Chapter Nine
The Moore family estate was made of two wings flanking a central living space, all perched on a hill overlooking one of the man-made Knoxville lakes. The house was styled like a farmhouse meant to look a hundred years older than it really was. The entire rear part of the home was composed of windows and a two-tiered porch, parts of it encased in glass. The terraces were made of heavy stones and slick marble. A path led down to the lake, where one of the Moore boats was docked.
On the night of the engagement dinner, hundreds of fairy lights and white paper lanterns hung from the trees and the walls. A tent sat in the grass next to the home, and it was flanked by space heaters that also dotted all the paths around the house. Solar lights clung to the ground and glowed blue, highlighting the way for guests. Caterers swarmed the masses, and cars were being valet parked up and down the street. Indoors, fake candles twinkled from flat surfaces, artfully arranged in hundreds of fall floral arrangements. A pair of women playing the harp and flute had set up in the corner of the great room, and peaceful melodies floated through the air, which was rich with the smell of food and apple cinnamon potpourri. The fireplaces glowed red and orange, the gas logs keeping everyone warm, and the mantels were covered in photos of Laura as a girl and Laura posed with Nathan. Guests wore suits, sport coats, cocktail dresses, and long gowns. Nathan himself had opted for simple black with a red tie. It matched Laura’s dress, which was all black, save for a tiny vine that was deep green with red blossoms. Laura’s hair was freshly cut short, and the style suited her, though Nathan knew it had less to do with fashion and more to do with pissing off Mother Moore. It had worked. The two hadn’t spoken all evening.
The future in-laws were making the rounds, Greg in a sharp, dark gray suit and Barb in a god-awful forest-green thing with sequins affixed to show off her ample chest. Lydia and Leslie were there too, with their husbands, who trailed along after their wives like misbehaving puppies ready to get swatted on the nose.
Nathan had arrived thirty minutes before the official party time, as requested. The family had greeted him, Greg warmest of all. Inside Greg’s strong hug, Nathan had known without doubt that Fury was right about everything. Nathan loved the man who had given him every chance in the world to succeed, praised him when he’d done it right, and listened to him as though his opinion mattered. He loved Greg’s warmth more than he loved Laura’s scheme, and he had no idea what the right decision might be. Loving one person’s motivation more than the other didn’t lessen his sympathies with either side.
He’d returned hugs, clasped hands, and kissed Laura’s cheek, and after the pleasantries were done and Nathan was left alone, he’d gone for the champagne. He stared out the windows at the darkening water and missed Fury so much he ached, though he’d seen the man that morning for sex, shower, and toast. Fury had left in the early afternoon to get ready for his fight, and Nathan had gotten dressed for the party. He’d sent a picture message to Fury of himself in the bathroom mirror, and captioned it,
All dressed up and wish I had nowhere to go.
Fury had texted back,
Get home wait 4 me don’t finish b4 I get there.
Nathan read the text again in front of the fireplace, turning his smile onto Laura when she manifested next to him. “Hey,” Nathan said.
Laura handed over a fresh glass of sparkling liquor, and she dropped Nathan’s empty onto a passing tray. “What are you doing over here?” she asked.
“Thinking my escape plan is flawed.”
“How so?”
Nathan gestured at the lake. “Figure I’ll never make it out the front door without being seen, and I was just remembering that I hate swimming.”
Laura’s lips curved into a small smile. “Well, you don’t have long to work out the kinks. We’re about to get called to dinner.”
“Awesome.” Nathan drank. “So, how is this going to work exactly?”
“Didn’t read the briefing, did you?” Laura waved at a guest whom Nathan didn’t recognize. Then again, he really only knew maybe one out of ten people crowded onto the Moore property tonight.
“There was a briefing?”
“I sent you an e-mail.”
“I’m supposed to read those things?”
“The bell will ring. Everyone will go out to the tent,” Laura said, and Nathan suddenly imagined Fury heading for the fighter’s cage, the crowd getting louder and the lights going dim.
“Once everybody’s in place, Daddy will get up and make some speech,” Laura said, and Nathan thought of Fury in the aisles, Fury stepping onto the mat, the announcer yelling, and the referee calling for places.
“We get through that, the meal, and the brandy,” Laura said, and Nathan was watching Fury circle and throw punches at a shadow opponent. He saw Fury on the mat, locked and spinning and flipping and reversing holds.
“We hang around until all the guests leave…” Laura spoke, her reflection gray and ghostly in the glass, and Nathan imagined Fury held the other man down as the clock ran out. “And then Daddy gives us his gift.”
Fury got up and sagged against the side of the cage, triumphant but not celebrating. “Then what?” Nathan asked dully.
“We sit down with Daddy and Harold—that’s his finance manager—and Daddy signs over an account to me. I transfer your half over to you once I’ve got access, and we get the rest when the ink’s dry on our marriage certificate.”
As Fury walked away from the fight and the ring, he looked over his shoulder, weary. Nathan sighed and let the daydream fade to nothing. “Seems simple enough.”
“Should be.” Laura’s hand sneaked into Nathan’s. “Thanks,” she said softly.
Nathan squeezed Laura’s hand, and chimes began to ring. The harp player picked up a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you all would follow the paths to the outdoor tent, I believe our host is ready for us.”
Hooking Laura’s arm through his, Nathan fell into pace with the throng, nodding at the congratulations and making casual conversation along the way. The temperature had dropped, turning it cold instead of crisp, but the space heaters were doing their jobs. The tent flaps had been lowered to keep in the heat, and it was pleasant inside. A fake floor had been spread on the grass so ladies’ heels wouldn’t sink, and the chairs and tables would be level. One table sat horizontal at the north end, and a half dozen others sat lengthwise. Each place was set with pale ivory china, and Nathan heard a woman tittering about how nice it was to combine the formal and informal with such flare. Nathan gave Laura a look, which she returned with another heavenward eye roll.
Nathan took his seat next to Laura, who sat to her father’s right. Barb was on Greg’s left, Leslie, Lydia, and husbands beyond her. Greg’s brother, David, who was deaf to the point of comedy was on Nathan’s other side, as was Laura’s grandmother and a few other family members.
As soon as everyone was situated and the catering staff was in position, Greg stood. “Friends, family,” he said, voice booming without apparent effort. “I will spare you the speeches until we’ve all had our fill of the food, but I wanted to thank everyone for joining us tonight.”
A smattering of applause began, and Greg waved it down when it threatened to turn enthusiastic. “Nothing warms my heart better than the company of loved ones helping me celebrate such a happy occasion. Well, that and the heaters don’t hurt.” Everyone laughed on cue. “Before we are served by this amazing staff of people without whom this event would never have been possible”—Greg nodded to the nearest man in uniform—“I would lead us in a prayer of thanks.”
Also on cue, everyone sat up straighter and ducked their chins to their chests. Nathan did too, but when Greg began a flowery note to Our Heavenly Father, Nathan spent the time looking around. He caught one or two other people doing the same thing. A member of the serving staff, a young kid with dark, shaggy hair and big, wide eyes, smirked at Nathan and winked. Nathan dipped his chin and was just in time to echo, “Amen.”
Nathan got through dinner and found a suitable moment to excuse himself. Many of the guests had finished eating and were wandering along the paths or were braving the steps down to the water. Nathan went inside the house and made use of the restroom, taking his sweet time and going through his text-message history with Fury for comfort. He dried his hands, turned off the light, and took a cup of brandy from a waiter, who appeared as though she knew Nathan would need her. Nathan sipped and made his way to one of the rear terraces. The enclosed one on the ground floor was occupied, people curled up on sofas and seats, drinking and talking, so Nathan headed up to the upper patio. It was far less crowded, with only a lone smoker in a server’s uniform sneaking a break, and Nathan nodded to him on the way to the glowing heater in the corner. It was warm standing directly in front of the vents. Nathan leaned on the stone railing, trying to take it easy on the brandy. He’d lost track of champagne flutes, but he’d had plenty to numb his senses along the edges.
Didn’t matter really. He’d finish the glass, find water in the kitchen, and be plenty sober to drive home whenever he was finally released from duty. He hoped to God that he didn’t need to be present for that financial meeting. Let Greg and Laura work that shit out. It’d be awful to sit through Greg ceremoniously signing the paperwork with Laura the demure princess at his side. Nathan shuddered.
“Hey, you got a light?”
Nathan put a hand on the railing and shook his head at the cater waiter. “Naw, sorry. Don’t carry one.”
The guy sighed and tucked his unsmoked cigarette into its box. “My lighter died, and all the candles are fake.”
“Sorry, man. Good luck.”
“Yeah.” The guy didn’t leave, though. Instead, he stepped closer. “Cold out here.”
“Probably warmer inside,” Nathan pointed out, shuffling backward when the kid chose to bend and lean on the banister.
The waiter chuckled. “You know, I really don’t get you guys.”
“What guys?”
“The fucking frauds, man.”
“What?” Nathan’s heart began thudding in his chest, and each pulse seemed to ask whether or not it was time to run.
The kid’s eyes widened, and he crowded Nathan near the heater. Warmth blasted Nathan, making him sweat in his suit. “You don’t remember me, do you?” the waiter asked.
“Should I?” Nathan asked, but a nagging little voice told him that yes, Nathan should remember this one. Or well, Nathan’s asshole probably should, at least.
“Nashville. Club Storm. Any of this ringing a bell?”
It did, it all did, but what rang the loudest was the black, chipped polish on the waiter’s fingernails. “Umm…” Nathan said.
The kid snorted. “Maybe we should find a bathroom. Bet I could get you to remember me.” He looked Nathan up and down and licked his lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Nathan tried to dodge, but the waiter blocked him.
“I guess not. You were blizted out of your mind. You were hot, though. Trust me.”
“I’ll take your word on it.”
The kid sneered. “Gonna be like this, huh?”
“Get out of my way.” Again, Nathan tried to sidestep the waiter, but the man didn’t let him pass.
“You’re seriously going to marry that bitch, aren’t you?”
Nathan stopped trying to get away and squared off with the guy, who was slightly taller but so skinny that he might fall through cracks if he turned just right. “She’s not a bitch. Don’t talk like that about someone you don’t know.”
The guy hummed, trying to be all coy and sly. “Yeah, well, I may not know her, but I bet she doesn’t know what her fiancé likes to do in gay bars in other towns.”
“You’re right,” Nathan agreed. “You don’t know her.”
“Maybe I oughta tell her,” the kid said. “Introduce myself.”
“Are you… Do you…” Nathan shook himself to make sure this wasn’t a dream. “Are you trying to blackmail me?” Nathan asked, stunned momentarily, loud and idiotic.
The guy flinched but regained his machismo. “Dunno, man. There’s a lot of money around here, and I got a lot of school to finish, you know?”
“School,” Nathan repeated, disbelieving.
“Uh-huh.” The kid tossed his hair. “Tough job, waiting tables and fucking closet breeders on the side.”
Nathan gaped and blinked at the smug, twisted features of the stranger he’d let bang him not so many weeks ago. The way Nathan remembered it, the guy had been sort of sweet. Then again, Nathan used to mistake the barest minimum of human kindness as affection. Sad thing, thinking common decency was flirting.
“You… but…” Nathan began, and he stopped whatever the guy had been about to say by laughing in the would-be blackmailer’s face. “As if any of this shit is mine or even hers!” Nathan gasped, and once the hysteria took hold, he couldn’t make it stop. He laughed in rough, barking guffaws, and he leaned on the railing. It only made it worse when the kid lost all his courage and started shuffling from one foot to the other like he had to take a piss.
“The hell’s wrong with you?” the waiter asked.
“Oooh… oh God…” Nathan knocked back the dregs of the brandy, made a grab for the waiter, but the kid threw off Nathan’s hold.
“No, no, oh God, please…
please
go tell my future wife that I fuck men.” Nathan had to pause for another gale of giggles, and he loosened his tie and collar.
“You fucking high, man?” the kid asked.
“No. Drunk. But seriously. Bring her over here. First though, I want to see her face and watch her eat you alive. For fuckin’ breakfast in bed, man. It’ll be the most fun she’s had in weeks.”
“But…” The guy appeared to be struggling for understanding and trying to find an exit all at once. “But you
do
fuck men. We—”
“I know!” Nathan called. “You think I forget that when somebody’s not buried all up in there?”
“And… But your… She…”
Poor thing was so confused. God bless. “Oh, she fucks me too, but man, I’ve been looking for a way to break the news to the in-laws, and here you are. Oh, it’s fuckin’ perfect. Just go, man. Here, wait…” Nathan staggered away from the rail but didn’t make it to the open sliding glass door that led into the great room. He knocked into a chair, so he pointed. “I’ll go get you the microphone. You can make it all official and shit. Tell it while the harp player does her thing. Maybe we fuck on the dessert table to a flute solo.”