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"I did miss you, but Great Aunt Margaret was there for me." He places his empty glass on the table with a thunk. "I’m not saying I forgive you for your absences. There were many school plays where I looked for you in the audience. But I also knew you were where you could make a real difference."
I nod slowly. This is unexpected. I didn't think my son had matured enough to begin to differentiate the nuances of his growing up years. I didn't think he understood how important it was for me to be a Marine.
"Does this mean?—"
"I can’t forgive you for moving in so quickly on Vivian," he interjects.
I’m not surprised. "If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t, either." I square my shoulders. "So, this is not a truce, I take it?"
He shakes his head. "I… I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing the two of you together." His throat moves as he swallows. "Where does she stand on this?"
I begin to answer, and he shakes his head. "You know what? I don’t want to know." He grabs hold of the bottle of whiskey, then reaches for his headphones with his other hand. "And I don’t want to talk to you." He snatches up his console, and the screen comes alive with the start of another game.
I’ve been dismissed. Clearly, I’m no match when it comes to being at the receiving end of the contempt of my own child. Parenthood is the greatest equalizer. Watching the back of his head, I reach out to ruffle his hair, then stop myself at the last moment.
I know I haven’t done anything wrong. He stood her up, after all. And yet, there’s no doubt I’m crossing an unspoken line. One which I know I have to make up to him. I should be grateful that Felix has turned out to be more mature than I gave him credit for. The conversation I had with him is more than I expected. I snatch up my glass, then turn and head toward the door when he calls out, “Quentin?"
I pause, no longer surprised he calls me by my first name, and thankful he calls me at all.
He half turns his face so he’s in profile to me. "I'll be moving out after the wedding."
29
Quentin
"So, this is it?" Knox straightens my bow tie.
I swipe away his hand. "I’m good."
"Are you?" Sinclair, my other groomsman drawls from my other side. We’re standing in front of the wedding arch, which has been erected in the garden of his townhouse in Primrose Hill.
Given we decided to hold the wedding overnight, instead of waiting for a few more weeks, the problem of finding a venue was resolved when Sinclair offered it up. It’s the same place he married, he said. And given how happy he is with Summer, I took it as a sign to say yes.
Summer reached out to Raven and confirmed that her sister would ensure the wedding dress would be delivered in time for the ceremony. As for the paperwork, I took care of it. Nothing the Davenport contacts and fortune couldn’t sort out. I’ve spent my life running from my family name, only to find myself flaunting it in order to tie the most precious thing I’ve come across in my life to my side. There's an irony hidden somewhere in the situation, but I refuse to contemplate it. All that matters is that I'm marrying her, and I'm never letting her go.
"What makes you think I’m not?" I scowl at Sinclair.
"The fact that you’ve been muttering to yourself for the last ten minutes?" Nathan murmurs. He’s my third self-appointed groomsman. I didn’t ask any of them; I didn’t think that far out, but they’d beat me to it. They turned up this morning and announced their intentions, and I didn’t decline. It makes no difference to me. All that matters is her, and that she gets the wedding she deserves.
My son counts, too. Telling him the wedding was going ahead sooner than planned is the least I could do. The coming days and months aren’t going to be easy, but I’m going to see it through. I’m not running away from the confrontation this time. I’m going to prove to my son that this is the right decision for all of us. I’m going to prove to her that I am the man for her.
I take in a deep breath, another. Pretend this is another mission— a life and death one. The most important one you’ve ever been on—get your thoughts under control.
I roll my shoulders, then crack my neck. Close my eyes and drop into that place inside of me, that part I accessed each time I needed to find the calm to take out enemy targets.
Only this time, what fills my mind is the image of her face, her green eyes filled with desire, her lips parted and glistening and waiting to be wrapped around my cock; the blush on her cheeks as I nip on her mouth, the creamy column of her throat, so untouched and ready to be marked by me, the curve of her shoulder, which I will bite as I mount her, her trembling breasts, the nipples ripe and ready to be plucked by my fingers; her fingers digging into my hair, the moans that swell her throat. The way I'll stare into her eyes as I breach her, the very moment she realizes we fit together as I place my hand on her chest, feel her heartbeat in tandem with mine, feel her pulse rate soar, the sweat clinging to the cleavage between her breasts as she realizes she’s mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.
"—Quentin, get a hold of yourself."
Knox’s voice slices through my thoughts. I force my attention back to his face. "What did you say?"
He searches my features, and a smirk twists his lips. "You’re pussy-whipped."
"And I wear it as a badge of honor."
He blinks slowly.
"You didn’t say that."
