“No,” Scarlet said, stepping out from between them.
Tate’s chest constricted. Shit. They hadn’t had time between last night and now to discuss what happened next. All Scarlet had asked for was a distraction, a fantasy. Perhaps he and Roman had simply been more “ménage practice.”
Tate felt a hell of a lot less casual about what they’d shared. And the irony of that wasn’t lost on him, considering this mission. Oscar, Selene, and Luca had—unwisely—fallen in love, knowing they weren’t free to choose one another. As Tate looked at Roman and Scarlet, he found himself wishing they were his. And not just for another night or two.
“Scarlet,” Roman said.
One look at the other man’s face told Tate that he hadn’t been the only one affected by what they’d shared.
Scarlet must have noticed their distress because she rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, guys. We’re definitely spending the night together. And we won’t be sleeping, either.”
Tate smiled widely until she added, “Because you two are now part of my event staff.”
Chapter Eight
“You go full Liam Neeson on this guy if you have to, but you get me those up lights.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tate accepted the sheet of paper with a salute. It was an estimate from a lighting company for—he glanced at it—twelve gold up lights plus labor, delivery, and breakdown. Tate glanced at the number and dialed, clearing his throat once while it was still ringing.
Fifteen minutes later, he handed her back the paper.
Scarlet looked up. She was wearing a headset, had her folio open on one arm, and her assistant—a non-Trinity-Masters-member who had been ready to call the cops when Scarlet didn’t join their all-important final walk-through phone call, which she was supposed to have done from their hotel room in Charleston—at her side. Scarlet had always planned to do the final prep and walk-through remotely, then be hands-on for last minute prep. With the time list she was in triage mode, and her assistant, whose hands had been tied without her, just wasn’t enough manpower.
Scarlet raised a brow.
“He’ll be here in twenty minutes,” Tate assured her.
“Did you threaten him?” Scarlet’s assistant, Rhea Conway, asked eagerly. The young woman seemed far too high strung for this sort of work. Also, bloodthirsty.
“Explained Ms. Hall was no-comm for several days.”
Rhea nodded in satisfaction. “You scared him with military lingo. I like it.”
Scarlet smiled, then said, “Thank you.”
Tate turned casually toward the door, well, doors, since the ballroom had multiple sets of them. He was halfway to safety when Roman spotted him.
“Hey, Tate, you can come help me with these.”
Tate bared his teeth at his lover. Roman’s mouth kicked up in a small, smug smile.
With a disgruntled sigh, Tate trudged over, weaving between the scattered small round and square tables, which the hotel staff was setting for dinner. Some tables already had their centerpieces. Beautiful gold ombre hurricane lanterns in graduated sizes—Tate was a little sad he now knew what gold ombre hurricane lanterns were—with fat white candles inside and silvery sage in bud vases. Stripping sage and putting it in bud vases had been his job last night, and his hands still smelled like the herb. The tables with nothing were waiting for the celebrity florist to deliver arrangements of silver-and-gold tone flowers—silvery Dusty Miller amid gold Marie Claire roses, with fat white hydrangea blooms—a last minute addition as a nod to what Selene had said on the plane—and silver silk ribbon.
Tate had seen the floral bill. It was five figures. He’d nearly had a heart attack.
Slipping around the last table, he passed through a break in the “air wall” that would be used to divide the room in half, separating the reception space from the ceremony area.
Roman had been assigned to ceremony setup detail. The ballroom itself was pretty enough that Tate would have thrown in some chairs, maybe a couple tall flower arrangements, and called it a day.
Scarlet was transforming the space. Twelve freestanding, massive columns marched along the outside of the edges of the guest chairs. There weren’t many—secrecy meant that Oscar’s parents—nonmembers—wouldn’t be there, though Walt, as well as Langston and his trinity, would be. Apparently Oscar’s sister, Sylvia, hadn’t been invited to the intimate affair, due to the fact the Grand Master was still a bit tweaked that she’d chosen to join the Masters’ Admiralty rather than the Trinity Masters.
Selene’s family would be there as well. In fact, somewhere in the hotel above them, Selene’s sister, Theia, and mother were helping her try on the wedding dresses Scarlet had selected and had pre-tailed to her general measurements.
Luca wouldn’t have anyone here, so Tate had privately decided that he would stand in as the Italian’s family. He wasn’t quite sure what that meant—but he didn’t want Luca to feel left out.
Tate went to help Roman wrestle the large, white blocks that were the backdrop for where the trinity would stand for the ceremony. Technically, this was neither a legal wedding nor the official Trinity Masters’ wedding.
According to Scarlet, Oscar, Selene, and Luca would get dressed here at the hotel and then be escorted, by Andre, to the library for their binding ceremony. After that, they’d come back to the hotel for this special never-before-done “wedding” which would be a repetition of the binding ceremony, with a few tweaks. The ceremony here was going to be performed by Sebastian, standing in for the Grand Master as an authority figure of the Trinity Masters.
Tate glanced at the diagram Roman showed him, then helped move the block, which was about three feet square, into place. They were essentially building a wall, which he didn’t understand when there was a perfectly good actual wall behind them.
“They light up,” Roman said, though Tate hadn’t asked a question.
“Huh?”
“If you’re wondering why we’re doing this, these things light up. And there’s a custom overlay. Look, you have to match it up.”
It took Tate, Roman, and the two men from the event rentals company another forty minutes to get everything set up. Scarlet walked
