The Proviso (46 page)

He locked the door of the scoring room because he
didn’t want to talk to her, see her, touch her and know that he had
no chance with her.

For the rest of the afternoon he fed the tests into
the machine one by one and collated the results sheets. It was
something mindless he could do that was productive and would still
allow him to brood.

* * * * *

43:
THE SHIT HITS THE FEN

SEPTEMBER 2006

“Well, your mother was rather accepting of it, all
in all,” Bryce murmured.

“I told you she’d love you. I noticed Hale was civil
to Knox and thanks for inviting Kevin.”

“Did you invite Ashworth and LaMontagne?”

“Yes. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“They couldn’t believe how sensible I was as to my
choice of mate, so they wanted to come see for themselves and make
sure I said ‘I do.’ I think Morgan would’ve had a gun in my back if
I’d hesitated in the least.”

Bryce chuckled and looked at the sheer numbers of
people in his—and now Giselle’s—house. The “Dunham Tribe” had
invited itself over for an impromptu party once it made it through
the grapevine that Giselle would be getting married on Friday.
Bryce didn’t know which fact had shocked them more: That she was
getting married at all, that it
wasn’t
to Knox, or that she
had “managed to find the sweetest-smelling rose in the flower
shop.” Bryce still found Ashworth’s congratulatory spiel before the
wedding hilarious.

Even though he’d spent years hearing about Knox’s
enormous yet close-knit family and Giselle had predicted that her
family would know Bryce by name and reputation, that they would
welcome him with open arms, he hadn’t believed it. He couldn’t
imagine a family like the one they’d described, but then her
prediction had come true. This sense of belonging, of family, of
across-the-board approval—it had never occurred to him to fantasize
about having that for himself, to wish for it. He had never had any
hope of belonging to a family like this in his entire life. Lilly,
Giselle’s mother, who seemed to understand Giselle a whole lot
better than Giselle thought she did, had the potential to be every
man’s dream mother-in-law.

Though a full third of Giselle’s tribe had left the
church or otherwise flouted church teachings, they were every bit
as welcome and loved as those who had remained faithful. Of course,
his father wouldn’t have approved of this family any more than he
had approved of Knox or would have approved of Giselle. Certainly,
his siblings had taken his news badly, but Bryce had found that
unexpectedly amusing.

“Are we going to have to get a bigger house for your
family?”

“No!” Giselle said, horrified. “If we had a bigger
house, more of them would come.”

True to form for a family of Mormons, along with the
people came the food, most of which Giselle didn’t touch. He had
met more people today than he could count, and, to Bryce’s
consternation, even Fen and Trudy had shown up.

“Giselle. They’re
in our house
.”

“They always come to everything, although I’m not
any happier about it than you are,” Giselle said. “I guess I
should’ve warned you. I wish Knox had come, just this once, but
Trudy, you know. And, hate to say it, but some of the tribe make
him very aware of the fact that they would rather not have to claim
him.”

Bryce sighed. “Just like the rest of the city.”

“Yeah. Sad, huh?”

“He doesn’t think he deserves any better.”

“Oh, you noticed that.”

“I lived with him for four years. Kinda hard not
to.”

“Trudy did that. She broke him over her knee like a
dry twig when he was still in single digits.”

Bryce shook his head.

“But,” she added, “I do think he would’ve come if he
weren’t in the middle of a trial. I’m just happy he could make it
to the wedding.”

Fen’s nose had a pronounced bend in it now and Bryce
grinned to himself. When he approached Giselle and Bryce in his
usual jovial manner, he took them aside to speak a bit more
privately.

“Well, Giselle,” Fen said with great affection.
“Congratulations. I must admit that I’m very, very pleased with
you.”

“I’m sure you are,” she murmured wryly.

“You didn’t invite me to the wedding, though. I’m
hurt.”

“What, did you want to walk me down the aisle and
give me away?”

He rocked back on his heels with a chuckle, then
pulled a tiny velvet jewelry box from his pocket and gave it to
her. “Since you have taken the trouble to send me a statement every
month demanding three times reparation for Decadence—ballsy vig, by
the way—”

Bryce blinked, then began to chuckle.

“That,” he pronounced, “is the key to a safe deposit
box where you’ll find the cash—couldn’t give you a check for
obvious reasons. So, I’m sorry and paid in full.”

He has an unfortunate tendency toward half-assed
contrition.

“Did you also pay the statements detailing Maisy and
Coco’s losses? With vig?”

“Yes, I did—though of course not personally.”

“Natch,” Giselle returned as she took the box,
seeming not in the least bit surprised. “Thank you, but this
doesn’t really pay for trying to kill me twice.”

“Oh, so you
are
still sulking.”

“Fen, it was a wee bit traumatic. You were there
both times; you saw what happened. Surely you can appreciate it
from my point of view.”

He grunted. “Well, now that you put it that way, I
suppose I can.”

“All right, Unk. I guess between this, your broken
nose—you’re welcome—and our deal, we’re square.”

“Maybe you two lovebirds are,” came Sebastian’s
voice as he joined their conversation, “but I can still demand my
pound of flesh.”

Fen remained surprisingly calm and cheerful, yet
Sebastian smirked. “I see you’re appreciating the unintended
consequences of my last move, but I heard you got your funding from
someone else anyway. Congratulations.”

“Ah, Sebastian,” Fen purred. “So glad to have a
chance to chat. I hear the drums starting back up in
Washington.”

“I don’t, but of course we don’t run in the same
circles,” Sebastian said blithely. “Not to worry, though. I have an
attorney who understands paper trails very, very well.”

Fen snorted. “Of course you do. At my expense, might
I add.”

“Yes, thank you for that. Say, have you heard
Senator Oth lately? I swear the man went from wishing me dead to
having a spot open at his dinner table for me.”

Fen speared Giselle with a disgruntled glance. “I
don’t have to guess who cooked that up.”

She smiled sweetly and Bryce chuckled, squeezing her
shoulder. Now he
did
have the right to be proud of her.

“Indeed, you do not,” Sebastian said. “But remember,
I do own twenty-one percent of your stock, which means I can still
muster up enough votes to be a pain in your ass. Now, about your
deal with Giz,” he continued. “You do realize you would’ve been
better off if she’d married Knox, right? There was always a
better-than-fifty-percent chance she wouldn’t have gotten pregnant
in time, given how ancient she is and no time to get through the
adoption process. But now . . . ”

When Fen looked at Sebastian like he’d lost his
mind, Bryce laughed outright. “Well, now that I’m not a
squatter
anymore, I’ve thrown my hat in the ring,” he said.
“You’ll be getting my paperwork soon. Six percent for me and
actively buying. With Taight’s twenty-one, together, we’re the
majority shareholders of OKH Enterprises. Right. After. You.”

Fen’s color dropped.

“Fen,” Sebastian drawled, “you’re getting squirrelly
in your old age. You should’ve seen that coming a mile away. I can
only think you were under the impression that Kenard wouldn’t
involve himself in our little war. Given the fact he enjoys a good
jihad
and you’ve tried to kill his wife twice now, you
probably should’ve thought a little bit ahead.”

Fen’s expression betrayed nothing more and Bryce
felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction, though he did manage to
keep a straight face when Sebastian turned to him and said,
“Kenard, when’s Oakley’s press conference?”

“Uh, Tuesday. I asked him about that before the
wedding.”

“Fen,” Giselle said conversationally, “did you know
Kevin Oakley’s going to announce his run for Senate?” Fen stared at
Giselle then. “I like him. I’m sure you understand why.”

“Ah, yes,” Sebastian murmured, “between me and
Kenard—and oh, Hollander—” Fen’s lip curled. “—he’ll have a hefty
war chest. Justice McKinley’s already given him the third degree
and she’s on board. It’s a lock.”

“Boss Tom Pendergast, Part II,” he snarled.

“Libertarian version,” Sebastian added smugly. “But
also not my idea. You can blame your little catnip Giselle over
there for that, too.”

Bryce slid a look at Fen, who didn’t bother to hide
his anger as he glared between Bryce and Sebastian. “Your move,
Fen,” Bryce murmured, staring at him with a cocked eyebrow. “Make
it my wife, I’ll make you wish she’d killed you when she had the
chance. I’m not that merciful.”

Fen looked at Giselle then and nodded, brusque.
“Godspeed, Giselle.”

She nodded in return with a wicked smile. “Uncle
Fen.”

Once he had stalked off to find Trudy and drag her
out the front door, Bryce looked down at Giselle to see her
chuckle. “I find your relationship with him very disturbing.”

“So do we,” Sebastian muttered, “but I must admit he
is
entertaining. Giz, what happened to his nose?”

“It ran into my fist.”

“See, now that’s funny. Has your mother read you
your pedigree yet?”

“No. She’ll save it for the next time I piss her
off.”

“Well, my mother got an earful, which, of course,
she felt compelled to share with me in a very, ah, aggravated tone
of voice. Yet
again
, you bear absolutely no responsibility
for your own behavior. Your lack of purity and inability to get
married in the temple is all my doing, what with my profligacy.
They seem to think I drugged and stripped you, strapped you to the
bed, and offered you up as a blood sacrifice to whichever demon I
worship.”

“Do you mean to say they
don’t
think I was
sleeping with Knox?”

“No, they do think that, but he is, apparently, as
much a hapless victim of my Svengali-like control as you are.”

Giselle laughed. “Okay, but did you get blamed for
my strapped-to-the-bed nudity on display?”

“Uh, no, come to think of it, I didn’t.”

“Ah, sweet irony.”

Bryce burst out laughing and Sebastian smirked. “I
heard you got a drubbing, though.”

“It was worth it.”

Sebastian snorted his amusement and wandered
off.

The party wound down and Giselle excused herself.
“I’m really tired, Bryce,” she murmured. “I’m going to go to bed.
Can you make my apologies?”

He nodded, then leaned down for a gentle kiss. She’d
disappeared very early that morning and she hadn’t allowed him to
get any more intimate than a kiss or two. He’d fantasized about a
night like this for years: A wedding night with a gorgeous woman
who was intelligent, well educated, and wild in the sack.

And she was tired.

* * * * *

Bryce walked heavily up the stairs after everyone
had gone, wondering if, now that they’d tied the knot and ceased to
sin, the magic would dissipate. He hadn’t thought it possible until
she had left the party early.

He realized that he had feared that about their
relationship more than just about anything else—his first wedding
night had begun the same way and he’d failed to see it as a warning
sign.

When he walked into the bedroom, it was mostly dark,
the drapes drawn, a small night light on in the bathroom. He could
see the silhouette of her body in the bed, absolutely silent,
absolutely still.

Bryce sighed and turned to head to the bathroom.

“Take your clothes off, Kenard,” she demanded with
the same fire in her voice she had had the night they’d met and
kissed.

His head dropped back. Relieved and aroused at the
same time, he nearly laughed as the tension left him.

“Turn around.”

He did and she snapped on a small lamp on her side
of the bed. He sucked in a quick breath when he saw her. The skin
of her breasts and belly, her thighs and her hips, were adorned
with an elaborate copper-colored henna tattoo—which explained her
mysterious disappearing act.

Bryce rocked back on one heel just to look at her
and take in the woman who lay in his bed.

The tattoo, oh that tattoo! He found it
surprisingly,
achingly
erotic, paisleys wrapping around her
nipples and belly button and down her thighs, over her thighs,
around her hips, and back up her ribs and belly. The gunshot wounds
in her shoulder and her hip had been specially decorated.

Her eyebrow rose and she smirked. “I said, take off
your clothes. And don’t talk,” she added when he opened his
mouth.

He figured he’d go along with her for a while to see
what she had in mind. He started with his shoes and socks, throwing
them in a corner somewhere.

“Did you know,” she murmured, drawing a finger
across the icons around one nipple, “that paisley is the female
counterpart to the phallic symbol? Don’t talk.”

He grinned as his hands went to his shirt. He
watched her watch him as he obeyed her as slowly as possible. She
didn’t object. Once his feet and torso were bare, his hands went to
his trousers; he unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, slowly and
deliberately freeing his hard, very erect cock before letting his
clothes drop to the floor.

When he took his arousal in his hand and slowly,
deliberately stroked up its length, then back down again, she drew
in a harsh, shaky breath and shifted in bed, the leg on top drawing
up and pressing into her other leg. She slid her hand between her
legs.