King's Passion (4 page)

E
amon woke feeling like he was riding an out-of-control carousel. So much so that it was difficult for him to even lift his head. He lay still, trying to recall his last moments of consciousness—without much success. He certainly remembered making a ridiculous agreement with his brothers to babysit their spoiled cousin, Quentin. And there were vague memories of him rejoining the Hendersons' bachelor party. Looks were deceiving when it came to those New York Wall Street types. Those men really knew how to party. That was saying something from a man who specialized in running bachelor parties.

Bachelor Adventures was his brainchild and operated as a side business for The Dollhouse. There was definitely a market for this type of service and it struck Eamon as a no-brainer when he'd read how much the wedding business actually made. But with everything primarily geared toward the brides, it seemed only logical to give
the grooms' last night of singlehood the sort of send-off it deserved. It took some time, but soon word-of-mouth spread among soon-to-be-married guys like a modern underground railroad. They came from near and far, filling The Dollhouse's calendar in all three club locations resulting in an extensive waiting list.

So what in the hell happened last night that resulted in him sleeping on a floor?
The floor?

At last, Eamon's eyes fluttered open and verified that he was indeed curled up on a carpeted floor. Despite the spinning and the pounding going on in his head, he forced himself to glance around. He found little comfort in the fact that there were at least twenty other people sleeping among throw pillows, colorful fabric that he thought he recalled one of the belly dancers wearing, food, shoes—hell, the list went on and on. The bottom line was the place was wrecked.

“Neah. Neah.”

Eamon slowly turned his head and came face-to-face with a billy goat. “Morning.”

“Neah. Neah.”
The goat responded and then with his thick tongue he proceeded to lick Eamon's face.

“Eeeww.” Eamon jumped back and tried to wipe the foul-smelling saliva from his face. It was nowhere near enough to make him feel clean so he hopped up, spinning room and pounding temples be damned, and went in search of the bathroom. It required him jumping over quite a few sleeping bodies. The hotel suite's wreckage continued as he made his way to the bathroom and still he had no recollection of all that went on last night. Had he hit his head or something?

Amazingly the bathroom had survived whatever shenanigans they had indulged in last night and it was thankfully empty. He went straight for the sink and started
splashing cold water on his face. It was an instant relief to soothe his headache and to wash away his unusual morning kiss. After he shut off the water and grabbed a towel, he finally took a look at his reflection in the mirror.

“What in the hell?” He leaned in close because he didn't quite trust his eyes. But he wasn't seeing things. Someone had written in permanent marker across his face: BOY TOY. Eamon took the towel and roughly rubbed at his forehead. The words remained. “No. No. No.”

But it didn't matter how many times he pleaded or rubbed his forehead raw, the bold letters stayed stubbornly in place.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Eamon jumped and then turned toward the door. “Who is it?”

“How long are you going to be in there, man? I gotta pee,” a woman whined.

Eamon gave himself one last look in the mirror and then tossed the towel down. “Here I come.” He opened the door and the unidentified woman raced in and hopped on the toilet before he had a chance to clear the threshold. Shaking his head, he closed the door behind him and went on to try and inspect the damage.

A few more people were starting to stir, a couple of them had more to do with the goat licking their faces and the others just look like extras in a zombie film.

“Damn. What the hell happened?” one of the men he recognized from the bachelor party asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Eamon told him. Though everything was a mess, he didn't see anything broken. That definitely came in handy in case the hotel came after him and The Dollhouse.

“What time is it?” the guy asked, looking at his wrist
and seeming disappointed to discover that he didn't have on a watch.

Eamon thought he'd help by looking at his own watch, but his was gone, too. “It's a hair past a freckle, apparently.” He glanced around on the floor.

“Ohmigod! The wedding! Where's Marcus?”

“That's a good question.” Eamon started looking around at the faces on the floor, but didn't see the groom anywhere. “I guess he has to be around here somewhere.”

They worked their way around the living room and then finally headed back to the master bedroom. However, the moment he opened the door, something came whizzing toward Eamon's head. He ducked but the object hit the man behind.

“Ooof!”

Eamon shut the door and turned around. “Are you okay, man?”

The dude placed a hand over his left eye for a moment and then declared, “I'm okay. What the hell was that?”

They looked down to see that it was only a plastic bowl full of colored popcorn. Then something else hit the closed door, drawing their attention.

“What the hell is in there?” Eamon asked, almost afraid to try to open the door again.

“I think I saw a monkey,” the brother behind him offered.

“A monkey?” he asked for clarification.
I don't remember a monkey being ordered.

“Robert!” Another brother from the bachelor party called out and then raced down the hallway to join them. “Man, we're missing the wedding.”

Robert, the monkey-bowl victim, shook his head. “I don't think there's a wedding without the groom.”

“Is he in there?” the guy asked.

“We're just about to check, but he might have been killed by a raging monkey.”

That explanation succeeded in making the new guy look just as confused as they were.

“Okay,” Eamon said, starting to crouch before he opened the door again. “Everyone, be prepared to duck.”

“That warning would've come in handy the last time,” Robert snipped.

“Sorry.” Eamon turned the knob and slowly pushed the door open.

Oooooh ooohhh aaaah aahhh!

Sure enough there was a white-face capuchin monkey, clearly losing his mind while he jumped up and down in the center of the bed. Eamon found himself echoing his brother from last night.

“Now, there's something that you don't see every day.”

“With good reason,” Robert whispered. “Do you see Marcus anywhere?”

While the monkey was busy having a fit, Eamon glanced around the bedroom and came up empty. “No. He's not in here.”

At the sound of his voice, the monkey whipped his head around and with lightning speed, grabbed one of the bed's pillows and hurled it at him. Though Eamon wasn't normally afraid of pillows, he quickly jerked back and slammed the door again before the fluffy bomb smacked him in the face.

Exhaling as if he'd just saved their lives, he turned toward the men and asked, “Is there any chance Mr. Henderson left without you guys?”

“Highly unlikely,” Robert said.

They turned and headed back toward the front of the
villa, checked the dry and the steam sauna, then the courtyard and then lastly the private pool. No Marcus.

“I don't know what to tell you guys,” Eamon said. “He's not here. Maybe he went and got breakfast.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. After a couple of rings, he reached Johnson's Cleaning Crew on the line. “Hey, it's Eamon. Can you go ahead and send your guys on over to the Henderson suite? Yeah.” He glanced around again and spotted the goat still roaming around. “Wait. Actually, wait an extra hour. I need to call animal control first.”

The moment he disconnected the call, the villa's front door opened and in walked Marcus Henderson, smiling and gushing at…Delicious. “Good morning, everybody,” he said with a goofy smile.

The rest of his friends started peeling themselves off the floor while most of the women were making a beeline to the bathroom.

“Where have you been?” Robert asked.

Another guy in the villa, smiled just as broadly. “Everyone, gather around. Marcus has an announcement to make,” he broadcasted like he was the King of England or something.

Intrigued, Eamon folded his arms and wondered why Delicious—a.k.a Michelle—was bouncing around and holding Marcus's hand, but he had a suspicion that he wasn't going to like it.

It took a few seconds, but everyone gathered around and waited.

“All right, Marcus,” the man said. “The floor is all yours.”

“Thank you, Kent.” Marcus smiled at Michelle, squeezed her hand and said, “First, I want to thank you
all for giving me a wonderful bachelor party. I've never had anything like it.”

The small crowd clapped and Eamon was pleased that he had indeed pulled off another successful party.

“However,” Marcus continued and then started gushing as much as the woman beside him. “There's been a change in plans…or rather…a change in brides.”

“Please no,” Eamon moaned, filling in the blanks a second before Marcus held up Michelle's hand and announced, “Delicious and I just got married!”

Eamon groaned. “Oh God.”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention?” Mondell Gregory announced in the center of the Waldorf's Park Avenue lobby. Three hundred sets of eyes zoomed to the larger-than-life man with rapt attention. He took a deep breath and with his head held high he continued. “First of all, I want to thank you all for coming today, but I regret to inform you that the wedding has been called off.”

As expected there was a collective gasp followed by a low, steady murmur as most of the invited guests turned to one another to express their surprise.

“However, since we are all here and since we have a mountain of food and good music arranged for you, I don't see why we can't just turn this into an old-fashioned brunch party and take pleasure in one another's company.” He held up his glass of champagne, though he wished that it was something stronger. “Enjoy!” Mondell nodded his head and then downed his drink in one gulp.

Plastering on a smile, he strolled briskly back out of the grand ballroom, ignoring a few questions being thrown at him as he passed. “How did I do?” he asked his wife, Celya, once he exited the room.

“Great. Given the circumstance,” she answered as she began the difficult task of trying to keep up with his long strides. “What do you think has happened?”

He took an impatient breath and then shook his head. “He better be lying in someone's hospital bed. That's all I know. If not, he's going to be once I get my hands on him.”

Celya didn't like the sound of that. Instead of enjoying her daughter starting a new chapter in her life today, it looked like she was going to have her hands full trying to calm and soothe two people. That meant a full plate when dealing with her husband and daughter. They were too much alike when it came to temperament. If Marcus was smart, he'd forget that the whole state of New York even existed, because if he ever came back, it would be to attend his own funeral.

When they returned to Victoria's suite, they found her exactly where they left her. Sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at her cell phone as if willing it to ring. Grace hovered around closely, though it was clear they were also at a loss as to what to say. No one saw this coming. Marcus Henderson seemed as dependable as they came.

Mondell swore under his breath. He didn't like seeing his daughter looking so distraught and it was clear that it was eating him up inside.

“Is it done?” she asked without looking back at them.

Celya instantly went to her side. “Yes, sweetheart. Your father took care of everything.” She squeezed her daughter's shoulders.

Exhaling a long sigh, Victoria leaned over and rested her head on Celya's shoulders. “Did they laugh?”

“Of course they didn't laugh!” Mondell thundered. “They wouldn't dare.”

Victoria closed her eyes. No doubt her father truly
believed that, but she knew better. Right now, it was just three hundred people. By tomorrow, it will be all of New York when the news hit Page Six. Then again, maybe the whole world was already twittering and Facebooking about the whole debacle.

“It looks like I really know how to pick them,” she moaned.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Her mother delivered another squeeze. “Please don't beat yourself up over this.”

Well who else was there? Marcus? Hell. She didn't even know where he was.

Her cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand.

Victoria's head popped up off her mother's shoulder and she stared blankly at the phone.

“I'll answer it,” her father said, moving in to swipe up the phone.

But the idea of him tearing a chunk out of Marcus's hide before she had a chance didn't set well. “No! I'll handle this.” She seized the phone from her father's hands and ignored the disappointment written on his face.

“Hello,” she answered coolly.

“Uh…Vicki?”

Victoria pulled the phone away from her face and frowned at it. No one called her Vicki. No. One. Rocking her neck from side to side, she cracked a few stiff bones in her neck and then placed the phone back up against her ear. “Marcus, where in the hell are you?”

“I'm still in Las Vegas.”

“Did you miss your flight? Did you forget that we were supposed to be getting married?” Her voice rose with every question. “How about, did you forget that we have over three hundred people here—waiting?!”

The phone line fell silent.

“Marcus?!”

“Um…no.” Marcus cleared his throat. “I didn't forget. That's sort of why I'm calling. I, uh, I'm not going to be able to, um, marry you.”