"Whose wedding is this?" I asked, tugging at the collar of the shirt which felt slightly too high, or maybe that was just the anxiety.
"Louis Durant's daughter," Cassian said, not looking up.
"And we're going because…?"
"Business."
Cyan leaned over, his perfume, something that smelled like expensive candy and secrets, filling my personal space. He whispered in my ear,
"Translation: Cassie's going to ruin someone's day. He's like a wedding crasher, but instead of sleeping with a bridesmaid, he bankrupts the father of the bride. It's much more dramatic."
I slumped against the leather seat. Of course. We weren't there for the "I do's." We were there for the "I owe you's."
The venue was staggering. It was an estate that made Mateo's place look like a summer cottage. It was dripping with old-world wealth, not the loud, flashy kind, but the kind that smelled like centuries of compound interest.
