Lethal Wedding (Wedlocked Trilogy Book 2) - Charlotte Byrd Page 0,22

the night.

It feels as if no time has passed. It's as if we are back to being those silly little girls without a worry in the world.

A couple of times over the evening, I'm tempted to tell her the truth, but I bite my tongue and stop myself.

It's not that I don't trust her.

It's more than that.

I don't trust myself.

I don't know what I'm getting into with this marriage and I don't know what I will have to do to get out of it. The bargain right now is that I marry him in exchange for him saving the company and my father's life, keeping him out of prison and who knows what else.

But I don’t plan on staying in this marriage for long.

I've considered the fact that it may be easier to not marry him at all, but the pressure is too much right now.

There are authorities looking into my father’s dealings and I need them to stop.

Franklin has made that happen for now.

I also want my father's health to improve. And then when things calm down, that's when I will make my exit.

At least, that's the plan.

I can't tell Karlie any of this because the fewer people that know the real reason that I’m marrying Franklin the better.

“I know that we haven't talked much about your upcoming wedding,” Karlie says when we open a third bottle of wine. "And I'm totally going to respect the fact that you can't tell me everything about it, but why don't you tell me a little bit about Henry?”

The sound of his name makes my throat close up.

I look down at my fingers and pick at my nails.

“What do you want to know?” I ask.

“Anything you want to tell me.”

"I don't know where to start."

“Who is he?" she asks.

"He's a writer,” I say. "When we met, he was working on my father's boat, as crew. But he was an English teacher during the school year at an underprivileged school. Then they opened a new division at Tate Media and my father offered him a job there. He is now the host of a very popular podcast.”

"Really? Which one? I love podcasts. Especially true crime ones.”

“Well, you might know this one. It's called Generation Crime with Henry Asher.”

"Oh my God! You dated Henry Asher?"

I shrug. “Yeah, so what?”

“Do you know how famous he is?”

"No, I guess not.”

“In online true crime circles, Henry is a God.”

I laugh. This makes me really happy. I've always known that Henry was really talented and was a great storyteller and I'm really glad that he found his niche.

“The thing is that his job is sort of why things fell apart between us. He was always traveling and we weren't connecting really well and then one day we sort of broke up.”

“Why didn't you get back together?” Karlie asks.

“I was angry at him. He missed my graduation and we were on these different plateaus. He kept calling me and calling me and trying to make amends and I was really angry at him. And then all the stuff happened with my father and Franklin.”

“What are you talking about?"

Oh, shit, I think to myself. I've said too much.

“Well, my father had a heart attack and he was arrested.”

“Yes. I saw that on the news. But then they dropped the charges?”

“Yes, they did.”

“Did that have anything to do with Franklin?” Karlie asks after a moment.

“Sort of,” I admit.

“Well, he is pretty well-connected.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

“Nothing really except that his family has a lot of friends in the justice department, at least that's what all the newspaper articles insinuate.”

I swallow hard.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you,” Karlie says, misreading my apprehension.

“Oh, no, it's not that. I mean, I don't really know to what extent his father has been involved with the mob or anything else, actually I've never even met him.”

“Oh," she says, surprised. "And you're marrying his son?”

“Listen, I already said this but I guess I'll repeat myself. I really can't go into the details as to what is going on.”

Shit, I say to myself. I should not have phrased it like that. I mean, who the hell says that about their future husband?

Karlie leaves soon after apologizing profusely for any offense that she might've caused.

She thinks that I'm mad, but I'm not.

I'm just sorry that I can't tell her the truth.

I'm sorry that I have to keep this secret to myself when all I really want to do is tell her every last detail