Overture (North Security, #1)

Her eyes glisten with tears before she looks down. “You’re wrong.”

“And you have unbearably low standards. I only look like a good father because your own was such a bastard. When you go out into the world, you’ll understand. You want to come back after the tour? Fine. I’ll leave your room the way it is. What do I need it for, anyway? It will keep its pink walls and its white ruffles. And if you tour the world for a year and a half and still want the emptiness that’s waiting here for you, you’re welcome to have it.”





CHAPTER FOURTEEN





Composer Franz Liszt received so many requests for locks of his hair that he bought a dog and sent fur clippings instead.


SAMANTHA

I give Liam the silent treatment the rest of the week. It makes me feel like a child, but I can’t help it. He has all the power in this relationship. All the secrets. Beatrix wasn’t completely wrong. He’s really a bastard sometimes.

He’s also the closest thing I have to family.

It wasn’t only him. All three of the North brothers took me in.

Josh taught me how to throw knives even though Liam nearly killed him for it. I’m weirdly good at them. Turns out the upper body strength and nimble fingers you cultivate playing violin translates well to six inches of stainless steel.

I can hit the painted targets almost as well as a soldier.

It was the youngest North brother who drove to the convenience store to buy maxi pads because I started bleeding when Liam was on an overnight trip. It was my first period. Even if Daddy had been alive, I don’t know how he would have handled that. Probably one of his aides would have taught me. Instead Elijah knocked at the bathroom door, grim-faced as he answered my questions—how long would it last and why did it happen.

Probably I should be grateful to have them. So grateful that I don’t ask any more questions, but I can’t let go of my past. I can’t forget the guarded look in Liam’s eyes when I asked him about my father. What’s he hiding?

It’s easy to keep up the silent treatment, because everyone’s busy with the wedding. Rows of white chairs replace tractor tires. Flowers overflow rustic wood containers. The entire lawn transforms from a high-impact obstacle course to a romantic lawn in a matter of days. These are soldiers. They perform their mission with precision and fearlessness, even if it involves canapes instead of sniper rifles.

Of course, there probably are sniper rifles hidden around the property. I’ve played the violin in the room beside Liam’s office every day for the past six years. I can hear him even when he thinks I’m focused on the strings. He would see the wedding as an opening, something that an enemy could exploit. There would be even more defenses in place today.

Liam is the best man, looking austere and remote in his tuxedo, standing with Hassan at the makeshift altar. There are faint shadows under his green eyes, the only hint that he did anything other than sleep. They’re interesting, those shadows, because of how rare they are.

This is a man who doesn’t show signs of weakness.

It might be daunting to some brides, the preponderance of stern, muscled men filling the white folding chairs. Jane teaches kindergarten at the local elementary school. Nothing scares her. That’s what she told me the first time we met, and it looks like it’s true. She’s beaming in her white dress with lace that cups her bodice and flares out to a wide skirt.

Hassan swallows hard as she steps out of the tent, his eyes glittering.

Play whatever you want, she told me. I’m sure it will be beautiful.

So I play the song I would want if I were to get married, the one I’ve imagined walking down the aisle to, even though I’d never admit it out loud. Pachelbel composed “Canon in D” to play with three violins and a bass continuo, but I love it even more with a single lilting strain. My Nicolo Amati violin is small and proud. It prefers to play solo. That’s where it really sings.

My troubled gaze finds Liam. He’s watching me, those green eyes sharp in the sunlight. He owns the land we’re standing on, acres and acres of it. He owns the company that employs almost everyone here. He’s a leader and a soldier and a confidant to the men beside him.

And he’s my guardian. He wouldn’t hurt me. I have to believe in that, because without that I don’t know what I’d think. I don’t know who I could trust.

I try to imbue the words into the bow, into the strings—I trust you, I trust you. But I’m afraid they aren’t completely true. I love him. I need him, but I don’t necessarily trust him. Maybe it’s part of growing up to realize that they aren’t the same thing—and I’m forced to look away.

He finds me after the ceremony. “We should talk.”

I give him a pointed look.

“Still giving me the silent treatment?”

When I was twelve years old, on the cusp of homelessness, of ruin, it was enough to know Liam would take care of me. I didn’t need details. Maybe I didn’t want details.

Now it feels scarier not to know, to go into the world misled.

Without a word I tuck my violin case beneath the risers near the house. It’s always strange to walk around carrying something worth a quarter of a million dollars. Some people say the violin is like a limb, but it’s more than that. It’s my heart. My soul.

And it’s sitting in a velvet-lined case on the grass. No one would dare steal from Liam North, and technically the instrument belongs to him. How vulnerable it makes me to have something vital to my existence belong to another human being.

A massive white tent covers endless platters of meat, pork belly sliders with homemade coleslaw and beef chuck-eye roast with a paprika herb rub. The bar serves blueberry mojitos with muddled mint leaves and fruit.

A little glass pot contains scoops of warm tri-colored mashed potatoes. I add chives and shredded cheese before carrying it with me, circling the edges of the party. This far away I can see Liam with a mug in his hand, surrounded by people. He’s holding court, I realize. Some of the guests are clients of the company. Even wealthy men, successful men, look to him. He grants his audiences rarely with a reserved nod.

He gives approval even more rarely.

Josh slides into the seat beside me, a beer in his hand. “Nice job on the music,” he says. “Half the bridesmaids started crying, I have a hell of a time hitting on a girl with mascara running down their cheeks.”

That makes me snort. “I wouldn’t think that would stop you.”

“Well, I’m not saying I’m going to stop.”

“If you want my advice, pick one this time.” There was an incident last year where he’d lured two women into his bed for a threesome. Except he had only mentioned it to one of the girls. The other one had not been pleased to realize she wasn’t the only one joining him.

“In my defense, I was falling down drunk.”

“How is that a defense?”

He grins, unrepentant. “She still called me for a date the next day.”

I can’t help but glance at Liam, where a woman touches his arm as she laughs, leaning close to give him a view down her dress. Will he invite her to his bedroom? There’s no question what her answer would be. Morosely I take a bite of the mashed potatoes, but even the buttery carbs can’t soothe the jagged edges of jealousy.

“You have nothing to worry about here,” Josh says, his voice dry.

“I’m not worried.”

“He hasn’t slept with a woman in so long I’m pretty sure he’s forgotten how. Or maybe key parts of his anatomy have atrophied and fallen off. It’s not healthy.”

I give him a sideways glance. “How would you know?”

“Because no one who’s gotten laid would be that tense.”

He does look tense. His knuckles are white where he grips the coffee mug. And who drinks coffee at a wedding, anyway? Everyone around him laughs and dances and flirts. These men put their lives on the line every time they take a job. They work hard, and they party even harder. This reception will continue long into the night. It won’t stop when Hassan and his pretty new wife leave for Hawaii.