Deceitful Vows by Brook Wilder
Chapter 3
Paige
“Smile.” I press the release. “It’s your happy day.”
Quickly, I learn how to navigate the room. Holding up my camera, I wait for a nod of approval before I snap a shot. Most people nod, but a few pretend to ignore me and turn away.
An older man sits beside a woman who looks as if she wants it to be over already. Their table is placed to the left of the bride, so maybe they are her grandparents? The man holds a steady scowl, but the woman is attractive with a sweep of silvery blonde hair and a navy dress that fits her slim figure.
I’d like to look just like her when I’m her age.
I hold up the camera and wait for a nod. The woman looks startled, as if I caught her picking her nose. The man actually growls, and swiftly, a hand grips my shoulder and spins me away. The scary man with the scar reappears by my side, and I clutch my camera to my chest for protection.
He shakes his head. “Not that table.” His frown shifts into a smirk, pleased that he is terrifying me. “The younger people like having their pictures taken.”
I practically run to the back of the room, where people my age are taking selfies. They’re all pretty and wearing amazing dresses. Feeling shy, my smile is forced as I hold up my camera. Thankfully, I’m greeted with immediate yelps of delight as the girls strike giddy poses. Soon, I find myself laughing with them as I take one picture after another.
A brunette pouts. “I want a picture in the hallway in front of all those roses.”
“It’s Varya’s wedding,” a redhead replies. “She’ll have you shot if you take a picture there before her.”
It’s a joke, I remind myself. They’re joking. “I’ll come get you after she has her pictures taken.”
Thanking them, I turn and abruptly halt all movement.
There he is!
Mr. Fucking Gorgeous is standing in front of me again. My heartbeat picks up again at the sight of him, and I’m aware of my jaw opening slightly.
I close my mouth before drool soaks the front of my T-shirt. There’s something about him that I can’t pull away from. Personality? Charisma? Sex appeal? Whatever it is, he’s like a magnet that’s drawing me to him without lifting a finger. It’s like the sun just rose after a thunderstorm and the earth bloomed.
I hold up my camera, and he nods. But before I can take his picture, the redhead steps into the frame. I really want him alone, but I can hardly tell her to step out.
“Say cheese.” I sound so lame, I wince.
“Cheese.” His deep voice rumbles in his chest as he speaks, and I feel my heart skip at the sensual way the sound drips from his lips.
Focus, Paige!
My gaze keeps catching on him as he walks to the other side of the room. Slyly, I sneak in his direction, photographing a few other guests along the way. I take his picture again. And again. And again. When I finally lower my camera, he’s looking straight at me. A knowing smile curves on his face and heat rushes to my cheeks.
Caught. I decide not to play it off. I rock on my heels as he approaches in two strides. If he asks, I’ll pretend to delete his picture.
“Are you here on your own?” His cocky smile could lead to bad decisions, intense fun, and then a lot of trouble.
I blink. “I’m the photographer.”
His eyes trail down to my pants, where every pocket is bulging. But something tells me he’s more interested in what’s under my pockets than what’s in them. Sheepishly, I look away, chewing my lower lip when his gaze lingers for a moment before it slowly rises up to meet mine.
“The Novikovs are private people,” he says. “I thought you might be a distant relative.”
“From the wrong side of the tracks?” I ask, my voice higher and quieter than I’d like.
“Aren’t we all from the wrong side of the tracks here?” His intense gaze traps me and he extends a hand. “Dance with me?”
I take an embarrassingly long time to find my voice and answer. “I’m working.” Money before fun. I need to be paid, and that won’t happen if I’m not taking pictures.
“You’re entitled to a break.” He takes my camera out of my hands and hands it to a scary guy with a scar across his face from his temple to the bridge of his nose hovering behind us. With his free hand, Mr. Fucking Gorgeous pulls me onto the dance floor.
No one seems to mind that I’m dancing with him. Do they even notice me beside him? The boyish grin never leaves his lips as he tugs me close. I feel something hard press against me. For a split second, my heart skips again, and then I realize that the hard protrusion is much higher than where that is supposed to be.
It takes me another second to realize it’s a gun. Who the hell brings a gun to a wedding?
Criminals, Paige. My mind immediately answers.
I let him go immediately. “I should get back to work.”
“Why?” He takes my hands back and pulls me closer against his body. “Pretty women should enjoy themselves.”
A red flag springs up and starts to ripple in my mind. “You mean enjoy themselves with you?”
“Does that sound so bad?” His hand lowers down my back and his finger brushes my ass.
I ease his paw back up. I try to pull away when the song ends, but I can’t get out of his grasp as the next one starts. Damn yacht rock. Christopher Cross is my favorite, as corny as he is. My dad taught me how to play “Sailing” using the synth app on my phone.
I melt into Mr. Fucking Gorgeous, careful not to press too hard. I don’t want that gun going off.
“Want me to take you away, devushka?” he whispers, his voice positively dripping.
I force myself to roll my eyes and stop moving, even as my own body instinctively wants to drift closer to him. “Look, I have a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend cheating at home.” Fiance, Paigé, I bitterly remind myself as Mr. Fucking Gorgeous spins me again. “I don’t need another man begging for sex.” Tim texted me all evening, probably since Carole left the apartment. The coward. He better not be there tonight.
“I don’t beg,” Mr. Fucking Gorgeous replies, a mischievous grin rising on his stupidly handsome face. “Not unless you want me to.”
I snort-laugh, and suddenly, I do not care how good-looking this jerk is. “I’m not climbing into the back seat of your limo with you.”
He feigns offense as he dips me. “I drive a Lamborghini.”
He’s staring at me as he pulls me back up, and for a moment, I imagine those lips pressing against mine. I bet he’s a good kisser.
Now, I’m ready to offend. “I don’t care what car you drive or how good-looking you are.”
“So you admit it?” He smirks, and I feel a gush tremor from the depth of my core. “I’m good-looking?”
“Is this how you flirt?” I gawk. “Is this your move? You’re hot, okay?” My eyes search the guests until they find the scary man still holding my camera. I have to get that back. “But I’ve been burned today already. So, I’m here to work and nothing else. So, excuse me …”
“Andrei,” he answers, taking my hand before I can rush off. A delicious warmth spreads from his fingers to mine and for a moment, I don’t want to leave his side. “I can make you forget him. Just say the word, and you’ll never worry about him again.”
Thank God a cramp pierces through me, reminding me that I’m supposed to be furious at all men who walk the earth. Taking my chance, I dart away and snatch my camera out of the scary man’s hand. He gives me a surprised look, but does nothing when Andrei nods.
Andrei.
Of course, Mr. Fucking Gorgeous has a sexy name. I guess if he hits on one of the girls here, he’ll either have to marry her or kill her family. That’s how it works with criminals, right? But seeing as I’m the help, no such issue exists. I have no intention of being another notch on his bedpost, no matter how much I want to see what’s under his sexy, sharp suit.
With my camera focused on the main table only, I take another shot of the bride with her dazzling smile. Don’t let jealousy ruin your day, Paige. I need the money, especially now. That’s right—think positive. You don’t want to get into bed with criminals. I’m a decent person who follows the rules, like Dad. The rules suck, Paige. Agreed, the rules have kept me poor and single. True. Maybe I should fuck Andrei in his Lamborghini. Ask him to park it in front of Carole’s house, so Tim can watch. Not a bad idea …
Smirking, I take solace in my internal dialogue and aim my camera for another shot.
But the bride’s eyes suddenly go wide with shock, and joy is replaced with terror. There’s a loud bang! Her hands reach out as her body jerks rapidly, like a doll being yanked on a string. A large spot creeps instantly across her white dress, soaking it in bright red.
Then she slumps forward onto the table, dead, and hysterical screams begin to drown out the music.
