“Gee, thanks for the vote of trust.” My mouth twisted. “You think I’m hiding something?”
“I know you’re hiding something.” Lucy cocked her head to one side before pointing her thumb in the other direction. “And I was hoping you could start by shedding some light on why that six foot giant is following you. And don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed him, because you kept glancing his way before you saw us sitting on the bench.”
I silently cursed Connor. He was following me 24/7 and being about as discreet about it as Paul Revere announcing the British are coming. But I couldn’t explain Connor, because I couldn’t explain my marriage to Troy, because I didn’t understand it myself. My friends knew my dad was not exactly Father-of-the-Year material, but even I found it difficult to tell them I suspected he’d sold me to the son of a dead mobster.
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said.
“No shit.” Daisy threw her hands in the air.
A bunch of kids in matching shirts on a fieldtrip ran between our feet, and I used my friends’ distraction to look behind me. Connor was there, still following me like I was a moving target.
Lucy, the voice of reason among the three of us, spun on her heel and sent him a threatening glare. “Take another step forward, buddy, and I’m calling the cops.”
But Connor continued flowing with the crowd, doggedly moving in the same direction as us, his eyes dead. With every step he took, my lies suffocated me a little more, the walls inching closer in on me. The box Troy put me in was becoming ridiculously small, even for a petite girl like me.
“Is he a bodyguard? Are you in trouble?” Daisy panted as Lucy quickened her pace and we followed suit. “And more importantly…is he single?”
I shook my head, snorting a tired sigh. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.
Lucy was power-walking away from Connor as fast as she could. “Please tell me your dad didn’t get you into trouble.”
I stopped walking and stared down at my Keds. There was no more point in hiding what they’d pretty much already figured out. I was stupid to try and hide it from them in the first place.
“Don’t freak out,” I warned.
“The bastard.” Lucy strangled the donut box she carried and swung toward my bodyguard. I hoped she wouldn’t do something stupid like try and hurl a chocolate glazed at him. She would, too. If I was fire, she was an active volcano.
“It’s not Pops’s fault.”
“Fine,” Lucy backtracked. “No judging. Just tell us already.”
“I married Troy Brennan last week. He...he asked my father for my hand and Pops agreed. Probably because he didn’t have much choice. You know they say Troy is some kind of a hitman. A wealthy one, at that. And Pops works for him, so…” I trailed off.
Lucy and Daisy stared at me, bugged-eyed. The three of us stood in the middle of the crowds, with people pushing and shoving us from all directions.
“Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. It’s not really a piece of info you want to share with the world. And the last thing I wanted was to drag you into this mess.”
I thought Lucy was going to faint, but Daisy gathered her senses quickly. “But we grew up with Troy Brennan. He never looked at you that way. Never even tried to slip his tip in.”
I frowned, annoyed as usual at the way my childhood friend spoke about the opposite sex. Well, about sex in general. “You can like someone without sleeping with them, you know. It’s not like he screwed everyone in South Boston.”
Daisy fanned herself. “Bitch, please. With the amount of pussy your husband’s dick has trekked through, I’m surprised it doesn’t have its own National Geographic show. He is so...mature and old and stuff. Your husband, that is, not his dick.” She licked her lips, thinking. “Wait. Birdie, this makes you rich!”
Rubbing my face, I checked to make sure Connor wasn’t close enough to have heard her. Daisy was too much of a free spirit to offer comfort. She took everything in stride, even when the circumstances demanded some serious running. I turned from her to my best friend. “Lucy, please say something.”
Lucy looked away from me, gripping the edge of a stand and nearly toppling a display of sand art. Her eyes glinted with sadness, the tightly bunched muscles in her neck telling me the lump in her throat was as big as mine.
I threw my hot chocolate in the trash and grabbed her hand, desperate for her touch. It was silly, but I was feeling all sorts of guilty for not inviting them to my fake wedding, now that I had told them about it.
“Birdie, honey, he is...you know that people say he killed a man?” she mumbled.