Her entire life, Vigo had made her feel as if she would never be good enough.
Okay, Vigo had been generous in supporting her mother, a showgirl who’d been one in a long line of lovers. And he’d not only paid for Holly to achieve her MBA, but he’d invited her to join his corporation after his eldest son and heir, Luc Angeli, had walked away to start his own company.
But she’d always suspected that Vigo had only brought her in to punish Luc. He’d certainly never acted as if he was overly thrilled to have her as a part of his life.
Either as a daughter or an employee.
A fact that had been proven when he’d sold the business without even warning her what he intended to do.
And now this…
Sucking in a deep breath despite the corset that was digging into her ribs, Holly glanced toward the edge of the grotto where her maid of honor was hovering with obvious concern.
“You don’t have to keep a suicide watch,” Holly assured her best friend with a humorless smile.
Sasha Kristoff was the exotic result of a Russia-born father and a Hispanic mother.
Like Holly, she had dark hair, although she kept hers cut shoulder-length while Holly’s fell nearly to her waist. And her eyes were a dark, indigo blue where Holly had eyes the unusual shade of cognac.
“I’m not,” Sasha assured her, moving to stand at her side.
She’d changed out of the gold bridesmaid dress into a pair of tight leather pants and red halter-top.
“Good,” Holly said. “Because I’m not going to do something stupid.”
Sasha gave an inelegant snort. “Now that’s a pity.”
Holly lifted a brow. “Excuse me?”
“If ever an occasion begged for doing something stupid, this is it.”
“You mean like doing the sky jump off the Stratosphere or betting my life savings at the roulette table?”
A dangerous smile touched Sasha’s full lips. “I was thinking more along the lines of taking a baseball bat to Junior’s prized Lamborghini.”
Holly pressed a weary hand to her forehead. A headache of Titanic proportions was brewing behind her right eye.
“Sasha, please don’t.”
“Fine.” Sasha shrugged. “Then we can take the baseball bat to Junior’s smug face. Far more satisfying.”
“No baseball bats,” Holly muttered.
Sasha grimaced. “Dammit. The bastard should pay for what he did to you.”
“You never did like him.”
“Because he’s a douchebag,” Sasha said with simple honesty.
Yeah. He was. And if Holly was being completely honest, a part of her had known that he was a douchebag.
He was vain. Smug. And, quite frankly, shallow.
But when they’d started dating she’d decided that he ticked all the boxes.
He had the proper pedigree.
He’d earned her father’s approval.