Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5) Read online

  “And it basically turned into The Hangover from there,” Nathan finished for the girl. “You two were fucking insane, and the rest of us just tried to keep you from skydiving and shit.”

  “Could you skip to the part where the rings appeared on our hands?” I growled, my patience already razor-thin and disintegrating at a rapid rate.

  “I caught that on film, actually.” Sterling slid his phone across the polished cherry wood, and I caught it, putting it between Persephone and me.

  She pressed play.

  “Bigger,” I said, pointing to a ring case. “She has to have the best one you’ve got.”

  “I like that one!” Persephone pointed to a spot on the glass.

  “This one is going to set you back a pretty penny,” the attendant warned as he brought the ring out.

  “I don’t care what it costs as long as she’s happy.”

  “I love it!” Persephone slid it onto her finger. “And it fits! See? We’re meant to be, Cannon.” She smiled up at me adoringly. “But you need one too!”

  The camera turned around, the frame filling with Sterling’s face. “Just for posterity’s sake, we’ve told you guys this is a bad idea at least two dozen times, but you’re pretty insistent.”

  “Sterling! We need to get the license! Let’s go!” I shouted.

  The video ended, and Persephone and I stared at each other.

  “No way,” she said, turning toward Harper. “There’s zero way you guys let us get married when we were drunk and drugged out of our minds! This is all some really sick joke, right?”

  “It’s not a joke,” Harper said softly. “I went with you to pick out your dress.”

  Persephone blanched.

  “But we’re not actually married, right?” she insisted.

  “You are,” Liberty said gently. “It was the cutest ceremony by this little, old, singing Elvis, and you guys looked so happy—”

  “There is no way I got married by a singing Elvis!” Persephone shouted.

  Damn, I’d never heard the woman get that loud before. If this wasn’t Connell, I was going to have to give it to whoever had seen this prank through. It was some pretty realistic shit.

  “Okay, if that really happened, then where’s the video of that?” I challenged, sliding the phone back at Sterling.

  “They said we couldn’t record,” he answered with a shrug as he caught it. “But you bought their recording, and he said it would be mailed to you on disc within two weeks.” He thumbed through his phone. “Here, I have this one, though.”

  He slid it back, and we repeated the earlier pattern.

  “It looks so good on you,” Persephone said as her thumb stroked over my ring finger.

  “What’s the silver part?” I asked.

  “It’s meteorite. I figured it fit since you’re out of this world. Get it?” She giggled.

  “You are incredible, Mrs. Price.” I hoisted her into my arms, fluffy white dress and all, and carried her into our hotel.

  Suddenly it didn’t feel like a prank. My stomach twisted at the very real implications of what we’d done last night.

  “I knew you were going to regret it,” Nathan muttered, shaking his head.

  “Then why the fuck didn’t you stop us?” I snapped.

  “Man, have you ever seen…you?” Nixon asked, gesturing to my torso. “You were really fucking goal-oriented, and we all have million-dollar contracts. You look like you could easily rip off my arms.”

  I could easily rip his arms off, but I kept that fact to myself.

  “And he’s a quarterback,” Liberty nodded slowly. “He kind of needs his arm.”

  “True story,” he said to her with a grin.

  “Okay.” Persephone sat up even straighter. “Let me get this straight. We decided that we should get married. How?”

  They all exchanged looks. “None of us saw that part. You guys were sitting next to each other on the plane, and by the time it landed, you were on a mission,” Harper supplied.

  “And you’re telling me that this isn’t a prank? That we actually bought rings, bought a dress and a tux, purchased a wedding license, and then got married by a singing Elvis?” Persephone restated what we’d already heard, keeping her voice miraculously calm.

  “Pretty much,” Nathan agreed.

  “Okay,” she sat back and folded her arms across her chest with a Cheshire cat grin. “If this is real and you’re not pulling our legs, where is the marriage license?”

  They all exchanged knowing looks, and Nathan nodded toward Sterling.

  The kid turned in his seat and grabbed a folder from the buffet table behind him. Then he slid it straight at me.

  I caught the white and gold folder emblazoned with the name of a wedding chapel on the front and opened it slowly.

  My stomach twisted into a hellacious knot.

  “Oh God,” Persephone whispered next to me.

  It was a perfectly executed copy of a marriage license, signed by both of us. A certified copy, to be specific.

  “Where’s the original?” I questioned. This was fixable. It had to be.

  “You guys were married at four p.m. and made it to the clerk and recorder by four-thirty,” Harper answered. “For being out of your minds, you were ridiculously thorough. The county took your original for recording and gave you the certified copy.”

  “Let me guess, we’ll get that in the mail too?” I quipped sarcastically.

  “Pretty much,” the scientist answered, then sipped her orange juice.

  I stared down at the license, letting the reality of it sink in.

  “Holy. Shit.” Persephone’s words were a breath of a whisper. “We did it.”

  Three facts hit me simultaneously.

  The first was that I was actually, really, completely married to Persephone.

  The second was the way she’d signed, officially taking my name.

  And the third—the most ridiculous out of all of this—somehow, I’d managed to kiss the very woman I’d fantasized about for the last two fucking years, and I couldn’t remember a single second of it.

  Married. Bound. Chained to a woman I’d never be worthy of, a woman I’d destroy with my temper or my reputation. She’d never survive it unscathed, not in the debutante circles she ran. Her family had more blue blood than freaking aliens. She represented everything I hated about class warfare, and I was everything she turned her nose up at.

  “Cannon, I think we’re really married,” Persephone whispered.

  My reply came without hesitation. “Not for long.”

  2

  Persephone

  This is fine.

  I repeated the words over and over in my head as I calmly collected pieces of clothing scattered across the hotel room. My clothing.

  A silk blouse here.

  A sleek pencil skirt there.

  My strappy black pumps over in the corner.

  Sweet heavens, why had I hung my red lace bralette on the doorknob?

  I clenched my eyes shut as I slipped the damning evidence in my bag, my mind a fuzzy mess of fog and forgotten dreams.

  A flash of me sliding the bra off through the sleeves of my silk slip—the slip I’d awoken in this morning—fizzled behind my eyes. The reason for doing so? Totally a blank. As was the rest of the night.

  My wedding night, apparently.

  And I knew from the lack of soreness between my thighs and my perfectly untouched lipstick that nothing worth remembering had happened—despite waking up beneath the sexiest and most infuriating man I’d ever set eyes on. I’d thought I’d been dreaming when I’d felt his delicious weight atop me, his lips caressing my neck, his strong thigh between my legs. Thought it was one of my most creative dreams yet until…well, until we both realized we were awake.

  My fingers trembled as I gathered the rest of my things, the only lack of composure I’d allow to show. Because I was Persephone VanDoren and I’d be damned if I gave control to the gathering panic coiling in my chest. />
  Cannon spoke on the phone in the sitting room attached to the hotel’s bedroom, and his deep tenor skittered over my body, leaving a warm chill in its wake. I sucked in a sharp breath and once again tried to recall the events of the night prior.

  The plane ride had been pleasant, a quiet sort of comfortable as Cannon read his book. Nathan Noble and his twin brother Nixon had offered a subdued source of constant chatter on the plane’s opposite side, Nathan’s fiancé, Harper content with her research on her laptop. And Nixon’s date, Liberty—the auction winner—seemed more than happy to simply stare at him with an awestruck sense of disbelief as he’d chatted with his brother.

  I did remember the headache Sterling had mentioned, and the pain pills which both Cannon and I had obviously assumed were harmless.

  But after the plane ride?

  Nothing.

  Blank.

  A thick, wet blanket of darkness buried the memory.

  Once again, that cold, building panic pulsed in my chest, threatening to break my composure. How could I have let myself get into this situation? What would my father think? And my mother—

  My cell phone rang from my purse on the nightstand, and I hurried over to it. As if I’d conjured her out of thin air, my mother’s picture flashed over my screen. For a few seconds too long, I debated not answering. But she was my mama, and I’d never shut her out.

  “Hello, Mama,” I answered, forcing warmth and grace into my tone. “How are you feeling? Everything all right?”

  “It most certainly isn’t all right, Sephie,” she said, her voice anything but unhappy. “How could you possibly elope and not tell me?”

  My blood ran cold.

  “What? How? I—” For once, words spewed from my mouth in a shocked state of confusion.

  “Well, darling, it’s all over the media. And, naturally, I must say. What with your status and the popularity of that hockey star of yours.”

  He’s not my anything.

  “He’s—”

  “Honey, I’m not upset,” Mama cut me off.

  “Well, I damn sure am!” my father’s voice shouted in the background.

  “Oh, hush now,” Mama scolded him before returning focus to me. “Darling, I am so thrilled, honestly.”

  I sank onto the edge of the bed, still unmade from our abrupt awakening this morning.

  “What?” It seemed to be the only word capable of leaving my mouth this morning.

  “You know I probably don’t have much time left on this earth,” she said, her voice softening. My chest constricted, tears biting the backs of my eyes. “And, well, it’s always been a dream of mine to see you walk down the aisle. To see you truly happy.”

  The truth of the situation clogged my throat, choking my airways. The joy in her tone, the compassion in her words stilled my tongue.

  “Happy?” my father surged in the background. “She’ll be happy when I approve of the son of a bitch! The nerve! What kind of coward doesn’t—”

  “Harold!” Mama used the tone only proper southern women could conjure—the one that could silence and scare the living daylights out of any person on the planet, including ones as hardheaded and strict as my father. “Come by the house when you return, please? We have so much to talk about. And bring that man of yours!”

  The line went dead with more grumblings from my father, and it took me a few seconds to realize I didn’t need to hold the cell to my ear anymore.

  Cannon stomped into the room, his massive presence like a vacuum for all the air in the room, not to mention my lungs. My heart raced as I watched him, tracked his movements as he pocketed his cell and hurriedly shoved shirts and slacks and a hardback into his bag. “Spoke to my lawyer,” he grumbled, not even bothering to meet my eyes. “We’ll annul this thing on Monday.”

  A sharp, hot something stabbed the center of my chest.

  Not that I wanted to be married to Cannon Price, but the cold tone, his harsh words—God, was I so awful a mistake to wake up married to?

  No, not going down that road.

  Of course, we had to annul.

  I knew Cannon only in the basest levels of acquaintances, and ninety percent of our exchanges were arguments. Sizzling debates that sparked life into my blood where I hadn’t realized I’d been lacking, but still.

  I gripped the phone in my hand a little harder than necessary. Tears were inevitable, but I sure as hell wouldn’t cry in front of him.

  He slid to a stop before me, finally noticing my lack of movement or response.

  “Hey,” he said, the word sharp.

  I refused to look up at him. I’d have to arch my neck from my seated position, and I honestly thought if I had to look into those dark eyes and see the utter rejection…well, I might very well crumble into a thousand pieces.

  He dropped to his knees, forcing me to catch his gaze. “Are you in shock?”

  The serious set of his features made a laugh rip from my chest, so fast and hard that he jolted a little before me.

  “What ever would I be in shock for, Cannon?”

  He cocked an eyebrow as if to say don’t test me, woman.

  I blew out a breath, then straightened my spine.

  He nodded, as if something had settled between us.

  “We’re leaving,” he said, his voice dropping to that normal, irresistible tenor that made my blood heat. “Now.” He rose to standing, his gaze lingering on me for a few seconds where I remained seated. “Don’t worry. I won’t mar your reputation for long.” He grabbed our bags and hurried from the room like I might slap him or curse him or cry on his shoulder. I had yet to figure out which of those actions would unnerve him most.

  What an absolute mess.

  One I’d gotten myself into, sure, but for what? Because I couldn’t resist the tall, dark, and terrifying man? Because when I saw the other women bidding on him for the charity auction, something had snapped inside me? The thought of him with anyone else became a sharp, near unbearable pain I couldn’t possibly explain or soothe.

  A passing flutter of unwarranted jealousy, of course.

  A sting of loneliness and desire.

  A mistake, certainly.

  One made on instinct as opposed to composed thinking. And perhaps that was the crux of it. Because when it came to Cannon Price, I rarely thought rationally.

  Mama swung open the door to the home I grew up in—and technically still lived in, if you counted the guest house on the back five acres. She stepped onto the front porch, her modest pumps clicking against the stonework as she craned her head back and forth. She even went as far to walk behind me, as if I were hiding Cannon in some invisible pocket, and he might materialize at her search.

  She sighed but smiled as she hooked her arm in mine and walked me into the house.

  Despite growing up in the painstakingly restored 1903 Neoclassical home, it never ceased to steal my breath when entering. I’d grown so accustomed to my cozy guest house that I’d forgotten how high the sweeping ceilings were, how polished the hardwood floors were, and how astoundingly grand each room and piece of furniture was. My mother always had an eye for restoration and decoration, and she’d outfitted the estate brilliantly—from the rich leather furniture to vintage pieces hand-plucked from dusty antique stores—she’d created a near-magical home for us.

  And now, she couldn’t do those things she loved—spending long hours hunting for the perfect piece.

  Not with her condition.

  “You just missed your sister,” she whispered as if someone might hear us as we slowly made our way to the main sitting room. The floor-to-ceiling windows drenched the room and velvet chairs in golden sun, the heat enriching the leather-bound-book smell that permeated from the first editions perfectly lining the shelves making up the entirety of the east wall.

  “I didn’t realize she was in town,” I said, settling into the farthest chair on the right—a favorite of mine because it offered an unobstructed view of the ancient oaks and whispering pines that dotted
the estate grounds. As a little girl, I’d curl up with a book and open the windows to let in the southern breeze, the soft hissing of the wind blowing through the trees the perfect background noise when getting lost in a fictional world.

  “I didn’t either,” Mama said, drawing me back to the present. I focused on her as she sat across from me. She looked tired. Paler than the last time I’d seen her. “Of course, you know I’m always happy to house my firstborn…”

  Her words trailed off as she wrung her hands, and I reached over to squeeze one.

  “What is it this time, Mama?”

  A long, slow breath left her lips. “It’s nothing, really.” She waved me off with her free hand. I fixed her with the look she’d raised me on, the one that said I wouldn’t be lied to. “Well,” she relented. “I had hoped her surprise return was because she simply missed us. She’s been on her travels for months now.”

  Her travels. A kind way of sugar-coating what my older sister actually did on a day-to-day basis, which was blowing through her inheritance, usually on luxury items, resorts, or booze.

  “But she got into a bit of a bind in one of the clubs in Morocco, and she needed Harold to clean it up.”

  “Not surprising,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. I loved my sister, but she’d never been considerate of other’s feelings and continuously lived her life like she needed to outrun herself. I’d wasted many a night fearful of the day I’d get a call from Mama, tear-soaked and grief-stricken due to my sister’s untimely demise—it’d be drunk driving or overdosing or being hit too hard by one of her many ex-husbands or lovers or something equally awful.

  I surveyed my mother’s features, the sadness clinging to her frame and guilt chipping away at the eyes that were an identical shade of blue to mine. Something punched me in the chest.

  “She didn’t get the test, did she?”

  Mama shook her head. “Not that she’s required to. Lord knows I had a hard enough time when you tested. Even if you’d been a match, honey, I don’t know if I could’ve accepted the offer.” She patted my hand.