Page 71 of Misrule
Kendall was the only one who hated those situations.
Kendall…and Knox.
Roxy couldn’t forget some of Knox’s words from the dinner on the night they’d made love. She knew he hadn’t meant to be condescending, yet he had been. No wonder Mortician was so relentless in his quest to have them live separately until after the wedding.
The dick and pussy policing annoyed Roxy. Although it didn’t. Not really.
She frowned. Her thoughts made absolutely no fucking sense. Either she was pissed with Mortician’s interference or she was happy. She couldn’t have it both fucking ways.
Could she?
She hated to fail, and she’d done so three times. Three marriages. Three divorces. Four men. Four baby daddies. The bane of her existence were her relationships. She couldn’t get them right. Even K-P, who’d loved her so much and whom she’d loved just as much had worked better as close friends, rather than lovers.
Besides, Knox’s cockamamie story about why he wouldn’t allow Mr. Whittlestone to fit him for his tux, still rankled. He’d gotten away with itthenbecause she’d been a googly-eyed bitch, thinking with her pussy.
She absolutely loved Knox to eat her out. He’d given her some bullshit excuse about a fucking bridal party—what the fuck that had to do withhisass getting fitted, she didn’t know—then he’d licked his lips, his eyelids heavy. The motherfucker knew he was so fucking sexy, Roxy could barely stand it. Seeing his tongue reminded her of his pussy-eating skills. Which, in turn, made her all plaint and agreeable.
A bitch was dick-whipped…tongue-whipped. But he laid good dick; she enjoyed his company; and she loved him. What the fuck was she supposed to do when he hadn’t wanted to do business with the Whittlestones?
However, suppose she discovered,after the ceremony, that it was the same with her and Knox? Maybe, she went along with Mortician’s ridiculousness so she had a buffer between her and Knox to see things clearer.
Already it was working. Wasn’t it? She and Knox needed to have a heart-to-heart about several issues. He needed to open up and tell her how he really saw her. If he looked down on the bikers, what did he think of her? Was she truly good enough for him? Tohim. Not to herself.
Right?Riiiggghhhtttt.
She’d never lacked confidence in herself. Until she did.
Logan Donovan’s voice crept into her head. He’d been a singular motherfucker. As a matter-of-fact, deeming him a motherfucker was too good. The word to describe him hadn’t been invented.
How she hated him! If only she could find one of the pieces they’d left of him to flush it down the toilet. That he could still get into her head after all these years galled the fuck out of her.
He was a narrow-minded, pig-brained, miserable racist. Further, the place he told her she’dneverhave in the club, in K-P’s life, was now hers.
She’d also married into New Orleans Black High Society, as cutthroat as any fucking place on earth. After a year, she’d been so unhappy with Duke’s father, Creighton.
She glanced around. House managers and butlers and maids and cooks and chauffeurs filled the Harrington mansion. When Roxy had arrived with the girls, one of the staff members had led them to Mrs. Harrington’s personal drawing room.
The handful of times she’d come here, she tried not to roam the halls to gawk. Somewhere, in the huge place, there was a ballroom and a banquet hall, along with a bunch of other rooms that Roxy felt were completely unnecessary.
Knox was heir to this.
When she’d walked into Joan’s drawing room, her almost mother-in-law had stood, wearing an olive-green wrap dress and square-heeled, pointy-toed pumps that reeked of…of… Roxy wasn’t sure.
It had just overwhelmed her. Now, Joan mocked her New Orleans roots. Roxy didn’t want a war with Knox’s mother, but if she didn’t stop the woman in her tracks, the wedding would turn intoJoan’s ceremony, not Roxy or Bailey’s.
“No, Mrs. Harrington, you’re wrong. New Orleans food is delicious,” Bailey was saying, bringing Roxy back to the conversation.
Mrs. Harrington, huh? Try Mrs. Bitch.
They were supposed to have this meeting at Bailey’s place. Then Knox had called last night and begged Roxy to allow his mother to host this first meeting.
Joan wanted to be on her own turf. All the better for fucking condescension.
Grabbing her purse, Roxy got a pen and small notepad, then turned a level gaze to Joan. “If I want a pirogue filled with dirt and live crawfish, that’s my fucking business. I didn’t have to include you at all, Joan.”
“Knox wanted me included,” Joan returned. “He wouldn’t have been happy had you not.”
He probably wouldn’t have, but it went back to him wanting a society wedding, since they were having a big ceremony, with all the bells and whistles that went with it.
