Matrimonial Merriment, page 1
Matrimonial Merriment
Valor and Doyle Book Seven
Nicky James
Matrimonial Merriment
Copyright © 2023 by Nicky James
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Artist:
Natasha Snow Designs
Cover Model
Jordan Hagel
CJC Photography
Editing:
Susie Selva
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.
Contents
Note to Readers
1. Quaid
2. Aslan
3. Quaid
4. Quaid
5. Aslan
6. Quaid
7. Quaid
8. Aslan
9. Aslan
10. Quaid
11. Aslan
12. Aslan
13. Quaid
14. Aslan
15. Quaid
16. Aslan
17. Quaid
18. Aslan
19. Quaid
20. Quaid
21. Aslan
22. Aslan
23. Quaid
24. Aslan
25. Quaid
26. Quaid
27. Aslan
28. Quaid
29. Aslan
Note from the Author
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Also by Nicky James
Note to Readers
For a complete list of trigger warnings for this or any of my books, please visit my website.
Chapter 1
Quaid
Monday, October 2nd: Two months and twenty-one days before the wedding…
A tiny, rolled note landed soundlessly on my desk, its unwelcome presence instantly grating. Why did this have to be a thing? I loathed the efforts made by the upper echelon of the department to inject cordiality into our working environment. It was unnecessary and patronizing. We had better things to do than play games.
Slips of paper delivered, Edwards strutted into his office with a devious smirk, the recycled margarine tub he’d been clutching now discarded into the waste basket beside my desk, having served its purpose.
Jordyn and I were the last to receive our secret names.
“He’s far too smug.” I sneered after our boss. “I hate it when the staff sergeants get together and devise department-wide fun activities for their employees. And I say that sarcastically in case the sentiment didn’t come through.”
“Oh, it always comes through, Valor. And if it didn’t, you wear your emotions on your face for all to see.”
I turned my sneer toward my no-longer-in-training partner, Jordyn Frawley, who perfectly mimicked the expression I wore like a comfortable glove.
She laughed and rolled her eyes when I continued to stare with venom. “God, you’re miserable. Why does this bother you so much? Who cares? Let’s open them together.” She toyed with the shiny red ribbon tied around her carefully rolled paper.
“It’s stupid.”
“Quit being a grinch.”
Unable to unfurl my brows, I glared at the roll of paper and crimson ribbon on the ink blotter. It was a mini scroll in essence. No more than three inches long and tightly wound, it resembled a party-size straw like the ones they put in your drink at the bar. Those at least served a purpose. This thing risked impeding proper focus, and our jobs were serious. They required proper attention at all times.
“I hate this kind of stuff.” I picked at the ribbon and squished the tube under a finger. “And for the love of god, it’s October second. Who does Secret Santa in October? We haven’t even had Halloween yet. I object to this on every level, and it doesn’t make me a grinch.”
“You object to everything on every level.”
“I object to that observation.”
Jordyn threw her hands up. “Case in point.”
“Come on. Admit it. This is preposterous. I refuse to be festive and merry in October.”
“I will only accept that as a legitimate defense if you agree to be festive and merry in December.”
“Shut up. You’re bugging me.”
“Grinch. The purpose of the activity is for us to have multiple opportunities for positive interactions with coworkers so we can get to know one another on a deeper level and be in the best possible position to select a final gift when the time comes. Didn’t you read the email?”
The wrinkle in my nose grew more pronounced. “Yes, I read the email.” I’d skimmed the email, then promptly trashed it because I had more important things to worry about than engaging in Secret Santa crap in October.
Like planning a wedding in under three months. I got sweaty and jittery every time another day passed and not enough things were ticked off the endless To-Do list.
Besides, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Christmas. I tolerated it but didn’t lose my head like some people. It was partly why agreeing to a wedding on December twenty-third had been so easy. If I had something other than the traditional holiday to occupy my mind, I wouldn’t have to think about the horrid festivities any more than was required.
And every year following, I would have somewhere better to focus my attention, something better to celebrate. An anniversary.
“Come on, Quaid. Quit snarling and open your scroll. I want to know who you got.”
I glowered at my partner. “I’m not telling you. It would be in direct violation of the rules. It’s called Secret Santa. Secret, as in don’t tell anyone who you got.”
“Wow. You were picked last for everything in high school, weren’t you?”
I didn’t dignify her comment with a response and untied the ribbon on my rolled paper.
Chuckling, Jordyn did the same.
According to the email we had all received from Inspector Lassaline a few days ago, the executive officers had decided to organize a department-wide Secret Santa event that would involve all units and subunits in the building. The rules had been slightly modified to suit their purpose, which was to encourage interdepartmental camaraderie and the development of new friendships. Like we were in freaking kindergarten. It wasn’t the first inane idea the big wigs had come up with, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last. All the team-building propaganda they’d pushed lately was getting out of control. Okay, I could concede that it was a team-building event that had kick started mine and Aslan’s relationship, but I still wasn’t happy they existed. I still despised them to the very depths of my soul.
Jordyn got her mini scroll open first, and a smile spread across her face. I unfurled my paper and peeked at the name scrawled on the inside. Tallus Domingo. Great. Who the hell was Tallus Domingo? Yet another reason the department-wide Secret Santa idea was stupid. Most of us didn’t know anyone outside our unit, and they had ensured everyone was assigned someone not within their core department.
“Case in point indeed,” I muttered, tossing the paper aside.
“Who’d you get?” Jordyn asked in complete disregard for the rules.
“That’s a mighty fine question, but I have no idea.” Irritated, I pulled up the Metropolitan Police Department directory on my computer, scowling at the screen as I looked up Tallus Domingo in the personnel section.
“Someone you don’t know, I take it?”
“This is why I hate these things. How am I supposed to come up with a gift for a person I don’t know.”
“Shame, shame. You skimmed the email.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did, or you would know that isn’t the purpose of the game.”
“I didn’t skim the email.”
“So you’re being purposefully obtuse? Or is this you being belligerent and cranky as usual? Is Az not putting out? Would a good orgasm help? I can text him and see if he’s busy.”
“Shut up, Jordyn.”
I had one hundred percent skimmed the email, and I hated it when she called me out on my bad temper. And no, sex would not fix this—although the mere thought of being shoved against the supply room door as Aslan brought me beyond my senses was enticing.
“And PS, I had sex this morning, so…” I stuck out my tongue.
She laughed, and I turned back to my computer.
Tallus Domingo worked as a records clerk on the first floor of the building. Good for Tallus. Wait? Was Kitty gone? Had she finally retired? I was always out of the loop. It made sense. The woman was ancient. I guess they had finally hired a new guy to replace her.
I studied Tallus Domingo’s staff photo, trying to recall if I’d seen him around lately. He was young, midtwenties at a guess—unless the photo wasn’t recent.
Tallus Domingo had a broad forehead, sharp cheekbones, chic, dark-framed glasses over hazel eyes, and stylishly messy auburn hair. The man used far too much product in my opinion. Call it a hunch, but I had a feeling he was the type of guy who bathed in aftershave or cologne, carrying a cloud of fumes in his wake.
Gross.
Probably an attention-seeker. He looked like an attention-seeker.
In his buttoned-up paisley shirt and lavender tie, Tallus had the air of a flashy college student. He reeked of academia. I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he’d
Jordyn, nosy as usual, leaned across our joined desks, but before she could look at my computer screen and Tallus Domingo’s profile, I planted a hand in the middle of her face and pushed her away, laughing. “No peeking. You’re such a cheater.”
“Am not.” Without missing a beat, she snagged my discarded paper as she fell back into her seat.
“Jordyn! Don’t you dare. As your superior officer, I order you not to—”
She unfolded the paper and read out loud. “Tallus Domingo.” Her gaze turned inward for a second as she accessed her internal databank. “Do I know him? Wait, isn’t he the new guy down in records?”
I didn’t respond, still scowling. Then, quick as a viper, I leaned over our desks and stole Jordyn’s discarded scroll, reading the name of the person she’d been assigned. “Lisa Jenkins.” The name rang a bell. “Homicide?”
“You should know. You’re over there enough.”
Yes, Lisa Jenkins was one of Aslan’s coworkers. Dammit. She would have been easier. I could have harassed Aslan to give me all the details I needed for the task of Secret Santa. Effortless, and it wouldn’t have interfered with my free time.
“Trade me?” I tried and failed to look cute, jutting my lower lip a fraction.
Jordyn snorted. “Not a chance, pretty boy. Suck your lip back in your face.” She threw my slip of paper back and snatched hers, stuffing it into a pocket. “Too bad you’re not single. If Tallus Domingo is who I think he is, I’m pretty sure he’s gay. And seriously good looking, and I say that as a tried and true lesbian.”
“Really?” I pitched a face and glanced at the computer screen where Tallus’s staff photo was still displayed. Turning the screen, I asked, “This guy?”
“Yep, that’s him. Hundred percent gay, or bi, I suppose. I don’t want to be judgy. He could swing both ways.”
“You went from ‘I’m pretty sure he’s gay’ to ‘hundred percent’ awfully fast. And he’s not that good looking. I mean, he’s okay, I guess.”
“Quaid, good lord, just say he’s hot. You’re allowed.”
“Not my type. Are you sure he’s gay?”
I studied the man’s picture. Aslan was of the opinion I had broken gaydar. He was probably right, but to be fair, I didn’t like to judge people based on looks or manner of dress. Perhaps I would notice nuances in the flesh, but the still frame image didn’t scream gay. Not to me. I supposed what I’d considered academic or scholarly on Tallus could be interpreted differently, but…
“June and I were at Gasoline about a month or two ago. He was there with a guy. They seemed chummy.”
“Well, good for him. And since I’m clearly not single or interested in a man barely out of his teens who looks a little too high on himself, can you please, please, please trade me names? I don’t want to get to know a complete stranger from records who might be gay.”
“Is gay.”
“Please.”
“No.”
“What if he flirts with me?”
“Then show him your ring.”
“Jordyn…” And it did not come out as a whine. “Why do you hate me?”
Jordyn didn’t get a chance to respond. The alarm on my phone went off, startling us both.
“Shit, shit, shit.” I silenced it. “How is it almost four o’clock already? If I don’t move my ass, I’ll be late for our appointment, and I have to run home first. Shit.”
I bolted from the chair and tugged on my jacket as I located Aslan’s number on my phone. Balancing the device between my shoulder and ear, I riffled through my pockets in a frantic search for my keys.
Jordyn located them on her desk—she was the last person to drive—and tossed them so they hit me in the middle of my chest. I caught them, almost dropping my phone in the process, and mouthed thanks.
Aslan answered on the third ring, speaking before I could get a word out. “Hey, hot stuff. No, I didn’t forget, and yes, I’m on my way out the door right now. I should be there in fifteen or twenty minutes, traffic pending.”
“Where are you? At work?”
“No. Came home after court this morning.”
“Can you bring the binder?”
“What binder?”
I stalled and sneered at my phone. “Please tell me you’re joking. It has been attached to my hip morning, noon, and night for a week.”
Aslan chuckled. “Relax. I’ve got your precious wedding binder under my arm. I knew you’d want it.”
“Don’t ever mess with me like that. Do you have any idea how stressed I am?”
“Would this be a good time to remind you about the wedding planner fiasco?”
“No, it would not. We will never discuss that again.”
“And when I say wedding planner, I mean planners—plural—those lovely, innocent people who could have alleviated some of your stress had you not told them to go to hell.”
I growled under my breath and spoke through clenched teeth, emphasizing each word. “We are not discussing that debacle again. I can’t help it if people don’t listen.”
“Yes, Mr. Control Freak. It was all their fault.”
“Az, They were—”
“I don’t get why we have to view the venue. It’s already booked. It’s not like we’re changing our minds this late in the game. There was nowhere else available to suit us, so what’s the deal?”
Blood pressure rising, I waved goodbye to Jordyn and hustled to the elevator, switching my phone to the other ear. “We’re viewing it because we plan to have our wedding there. All I’ve seen are pictures online. That’s not good enough, Az. How can I determine the exact choreography of our ceremony without seeing what I have to work with?”
Aslan was quiet for a beat too long. “Az? Did I lose you?” I pulled my phone away from my ear, but the call was still connected.
“No, I’m here, but I feel like this is one of those instances where I’m going to say the wrong thing, so I’m opting to remain silent.”
“Good call.”
“Seriously though, you’re choreographing the ceremony? What does that even mean?”
I scrubbed a hand over my face as the elevator lurched and sent me plummeting to the first floor of the building. “You know what? To save our future marriage, I’m hanging up now. See you soon.”
Aslan’s chuckle was all I heard as I disconnected the call.
Chapter 2
Aslan
Strongwind Castle, once known as Château de Vent Fort, was an elegant mansion constructed in the 1860s. The variegated fieldstone facade with limestone trim enriched the beauty of the four-story mansion to something reminiscent of fairy tales. I had expected nothing less when Quaid had told me about it.
The castle was built on the hillside of a vast property spanning over three dozen acres. The shady terrace, oversized courtyard, and extravagant gardens incorporated limestone fountains, marble sculptures, long, winding paths, and a man-made canal sporting a waterfall and rocky outcroppings. The potential backdrops available for wedding photography were innumerable.
We had viewed several albums on their website, but as I drove up the expansive cobblestone driveway to Strongwind Castle, I immediately determined none of those images did the property justice.
I had arrived first and parked the Harley in what seemed to be a designated guest lot, half expecting a valet to hustle along at any moment to inform me I didn’t belong and needed to move the bike.
Locking my helmet to the bars, I dug through a saddle bag for Quaid’s precious wedding binder. It was surprisingly thick, and I had no clue what information he could have possibly collected in the two weeks since I’d proposed, but he’d barely slept and had been working nonstop, determined to put together his dream wedding in our limited timeframe. Every time I offered to help, he tensed and changed the subject. I got the feeling he didn’t trust me not to screw things up.
Unfortunately, work had been insanely busy for both of us, and free time was scarce.
An engraved wooden sign indicated the direction to the main office, but I decided to wait for Quaid in the parking lot while taking in the vast estate and all it encompassed. Other signs marked the locations of Strongwind Stables, Mademoiselle Elise Courtyard, Misty Falls, and several named gardens, of which there was an abundance.
