Cuff Me, Sir: Bonds of Worship 3

Chapter One Luna Bridesmaid dresses sucked a*s. Especially yellow ones with too much tulle. Like, who the hell has goldenrod for one of their colors, especially when the damn stuff blooms everywhere across New England and kills sinuses? Natalie Perez, my sister—that’s who. But, we no longer shared a last name. She’d become Mrs. Jordan Graystone a few hours earlier in an outdoor wedding at the Laurents’ estate where they’d met. And, she’d dressed me—her only bridesmaid—in yellow. I yanked the sagging sleeveless dress up over my boobs, trying like f**k to not scowl. After what I’d done to my new brother-in-law, I was lucky to even be invited to their posh wedding, which was attended by titled English families, famous Hollywood socialites—all the beautiful people. The two who should have been with Nat and me in the family photos, however, were absent. My throat clogged, and I shuffled myself farther into the shadows of the manicured garden behind the large white tent, my vision of Nat and Jordan dancing hazing at the thought of our parents. Dead. Because Dad drove drunk and killed them both. I’d ended up on a similar path as him, and at twenty, I’d done a stint in jail which had finally gotten me sober. Two years I’d gone without one damn sip of alcohol, and I’d never wanted to guzzle in the way Nat’s wedding day tempted me to do. Champagne flutes everywhere. Tumblers with ice and clear liquid cradled in manicured hands. Wine and beer flowed like water. Add in the fact I’d now lost the only other person I loved to a society we hadn’t come from, and I wanted to drown myself in liquor. I wanted to ease the pain in my heart, numb the emotions I didn’t know how to handle. I forced my focus off the party, ignoring the DJ’s music, the din of voices, and laughter. Pebbled paths led deeper into the gardens, but beyond the lights of the wedding, twilight bathed the meadow surrounding the massive stone and timber mansion. Stars reined overhead, twinkling with a happy freedom I longed for—yet feared. Nat had found her forever man, the kind women read about in fairytales. Rich, gorgeous, and he had a killer British accent. Her knight in shining armor. But, she deserved such a man. Nat was the good sister. The responsible one who looked after me when our parents had died. The unselfish young woman who had tried to keep me off the path our father had taken. She hadn’t been the one to fail, though. I had. Miserably, wreaking havoc on her and her emotions. The selfish b***h of a younger sister, bitter and filled with anger and pain. Booze had made things easier for me, but hell for her. It had been her letter of apology while I sat in jail that had helped me to choose a better path, even if it did take me six months to reply. The past... I exhaled a heavy sigh, realizing I needed to change my focus toward the future—even if it was a bleak one lacking the love I longed for—and get a hold on my emotions. Yanking the dress up once more, I glanced toward the wedding ruckus, my gaze wandering over a crowd I didn’t belong to, one who if they knew an ex-convict walked among them, would, , without doubt, shun me. Designer dresses and tuxes, glittering jewels, and Jimmy Choos. Perfectly painted faces. Groomed hair... Except for one man who had his dark hair pulled back in a man bun. A goddamn bun of hair crowning a gorgeous face, clean-shaven jaw, and light eyes. Well over six feet of muscle encased in a black tux. Sexy. As. f**k. I’d been watching him all damn day to escape the s**t in my head, but he didn’t spare me a single glance. Perhaps the only other single man beside him was more his type than a shorter, curvy Latina like myself. Or, perhaps, he’d heard all about Mrs. Graystone’s wayward sister, a mere blue-collar, recovering alcoholic, and ex-con. I heaved another sigh and forced a smile as Nat caught my eye. Her new life wasn’t for me, but I sure as hell wouldn’t have minded a good hard f**k with Mr. Man Bun, a one-night stand, to fill the loneliness I’d experienced since being released from jail the year before. Fucking around with every other Tom, d**k, and Harry had ceased when I’d given up the bottle, though. The party lifestyle no longer appealed to me, but neither did finding that special someone. No one would trust me because of my past, and I feared love because the two I’d loved the most, I’d lost. Thoughts of Nat going down on Jordan’s yacht or in his private jet haunted me, whispers of possible tragedy leaving me alone in the world—even if her marriage would make her less accessible to me when I needed her. My throat thickened again, and Nat glanced my way, concern on her face. She excused herself from her new in-laws—her new mom and dad—and started toward me. Fake smile time yet again. I will not be jealous ... I will not be bitter. “Hey.” She touched my arm, studying my face. “How are you holding up?” “Good,” I lied through my teeth. “It isn’t too much?” I shrugged, my smile wobbling. She laced her fingers through mine. “Why don’t you come over and mingle? Jordan’s parents are wicked nice.” “I don’t fit in here, Nat. If these people knew what I am—” “A few already do and don’t care,” Nat snipped, cutting me off. “Don’t let your past define you, Luna. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. A clean slate.” Nat was right—she was always right, but I had zero desire to attempt to mingle with a society far above me. She let out a heavy sigh of her own. “I really miss Mom and Dad.” Damn tears stung again. “Me, too.” She squeezed my fingers, and we both dealt with the tragic reminder in silence. My mind went straight to booze, my stomach clenching and mouth watering for a taste. Just one. I knew better, though. I wouldn’t stop with just one, and I’d end up back in the s**t hole I’d been free of for two years. “I’m not really doing good, Nat,” I whispered the admission, needing accountability and support. “I-I’m dying for a drink and need to get out of here. I need something to occupy my mind, something to make me forget.” “That bad?” She peered into my eyes as though searching out the answer for herself. “Pretty f*****g miserable,” I managed, my stomach in knots and throat tight as hell. “Shit.” She let out a grumbling string of muttered curses—not as though pissed, but resigned—and heaved a sigh. “Come on.” She started forward toward the tent, my hand grasped firmly in hers. “Where are we going?” I asked, glancing in the opposite direction—and wishing we strode out beneath the stars and twilight that hid my ugliness. “I want you to meet someone.” “Who?” “The man Jordan warned off you. The only available man here who will know how to make you forget all about your craving for alcohol.” The only man available... Mr. Man Bun and his friend were the only two unattached at the wedding as far as I’d seen throughout the long-a*s day. “Holy hell,” I muttered as I realized we headed straight toward them. Nat tugged me along, and as though he felt us near, Mr. Man Bun turned, his gaze landing on me for a brief second before flitting to Nat with a raised brow as though asking what the hell she was doing. Heat flooded my face—and my p***y. I no longer wished to hide away and decided perhaps a good hard f**k was exactly the distraction I needed from the desires and thoughts tearing at my mind.