No Perfect Princess (3 page)

Michael and I had the prerequisites. I was certain of it. The last time we’d said goodbye, after Andre had given him a lift home in my car, things had gotten more than hot and heavy—and I felt exactly how much “dog” he had to offer between his thighs. I was ready to buy a ticket on the Michael Pearson train that very night but he’d stepped off before we left the station, stoic and gentlemanly, making me go home to dig out my Hitachi.
Again
.

I whipped my attention back to Claire with an upsweep of my hand. Damn, my mani looked good. I needed to tip my girl better on the next visit. “Okay, girlfriend. No therapy on the five today, okay? It’s handled; end of story. Just feed me, please. That latte is long-gone and I’m running on a big, fat
E
.” I reached over to turn up the radio, shamelessly bopping to the newest Katy Perry, winking when Claire shook her head and laughed. A girl could only have so much serious in one day. Thanks to our morning field trip, I’d reached my limit before noon.

We’d missed the lunch rush so were seated immediately at the sushi joint. Less than five minutes after that, I was gratefully sucking down
sake
—and able to tune out Ginny a little.

Until she dropped the bomb heard around the world.

“So, Mary—tell me what you’re hoping for in the maid of honor’s dress.”

Claire choked but pretended it was her iced tea. I wasn’t so subtle about my reaction, an open glare at the woman who blithely bit into her ahi roll, unaware she’d just issued the one word I hated more than any.

Mary
.

She should have just said
bitch
. It wouldn’t have cut as deep, reminding me all over again that before Andrea Asher decided to use my Pamper’s-covered ass as a pawn in her chess match with the Chicago old boys’ club, I might have been loved for who I was and not the power I represented. I might have been wanted, even loved, by Josiah Stone and a woman I’d never known. Violet Tosca. That had been her name. Yes,
had been
, past tense—because thousands of dollars and two private dicks later, the only thing I knew besides her name was that she’d disappeared off the face of the earth about a year after I was born. No address. No bank accounts. Not even a death certificate. She’d simply…ceased to exist.

Damn good excuse to wave down the waitress for another
tokkuri
of booze. Tossing back more of the sweet rice wine realigned my head with the task at hand. I was going to be the best damn maid of honor the wedding world had ever seen, even if it killed me. And yes, even if this crazy woman couldn’t remember my name if it was being tortured out of her.

“First things first, Ginny.
Margaux.
My name is
Margaux.
Secondly, I’ll wear a burlap sack if it makes Claire happy. And for the record, I’d rock it.”

I plastered on my best pageant smile, shocked at how easily its falseness slid back into place…masking the pain that clenched so deeply underneath.

Dammit. Not now
.

I thought I was done with this agony, but with one stupid slip of a name, from a complete stranger, all the anger and betrayal churned my gut again.

Why couldn’t I deal with this? How the hell did Mother keep me in her clutches, even now?

I was stronger than this. I was better than this.

Just not right now.

“I need the little girl’s room.”

My blurt blasted the mama bear thing across Claire’s face again. I winked at her, my wordless version of
calm down or I will cut you
, before slipping out and heading down the narrow hall to the rest room. The heels of my tall boots echoed on the slate floor as I marched—
faster, faster
—getting to the stall just in time to slam the door shut, drop over the toilet, and sacrifice my lunch to the porcelain god.

Crazily, I was almost thankful for the moment. At least my mind filled with things other than Andrea.
Thank God it’s clean in here. Dammit, what a waste of good food. Too much
sake
and too much drama do not make for a happy stomach
. I’d always had an emotional digestive tract, a trait never appreciated or understood by Andrea. Some things never changed, I guessed—on
any
level.

The bathroom wasn’t just clean but vacant—gratitude factor number two—making it possible to blot my face and rinse my mouth in privacy. By the time I returned to our table, no one should’ve been the wiser about my true purpose for the “bio break”, though Claire had clearly renewed her Nancy Drew Club card, shooting me the sideways detective stare all over again.
Not
bueno. The woman was getting to know me in unnerving detail. People were just so much easier at arm’s length.

Thankfully, she was distracted by an incoming text. The Timberlake ringtone gave away the sender though Claire’s goofy grin would’ve done the job, too. Killian.

One look at the expression on my sister’s face and my belly cramped all over again. There was no food left in it to give me fits, so I was forced to admit the real source of the pangs. Claire Montgomery was a women desperately, deeply, in love…and I couldn’t stomach watching it at this proximity.

Love was for fools.

And I was many things, but a fool wasn’t one of them.

Claire’s confused scowl caused my own. “Little bear? What is it?”

“This doesn’t add up,” she mumbled, thumbs flying as she tapped out a reply text to Kil. “Not even a little bit.”

“Still in the dark, girlfriend.”

“It’s my crazy fiancé.”

Ginny flashed a coy smirk. “Oh, keep them that way, sweetie. The hotter and crazier they are for you, the better life can be. If you know what I mean.”

Damn good thing the woman finished it off by sliding out for her own trip to the facilities. If she’d hung out with that I-know-what-you-and-Killian-did-last-night smirk, I wouldn’t be held responsible for trying to wash it off—with the rest of the
sake
in the pitcher. “Crazy with a little
c
or a big
C
?” I asked Claire.

She shrugged. “He says he’s having car trouble and he needs me to pick him up at this address…all the way out in Rancho Santa Fe.”

“Is he joking?” I held out my hand, palm up. “Let me see that thing.”

Gawk. Then again. Sure enough, the address was out in the middle of San Diego’s version of Beverly Hills, a neighborhood where even the housemaids drove BMW’s. It wasn’t far but it wasn’t close, either.

“This is strange,” Claire said. “All of his cars are in excellent condition.”

“Except for the truck,” I pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “He keeps the beater for sentimental reasons.”

“You think?”

“And he only takes it out when he goes surfing. If he’s in Rancho Santa Fe, then he must be there for business. Even so, why is he texting me instead of Alfred?”

“And why is he even texting
you
?” Revelation struck. A shudder ensued. “Unless the bastard can’t even wait until tonight for a booty call. In which case,
ew
.”

That didn’t loosen even a tiny giggle from her. “He knows I’m still with you. But he’s adamant. He wants me there.”

“And you just jump every time he throws down a summons?”

“It’s not a ‘summons’. It’s a request. And I’ve already told him we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Of course you have.”

“It’s just a few exits north of here. I have to take Ginny back to the dress shop to get her car, anyway.”

“
There’s
something to look forward to.”

After saying goodbye to Ginny, Claire pulled onto the 5 Freeway. We headed north and cut inland after the sparkling stretch of Solana Beach, on a quest to rescue her beau. The coastal views helped me relax again, along with the knowledge that I’d have fodder to hold over Kil’s head for weeks. Running through one-liners to taunt him with, I didn’t pay much attention to the increasing price tags on the homes—make that estates—we winded past, until Claire started mumbling to herself again.

“This is really ridiculous. If this is where his business meeting was, how is it this person couldn’t give him a ride or help with his car?” She scowled deeper. “I smell a rat.”

“Rat,” I repeated. “Hmmm. That has possibilities for a good goad…”

“Huh?”

The car’s disembodied GPS was my knight in shining armor.

“
You have arrived at your destination
.”

But we were at the end of a street lined with lush trees, with nothing around except a set of iron gates that belonged on Wayne Manor. We couldn’t see where the drive beyond led but I guessed it was a private residence like the others in this “neighborhood”, containing a mansion and grounds that could easily house a medieval village.

“We’re in the right place,” Claire stated. “This is the address he gave me.” As she tapped out a text, she gritted the same words beneath her breath. “Where… the… hell… are… we? And… where… the… hell… are…
you
?”

As if she’d spoken the
open sesame
for the gates, they parted slowly, perfectly framing a figure strolling down the drive. Sure as hell, it was my brother, definitely looking like a sexy Bruce Wayne update. His cocky grin was in place, and his thick black hair was a windblown contrast to his crisp white shirt and light blue tie. He was jacketless, though the perfect cut of his black pants told me he’d gone for one of his favorite designers looks today, customized Kiton. Damn, the man had great taste. Thank God I’d learned about our real relationship before actually sleeping with him.

Didn’t stop me from giggling at Claire as she watched him stride up. Poor, pathetic woman. She went to pieces every time she laid eyes on him, and this one was no different. She lasted two seconds before leaping out of the Audi, launching herself at Kil then sealing him in the most obscene lip lock I could ever gag about.

“As soon as you’re finished extracting each other’s tonsils,” I finally drawled, “you’d better be ready for some fast talking, Kil. A minute ago, your bride was comparing you to large rodents.” As he flashed a put-out glare, I rolled my eyes. “Still not selling it, brother.”

“Because I’m barely trying.” He buried his nose and lips against the skin beneath Claire’s ear. “I can be
very
convincing when I need to be. Right, baby?”

Claire broke out in a crimson blush accompanied by a heavy sigh. My gag didn’t stop her—nor Killian. “I suppose ‘get a room’ wouldn’t be a reasonable demand of you two right now?”

To my shock, Killian actually pulled back. Slid another grin at me.
Shit
. If he added a
muah-ha-ha
to it, wicked glee would have its new poster boy. “Fascinating comment.”

“What?” Claire interjected. “Why?”

“For God’s sake, just spill it, Stone.” I rolled my eyes again, though there was real ire behind it now. “And spare the bullshit about your ‘car being broken’. Where is your scrap metal, anyhow?”

I almost joined in Claire’s laughter as he straightened, firming his face into a glare that had withered moguls, millionaires, and even royalty. I loved inciting it in him—because it scared me as much as a dust mite did a cat.

“Did you just call my
Aston Martin
…a piece of scrap metal?”

I preened. “Kudos, brother. At least you didn’t name the damn thing.” My last word was swallowed by Claire’s laugh. “Ohhh, hell. You
did
name it.”

“Her,” Killian muttered. “I did name
her
.”

“Lulu?” I volleyed. “Betty Sue? Velma?”

“You know those are fightin’ words, right, Mare Bear?”

“Save the bear endearments for doe eyes.” I didn’t hide my clenched teeth as I pointed at Claire with my chin. She giggled again, keeping the mood tolerably playful, but I flashed a look at my brother that spoke one message only.
Thin ice, bro
. More and more lately, he’d started slipping various forms of
Mary
into our exchanges—and getting away with it. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, or if it would even matter. A year ago, Killian Stone might have been living out of a cardboard box at the beach but now, he was back to getting away with a lot of things most people couldn’t.

Like the determined way he grabbed Claire’s hand and began towing her up the flagstone driveway. And the grand way he swept a hand toward the castle-like Italianate home that peeked into view at the top. And the expectant stare he didn’t yank from Claire’s face. Not for one damn second.

I almost smacked her for the blank look she kept up in return. She wasn’t getting this?
Yet
?

Killian finally stopped and scooped his other hand around hers. “Well?” he asked her softly.

Claire peered at him, a hopeless case of clueless still stamped across her face. “Well…what?”

“What do you think, Fairy Queen?”

“Think of what?”

“Of this place?”

Claire shrugged.
Shrugged.

That was it. I went ahead and growled. “Shit, Claire. Really?”

Killian pointed a finger at me. “Enough.”

“Ohhhh, no,” I snapped. “You did
not
—”

“I don’t know, Kil.” Like always, our bickering flowed right past the woman. I loved her and hated her for it. “It’s beautiful, of course. You know I love the Mediterranean look.”

“Yeah…I do.” His features softened.
Yay, Claire.
Nothing like a good case of pussy-whipped to get a guy over the pissies with his sister.

“I still don’t understand,” Claire went on. “Why are we here? Who does this belong to? Does one of your friends live here? What’s going on?”

He sucked in a deep breath. Oh, my God.
This
was a first. If I wasn’t mistaken, my brother was…nervous. And I was actually a little nervous for him. It was sort of fun.

“Well…ummm…”

“
Killian.
Spit it out!”

He shifted a little. Cupped her hands tighter. Attempted a smile. “Actually…
we
live here.”

Claire choked. Not a help-me-I-ate-too-many-fries choke. More like a help-me-I’m-going-into-shock choke.