Victoria glances across the room at me. I meet her gaze, my features rigid. Did she hear what I said? Well, best that she knows. Not that it matters. I don’t intend to get into any situation where that is a likely problem between us.
"What do you have against children?" Weston frowns.
"Nothing, so long as they aren’t mine."
How can I explain that I don’t want my DNA to be propagated? Not after I’d realized exactly how out of control I could get. Not after the time I’d almost killed the man who’d tortured me, who’d hurt me like no one else ever had. The only way to forget those images was to lock them away deep inside, along with my ability to feel. If I can’t feel, I won’t feel that burning anguish that came from my body physically breaking down—when my mind couldn’t steer my responses, when I had lost all ability to be in command. I’ll never lose control again. Never.
I widen my stance. "I won’t hear another word on this topic from any of you." I survey their faces. "Ever again."
"These guys getting to you, huh?" Sinclair ambles over. He seems rested, his suit impeccable, as always. Fucker looks about ready to walk the ramp, while I?
I raise my arm and sniff myself. "Shit! I think I forgot to shower after the gym."
"No time for that now," he grins.
"We can push this back by an hour…" I shuffle my feet, "Maybe two?"
"Now come on, you got us all here. Hell, I had to put off taking Summer Christmas shopping, so we could attend your nuptials. The least you could do is give me the satisfaction of going through with it."
"Because, of course, that’s a good enough reason to get married, huh?" I glower.
"As good a reason as any, considering you aren’t acknowledging the real reasons why you’re doing it," Sinclair snorts.
"And you know that, how?"
"Because I was in your place."
"Don’t listen to Sterling," Weston leans forward on the balls of his feet. "He’s not in any position to give you advice, considering he’s got the old ball and chain firmly attached to his ankle."
Sinclair bares his teeth, "Watch what you say, Kincaid."
"Not saying anything wrong."
"Maybe not, but it’s not as bad as it’s cut out to be either.’
"Isn’t it?" Weston drums his fingers on his chest, "That’s what the pussy-whipped ones always say."
"I’m not—"
"Sin, darling."
Sinclair whips his head around.
Summer waves at him from the corner, where she’s huddled with her friends. "Come over, babe. You gotta hear this."
Sinclair’s face lights up. He pivots, moves toward them.
"Pussy-whipped." Weston shakes his head, "The man who couldn’t stand to be among people, now willingly allows himself to be drawn into the midst of a crowd." He makes a gagging sound.
"I heard you," Sinclair glowers at him over his shoulder. "I’ll get back at you for this, tosser."
"Too fucking late," Weston mutters. "He’s sinking, man, and he isn’t even aware of it.’
I watch as Sinclair stalks over to Summer. He wraps his arm around the tiny woman, draws her into his side. She literally melts into him and he nuzzles her hair.
A waitress materializes next to Damian. "God help us. I need a drink." He takes the glass of champagne, glances at the hem of her skirt, which barely reaches mid-thigh.
"When do you get off?"
She bats her eyelids, "Anytime you want."
He downs his drink in one shot. Then hands the empty glass to me.
"The fuck?" I frown, "What are you up to?"
He takes the tray with the remaining drink glasses from her, and thrusts it at Weston, who grunts, "Don’t make too much noise, will ya?"
Damian smirks at the girl, "You heard that. I am going to make you scream like you never have before."
Her chest heaves. "I can’t wait," she breathes.
He jerks his chin, then stalks to the exit.
"The fuck is he going?"
"I think he’s cutting his losses." Weston reaches for a flute.
I take it from him, replacing it with Damian's empty one. "Thanks." I toss it back. The champagne goes down smoothly. "I’ll be billing you guys for the expenses of this rush job, of course.”
"You’re a real piece of shit, you know that?" Weston drawls. "The least you could do is pay for your own wedding."
"Wasn’t my idea to have it here in this hotel, losing business for the time we have to shut it down for the ceremony."
His jaw drops. "You serious?"
"Of course." I grab another flute of Champagne from a passing waitress.
“There wasn’t anything else scheduled for this room a couple of hours ago, you cheap (insert insult of your choice). Were you expecting a last-minute booking?”
I shrug, “Maybe.”
He hands the half-filled tray over to the woman, then grabs two glasses for himself.
The waitress hesitates, then glances at me, "Congratulations, Sir."
"Fuck off," I growl.
She pales, then scurries off.
"Take it easy, man," Weston cautions.
"What-fucking-ever." I glance around the room, filled with the Seven who are in town…and Summer and her girlfriends.
Victoria glances up at me, her face pale. Her gaze flicks to the door, then she looks away. Fuck. I can see the hollows under her cheekbones. Has she eaten anything at all?
"Perhaps it’s time to get this shit-show on the road, huh?"
"We’re waiting for Jace and Sienna," Weston takes a sip of the champagne. "You stock good stuff, at least. I’ll give you that."
"Enjoy it, asshole. You’re paying for it, after all."
Weston makes a tsk’ing sound, "Someone’s nervous."
"Bitch!" I grumble, "I can’t wait for it to be your turn. I’ll fucking gloat."
"Sure. Considering I am not about to fall into the trap anytime soon."
A laugh peels out. He glowers across the room. I follow the direction of his gaze to where Amelie is talking with the other women. Amelie gesticulates excitedly, then props a hand on her hip. She tosses her hair, thrusts out a hand, in what I assume is
