Dr. Hot Stuff - Tawna Fenske Page 0,70

it, just one syllable. But it conveys almost as much as the sympathy in her eyes. “If it makes you feel better, my date’s been pretty distracted. Weddings bring out the weird in people.”

She has no idea how weird my upcoming wedding will be, or even that there’s going to be one. Will I tell her before I go? Would any of this make sense to a woman like Lily, who’s spent a lifetime steering the ship of her romantic relationships?

“Weddings are weird,” I agree, because at least that’s true. “Maybe if you come visit me in Dovlano, I can take you to one of the royal ceremonies that are open to the public. They’re a big deal and really formal.”

Lily’s expression turns wistful as she lets go of my arm. “I still can’t believe you’re leaving. I was hoping you’d stay.”

“Same.” If only she knew how much I wished for that.

Tears prick the backs of my eyelids, but I blink them back. Sadness is the last thing we need at this celebration of love and family harmony.

“You headed to the reception hall?” she asks.

“I think I’ll go check on my pig first. It’s Kevin’s first time being here without me.”

Lily smiles and tucks a hand in James’s back pocket. “Have fun. We’ll see you in there.”

I bid them farewell, then turn to scurry along the frost-freckled path toward the cabins. A hawk swoops low over the ice-covered pond, hot on the trail of his dinner. Icicles glitter on naked aspen branches, tinkling in the breeze. I pull my coat tighter around my formal dress, righting myself as the heel of my shoe catches an icy patch.

I’ll miss this. The birds, the trees, the bright, pine-laced breeze. It’s changed me, this place. I’m stronger than I used to be, more independent.

So why can’t you stand up for yourself? Why can’t you tell your parents you’re staying put?

Because maybe I’m not brave. Because maybe I don’t deserve to be happy after what I stole from my family.

I’m almost to Dante’s cabin, and I pick up the pace. I don’t want to be late for the reception. As I stride the final steps to the porch, I squint through the fog at the front door.

That’s…odd.

The door gapes open about three inches, creaking in the breeze.

I study the opening, breathing in the scent of roasted meat. I thought it was wafting from the reception hall, but maybe Dante’s cooking again. Perhaps airing out the kitchen, or maybe he took Kevin for a walk.

Even as I rationalize it, the hair prickles on my arms. A hitman who’s spent a lifetime safeguarding royal VIPs doesn’t suddenly forget to shut his front door. Besides, Kevin could slip out. What’s going on?

Slowly, I edge toward the cabin. My heart pounds in my ears, but fear doesn’t stop me from putting one heeled shoe in front of the other. When I reach the front door, there’s a soft grunt from inside. Kevin?

I push through without thinking. Stepping into the foyer, I blink against the dimness. The blinds are drawn like Dante doesn’t want anyone seeing inside.

No, not Dante.

A shape oozes into view. A man, someone a few inches shorter than Dante but just as solid. He wears a black skullcap and a snug gray shirt revealing biceps almost as big as Dante’s.

But the muscle is overshadowed by the steely black firearm he grips in one hand. A gun, a big one, lethal and shiny and pointed right at me.

The man stares at me with cold, hard eyes. “Well, well.” He directs the gun at my chest. “Isn’t this a stroke of luck.”

Luck is the last word I’d use, but I can’t find any words at all just now. As I stare at the man, I fumble behind me for the doorknob. I could still run.

But not without Kevin. Not without knowing if he’s hurt or in trouble or—

“Close it,” the man says. “Step inside, nice and slow.”

I consider disobeying. Just making a run for it, damn the consequences.

But I can’t leave my foster pet. Not with this madman holding a gun and threatening to do God knows what.

I take a deep breath. Holding up my hands, I move forward. My legs are shaky, but my stride doesn’t falter. With a silent prayer, I reach back and push the door closed behind me.

Then I lift my hands higher. “Don’t shoot,” I say, and step forward to meet my fate.

Chapter 14

Bradley

I try to pretend my head’s not on a swivel