, Fiona. You’re looking lovely as ever. Isn’t it fun to get all dressed up for a special event with a special date?”

Shots fired. I grimaced.

“I love weddings,” Fiona answered, not taking the bait as she slid into the empty seat next to me. “There’s something so special about watching people take this big step together.”

Everyone was moving to their seats, and I watched as Charlotte led Colt to the row right in front of us. Fiona saw it as well and quickly grabbed my hand, causing me to jump.

Sure enough, Charlotte turned to scan the crowd behind her and when her eyes landed on me, she broke into an overwide smile. She mouthed “hi” to us, and Fiona responded by raising our joined hands to wave back at her. Charlotte’s smile dimmed ever so slightly as she turned away.

“We’ve got to make this look good,” Fiona whispered in my ear.

She was so close to me that I caught a hint of her perfume, something that smelled powdery and soft. It made me want to lean toward her for another whiff, right along the smooth skin on her neck. When I realized that I was hovering, I scooted away from Fiona.

“Are you okay with this?” she whispered, concern in her eyes as she scanned my face. “You look funny.”

I sat up straighter and nodded. “Yup, I’m fine.”

“You better be more than fine, mister,” she said softly. “We’ve got a lot of people to convince tonight.” She reached into her purse and pulled out something in a clear cellophane bag. “And this should help.”

My eyes went wide when I realized what it was. “A boutonniere? For me?”

“That’s why I was late. I needed to stop at the florist. This seemed like my shot at making up for a missed opportunity.”

Fiona took it out of the wrapping and pinned it to my lapel while I tried not to lean closer and breathe her in.

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