But things were different now. Now he had Hang Ten, which afforded him the opportunity to help the community he worked and lived in. That’s where the Kevin Matthews Community Center came in. Nick, through Hang Ten, was the benefactor for around seventy percent of their operating expenses. Dean was the center’s director, so Nick knew his money was being put to good use.
Even though Ginny wasn’t, and never had been, thrilled about Nick’s involvement with the center, this was one area where he refused to budge. If Kevin had had some place like the center to spend his free time, rather than the streets and getting mixed up with a bad crowd, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have succumbed to the dope.
Nick’s mission in life was to give the kids a safe haven, so that his brother’s death was not in vain.
And that same gut feeling he’d had about Kevin was now eating him up about Ginny. Nick shook his head and yanked the tie away from his neck.
The door opened and Dean poked his head in. “Didn’t you hear me knocking?” he asked.
Nick huffed. “Sorry.” Holding the tie dangling in the air, he tried, without much success, to laugh.
Dean shuffled into the room and took the tie from Nick. “Here. Let me give you a hand.” Without waiting for an invitation from Nick, he went to work on the tie. “Don’t tell me you’re still worked up?”
“I just…it’s my gut.” Nick tugged at his collar, as if the tie was too tight. “It’s telling me something’s wrong.”
Dean slapped Nick’s hand away. “You’re getting married today. Nothing’s wrong.” Dean finished up with Nick’s tie and turned him toward the mirror. “I think maybe, deep down inside, you feel guilty about being happy. Life goes on. Kevin would want you to enjoy it.”
Nick ignored Dean’s two cents and inspected his handy work with the tie instead. “Not bad,” he said, tugging at the bow.
“Let’s go. You don’t want to be late. Right?”
“Let’s take a little detour on the way to the church.”
Dean studied Nick through squinted eyes. “Where do you have in mind?”
“Let’s just drive by the house and make sure everything’s okay.”
A few seconds of Dean’s obtrusive glare was all it took for Nick to rethink it. But, just in case that wasn’t enough, Dean said, “She’s probably already left for the church. And if you’re late, she’s going to kill you.”
Nick pulled his cell off the dresser and set about texting Ginny. Granted, it was a good idea—okay, better than a drive by—because once she responded, he’d know she was okay, and she wouldn’t be mad about him coming by in person. This traditional wedding idea had gotten a hold of Ginny about six months ago and turned her into a bridezilla. And now, on his wedding day, Nick didn’t want to piss her off. If he did, he’d probably be the first groom in history to be cut off on his wedding night.
Seconds later, a text dinged in. It was Ginny replying: See you at the church!
Nick looked at Dean and smiled, waving the phone in the air. “She’ll see me at the church.” The text allowed him to breathe a little easier.
Nick grabbed his jacket and followed Dean out of the room, determined to forget about that knot twisting tighter in his gut.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marseilles, France
THE MERCEDES LIMO CRUISED ALONG the motorway while its passengers, Claudette and Maurice, rode in silence. Claudette peered at her reflection in the compact mirror. Not a single strand of her blonde hair was out of place. Granted, she’d taken to having the gray hair dyed out years ago. Her blue eyes still sparkled, and the wrinkles hadn’t overtaken her face too terribly badly—thanks to all those expensive beauty treatments. She’d be fifty in a few years, but all in all, she still looked pretty good.
Claudette cut her eyes toward her husband. Fifty had come and gone for Maurice de Laurent, but he carried his age well. Of course, he’d put on a little weight over the years, but who hadn’t? His jet-black hair had long since grayed. And sometimes, his brown eyes looked tired, really tired. But he was still the handsomest man of her acquaintance.
“What exactly did she say?” His question broke the silence.
“As I’ve told you before…” Claudette closed the compact and slipped it inside her purse. “Lecie is not ready to come home. She’s experiencing life on her own for the first time and she’s enjoying it.”
“I don’t like it.” Maurice huffed and shook his head.
“Of course, you don’t like it.” Claudette laughed. “You are not in charge.”
“But I should be.” He growled. “I am the head of this family.”
“Just where did you get the idea that head means boss?”
He ignored her inquiry, saying, “My children have no respect for my wishes.”
“Your children love you, but they’re adults.” Claudette pressed her lips together and looked at Maurice through narrowed eyes. “You need to respect the fact that they’re responsible for making their own decisions.”
Maurice’s head began shaking. “No. We must not allow this to happen.”
Claudette laughed. “And just how are you going to stop it?” She waited for the idea to take root inside his head. “You can’t cut her off. Thanks to you, she has her own money now, and plenty of it.” Claudette rarely missed an opportunity to remind her husband that while meddling in his youngest son Andre’s life, he’d inadvertently set up their only daughter with financial independence, separate and apart from the family.
“I can have her deported.” His eyes brightened.
“You can’t have her deported.”
“I could arrange it.”
“You’re not going to arrange her deportation,” Claudette said, adopting a challenging tone. “I have everything under control. I’m sending Soren’s brother Gerard over to look out for her.”
“Oh, that’s a very good idea,” Maurice said with a crisp nod. “He can send us reports on her activities.”
“No…” Claudette’s tone was soft, yet determined. “We are not spying on our daughter. We are simply looking out for her welfare.” Claudette sucked in a breath, hoping it would calm the fluttery feeling in her chest. It didn’t. “I just don’t want her to get hurt. Or taken advantage of.”