Page 90 of Jace
He grits out, exasperated. “She texted you. She had too much to drink. She was throwing up yesterday and didn’t feel like playing 1-800-JERK-OFF with you. It’s not the end of the world.”
“No.” I grab the fob to my car. “It’snotlike her. Alcohol gives her headaches. Plus, she’s never missed a day of work, despite how shitty she feels. Andthisis work.” I pocket my phone. “Her, trying to keep that pathetic toddler and his friends on the golf course all day until what?”
Grant throws his glare to the sky. He’s getting it now.
“Yeah,” I keep ranting, turning to stand nose-to-nose with him on the deck of our boat. “Until yesterday, after the night, she didn’t call me, and didn’t get drunk on purpose. You think it wasa coincidence he didn’t play golf yesterday? The only day since we’ve been here?”
Vehemently, Grant shakes his head. “Vivian would never cheat on you.Never.I work with her; I know her too. That woman would be too goddamn sweet if she weren’t so sexy.”
I growl.
“No offense,” he adds. “But you know what I mean. She didn’t cheat on you with her ex. She drank too much—okay,noton purpose—and felt like shit for a day. She’s human. And today she has to perform at a wedding, and you’re going to fuck it up for her, going in there, guns hot.”
I cock my head. I’m not listening. “You going with me or not?”
He scoffs, laughing. “Yeah, ’cause we blend. Two—what do the queens call us: big, hot Reacher dudes—crashing a billionaire’s daughter’s wedding. Yeah, we’ll go unnoticed like a fart in church.”
“Then I guess I’m solo.” I shrug. I can handle this.
Either way, death couldn’t keep me from Vivian today. Even my ghost will find her and protect her.
“You’re never solo, you dumbshit.” Grant grabs his keys. “We’re blood, but I swear I got all the fucking brains, and you got the beauty.”
Whatever makes him move his ass faster.
Our yacht is moored at the marina. Tomorrow, we fly home. We’ll land two hours before Vivian’s scheduled to arrive, and I’ll be right there, scooping her up in my arms and never letting her go.
The waiting is over.
“I’ll stay parked outside,” Grant informs me. “I’ll be seconds away from breaking skulls for Vivian: just say the word.”
I scanthe famous Circle Ballroom at the oceanfront hotel. With its dome ceiling and arched windows overlooking the Atlantic, the visual opulence demands your focus.
Why the hell does Grant think we wouldn’t blend into this crowd?
It’s nothing but penguin suits, fancy ballgowns, and gold chairs around white linen-covered dining tables with cascading ivory floral centerpieces so tall that I almost can’t sweep the room with my glare.
Where’s Vivian?
My stomach twists. My fists ball up. I have to fight not to clench my jaw, or my rage will be obvious to the security team guarding the perimeter.
Finally, I spot her.
The golden sprout of a ponytail that drives my heartbeat.
She makes the girl-next-door look simple and chic with her elegant periwinkle silk dress. I have to stop and grab a breath. Have to silently adore my soulmate from afar.
A stance I’m familiar with.
Watching Vivian for a year has been like watching the sunrise, but you can’t touch it. You can’t reach out and hold its golden light while it fills you.
You just need to see it to live.
I need to seeherto live.
As if she can sense me, she glances up from the older couple she’s chatting with. Not dropping her smile, her sparkling eyes find mine, and I’m spellbound in the crowd.
That’s right, Smokeshow. I’m always here for you.
