Page 97 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
Chapter Thirty-Three
Anthony
I’m abandoned to spend Sunday alone. I expected that to happen, since we only have six weeks till the wedding, and I’m secretly relieved Yuna’s mother is taking charge. It’s one thing for me to generate money through investments and clubs. It’s something else to help plan a wedding, select favors and whatnot. I’d have asked Wei to research every detail and get back to me with recommendations, which is probably not how Ivy would like things done. Women seem to have certain fairytale expectations about their weddings. Otherwise it wouldn’t be a fifty-five-billion-dollar industry that I don’t quite understand.
But I have helped a bit. I hired Masako Hayashi to make the bridal pieces. That should cross one item off Ivy’s list.
Taking advantage of the quiet time, I work in my home office. There’s a lot to get caught up on. The honeymoon is going to be at least a week long, so I’ve got to make sure I have everything wrapped up. The last thing I want is an interruption.
Around twelve thirty, I hear buzzing at the door.
It’s Ryder. “Shouldn’t you be entertaining your wife and baby?” I say, opening the door to let him in. Unlike last time, he’s actually dressed like a normal human in a plain white T-shirt, denim shorts and flip-flops.
“Paige is visiting her sister. Took the baby.” Ryder lifts a bottle. “Scotch. Filched it from Dane’s stash.”
Dane is Ryder’s oldest cousin and has some of the finest scotch. “Does he know?” Dane is a cold son of a bitch. I’ve never seen him interact with anybody with warmth.
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. He’ll think Sophia drank it. If not, I’ll tell him she gave it to me.”
“Is he going to believe that?”
Ryder considers. “Nope. But every time I bring up his wife, he gets all gooey-eyed. You can’t commit murder gooey-eyed.”
I snort. Apparently Ryder hasn’t looked in a mirror when he talks about his own wife. Although maybe I shouldn’t be too smug. I’m pretty sure I have the same look when I think about Ivy.
But I’m entitled. It took me nine years to find her again.
“I’m starving.” He opens the fridge door.
“I only have stuff for roast beef sandwiches.”
“Good enough.” He takes out the sliced beef, cheese and horseradish mayo, then looks around. “Where’s your woman?”
“Shopping.”
“Nice of her to not drag you along.” He pulls out a loaf of crusty bread from the pantry. “Women who don’t drag their men around shopping are keepers.”
“Really? I heard you take your wife shopping all the time—”
“I do not.”
“—and Paige always looks a bit uncomfortable with the kind of money you drop.”
He gives me a shocked look. “I can’t believe you read junk news! It’s all fake!”
“It’s not all fake, and it’s not me reading. It’s Harry.”
“I thought he was above that.” He sniffs.
Yeah, right.More like Ryder’s secretly glad people are so obsessed with him that they’re tracking his every movement, right down to shopping with his wife. “Anyway, I can’t join her today. They’re getting the dress.”
“Oh!” Ryder stops in the middle of piling beef on bread. “The wedding! When is it?”
“Six weeks from yesterday.” Then she’s legally tied to me. No longer Ivy Smith, but Ivy Blackwood. And I get to call her my wife.
“That soon? I’m still your best man, right?” He pushes the first sandwich in my direction, pours two scotches, then returns to making his lunch.
Is he worried he’s going to be my second or third choice after Harry and Edgar? That’d be too much for Ryder’s Hollywood-sized ego.
