Sparrow - L.J. Shen Page 0,10

That’s not a test, little champ. People want to marry each other. It’s not punishment.”

“Did you want to marry Mommy?” Sam asked.

Another silence filled the air before the man answered.

“Yes, I wanted to marry Mommy. Which reminds me, where is our mommy?”

Just then, the man’s strode through the opening in the wall and his hard body bumped into mine. I squeaked, almost falling flat on my ass, but managed to grab the wall with my hand that wasn’t clutching the bouquet.

“Shit, sorry,” he said.

I straightened, raising my head, and my eyes bugged out and my mouth dried up instantly. He was handsome. No, scratch handsome. He was a masterpiece in a sharp black suit, stealing my breath and momentarily shaking me free of my mental breakdown.

He was about six two, a little shorter than Brennan, and just like my husband-to-be, the way he filled his custom-made outfit told me he made it a point to work out at least four times a week. His chestnut-brown hair, wavy and thick, tousled and soft, stuck out in a few directions, despite his best effort to slick it back. His gray eyes studied me, narrow and intelligent, as he rubbed his strong jawline.

“You said a bad word!” His son practically bounced with happiness, waving a little blue truck in his hand. “You need to put a dollar in the jar when we get back home.”

But Sam’s dad seemed to have been sent to a parallel universe, judging by the way his gaze held mine. He looked surprised to see me, and I wondered how much he knew. I froze, trying to shake off the weird effect he had on me.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I hurried to explain, smoothing my dress. His eyes dropped to where my hand stroked the fabric of my vintage Valen-something, and I immediately jerked it away, feeling self-conscious.

“I wasn’t accusing,” he answered serenely. That voice. That authority. He was one of Troy’s crew, I immediately knew.

“Of course you weren’t.” I blushed, turning away toward the church door. “It’s my wedding in there. So, you know, I better…” My dumb mouth kept spitting out stupidity. Yes, Sparrow. It is your wedding. Otherwise, you just showed up in the most inappropriate dress on the planet.

“It is. And I’m sorry,” he said gravely, his meaning clear.

More emotions stormed inside me, and my stomach flipped at his minor act of kindness.

He was married, with a son, I reminded myself. Oh, and also, I was about to get married in approximately five minutes to one of the most dangerous men in Boston. This made him firmly off limits. And me, a raging idiot.

I rubbed one hand over my face, grateful that Sherry wasn’t there to yell at me for messing up all the layers of makeup she’d caked on my skin.

“Me too.” I shrugged. “I hope you and your family enjoy the ceremony.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but I couldn’t deal with more of his kindness. I didn’t trust men these days, especially not those who were hypocritical enough to offer solace.

Turning away, I put two fingers to my lips and whistled to my dad. “Hey, Pops…” I waved him over with one hand as all the men in the churchyard stared at me, dumbfounded. I bet they thought Brennan would marry a lady and not some weirdo tomboy redhead. “Let’s get this over with.”

Pops jogged the short distance between us. Panting, he acknowledged the beautiful man with a nod. “Brock.”

“Abe,” Brock returned with his own nod. “Congratulations on the wedding. I trust you know I’m here should any of you need anything at all.” Brock turned his gaze back to me, and my heart squeezed just a little more with self-pity.

Brock and Sam turned around, walking into the church, hand in hand.

Pops took a step closer and grasped me by the shoulders. “It’s show time. Let’s get my little Birdie married.”

OBJECTIVELY SPEAKING, my wedding to Troy Brennan was a beautiful event. Obscenely lavish and obnoxiously wasteful. Brennan spared no expense when it came to what was his. Be it his penthouse, his cars, his women or his wedding.

The candles, floral arrangements, aisle runner, soloist, organist, floral archways and extravagantly decorated pews were all impeccable and plush. In fact, I was surprised the altar wasn’t built exclusively from blood diamonds and rolled one-hundred-dollar bills.

Nonetheless, to me, it was as pointless as Henry Cavill with a shirt on. So much detail and beauty shouldn’t be wasted on fraud. And that’s what Brennan and I