Page 38 of Devil’s Promise

They aren’t mine. Meaning, I’ve never worn any of them before and they aren’t what I would usually wear, they’re way more revealing and your suit for today isn’t right either.

That makes me pause. Is she correct about this?

Crossing the room, I start the shower. “Drink your coffee and then take a shower, sweetheart. I’ll be in in just a minute.”

And then I leave her to discuss with my brothers.

I return to the kitchen to find Axel scrambling eggs and Gunner buttering toast. It’s been a while since I’ve seen either of them in a task this domestic. It’s strange, but it also reminds me of the stakes.

Someday, we all might want far more normal lives than what’s been given to us. Though I seem to be the only one of us who cares.

“How’s blondie?” Axel asks.

“Pissed,” I answer, one corner of my mouth turning up. “But she says that the clothes that got sent aren’t right. That we are going to look out of place today.”

Axel’s head lifts from the pan, his eyes meeting mine. “Well shit.”

And I know he understands. There is nothing to lose from listening to Promise on this front, and everything to gain. “So I think we build in a little shopping time.”

“She’s not cutting my hair,” Gunner grunts. “I like it long.”

I know he doesn’t like being touched, but I’ll hold him down if I have to, if it means today goes well.

When we go to the country club today and stand in front of the press, I am going to look like I belong there.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Promise

I’ve already changed into the sort of sundress that would work perfectly well on the island of Nantucket, and it’s just right for the oceanfront country club that we’re visiting today.

Apparently, that’s where I’m getting married.

Now I stand near the men’s dressing room at Brooks Brothers looking at Angel, Gunner, and Axel in the mirror.

I’ve covered up their neck and hand tattoos and trimmed their hair. Well, Axel’s and Angel’s hair anyway. I’ve chosen blue shirts over white, so the cover-up doesn’t rub off them and onto their shirts, and I’ve gone with open collars instead of ties. It suits them better and today is not a formal occasion.

But they still don’t look right.

I frown in the mirror, looking between the three of them.

It’s Gunner who speaks first. “Now I look like a fucking cupcake.”

That makes me smile a little bit, my eyes meeting Angel’s in the mirror. He smiles back. “That’s what Rock calls Promise. A cupcake.”

Gunner grunts as he tugs uncomfortably at the suit jacket. “I know.”

One corner of my mouth turns down. The fit of each of the jackets is exactly correct. But the coats aren’t hanging right.

From my left, I see movement and turn to see a man walk into the store. He’s dressed like he belongs here.

Perfectly coifed hair. Italian loafers and a plastic, very white smile to match. He catches sight of me and his smile grows, his shoulders expanding straighter.

Angel sees him too and rumbles, deep and low, sounding more like a predator than a man.

And that’s when it hits me. All three of the brothers stand wrong.

They stand and move like men used to maneuvering through the slums of New York, not like the ones who saunter down the streets of Nantucket.