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Joelle
If Joelle hadn’t been three floors up, afraid of breaking every bone, also able to shimmy down walls and not be a plus-size woman, she would have considered jumping out of the window.
Alas, all those things were very valid, so here she was, standing in front of the mirrored wall, primping for yet another party she was reluctant to attend.
The start of the holiday season was the worst.
There was a polite knock on her bedroom door, and without turning around, she called out, “I’m on my way, Kenneth.”
The house butler was as delightful as they come, but he was as prompt as the Easter Bunny and detested any deviation from the meticulously scrutinized itinerary.
Joelle didn’t know why she had to attend, let alone rush to get there. No one at the party cared if she came or not. She didn’t fit in and didn’t want to. People thought she was odd.
Those among the elite were invited to their suburban mansion in the heart of Utah to schmooze and gain favor with her father, Judge Snow. Her father was a celebrity in these parts, an untouchable man.
It was always business connections first.
That had been the family motto for as long as Joelle could remember.
It was vital for them to uphold their social standing. But it was a total mystery to Joelle why it mattered. She never cared about impressing anyone and wouldn’t start now.
The Snows were nothing if they weren’t impressing someone or making others pea green with envy.
No wonder Joelle had been in therapy since she was twelve years old. Living under the Snow umbrella was hectic as fuck.
But every woman had a cross to bear.
And her life wasn’t terrible.
She had more than enough money, thanks to her grandfather’s inheritance.
Like in past generations, he hadn’t put a stupid stipulation on his will that Joelle must be suitably married before she received the money. He’d included a note in his will and told her he loved her so much and to live under the rainbow.
She smiled at her reflection. The patchwork maxi dress with the V-neck and long sleeves would hit the right note with her grandfather if he were still around. It was decorated in every color.
Joelle liked colors.
No, that was weak. She loved colors.
They made her happy.
Not everyone understood Joelle.
But that was okay. She’d accepted it.
And you know what? She was twenty-eight years old and a college graduate, and she still didn’t understand fractions, so everyone had their quirks.
There was another knock as she finished with her long hair. Without waiting to be announced, her mother walked in.
Sandrine Snow was impeccable from her wavy gray hair, festive red two-piece suit, down to her kitten heels. Her makeup was light and natural. Joelle liked to joke with her mother that she was divaesque like the Kardashians because she, too, had a Glam Squad that came to their home most days to dress her mother in the style she was accustomed to.
Not one soul on earth had ever seen Sandrine Snow going to the market in sweats and greasy hair. Joelle suspected her mom would spontaneously combust if she got near stretch knit jersey fabric.
Joelle never met sweatpants she didn’t love. She had a shelf in her walk-in closet dedicated to sweatpants in all colors.
“I’m not late.” Yet. She announced before her mother could say anything. Call it pre-emptive before the gentle scolding.
“Sweetheart, I know you’re not late.” Her mother clicked her tongue, but her eyes said so much, and Joelle didn’t have to wait long once her mother had finished with the once-over of her appearance. “Oh, Joelle. I thought we discussed you having natural hair for the party. I miss your blonde hair. Your grandmother gave you the nicest color; all you do is hide it under all these dyes.”
“ You discussed it. I ate cookies and dyed it blue while watching vampires fighting over a teen girl.”
No one would know by Sandrine Snow’s demure personality that she was the backbone of the Snow family. She never yelled, but you sure felt her disappointment with the raising of a perfectly threaded eyebrow.
Joelle had long since stopped trying to impress anyone.
All it got her was taking medication for depression, even before she’d hit puberty. Following years of therapy and now without medication, she lived life on her terms as a former people pleaser.
She loved her mother. Entirely, flaws and all. Even if her mother questioned her dress sense and everything else about Joelle’s life choices almost daily.
“Mom, you’re an absolute babe. You’ll have a few men wishing they could get you under the mistletoe tonight.” Turning around, she smiled and hugged her mom despite her initial huff. She always smelled like lavender, which Joelle found comforting.
Lavender is purple. In color therapy, also known as chromotherapy, purple means balance and spirituality, and that embodied her mother.
It would be black if she had to assign a color to her father.
Black meant secrets, magic, and elegance.
“Well, will I do for this thing, or should I stay up here with my books and TV shows?” Please choose the latter . Joelle would do anything not to play a society daughter for hours. The job represented the utmost level of monotony.
Living in the west wing of her family home at her age was already a problem. There were sixty-five rooms and fifteen bathrooms in total. She hardly ever ran into anyone, but it’s unbelievable that they used emotional persuasion for her to stay at home all these years just to make themselves look like a close-knit family.
“Yes.” Her mother replied, almost like the word might burn her tongue off. Joelle suppressed a grin and threaded her bangles and charms onto her wrist.
“Oh, Joelle, please, no. Can you leave all that costume jewelry off for tonight?”
Joelle almost gave in, but she had boundaries in place for a reason, so she only tilted her chin up.
“Mom, you take me as I am or not at all.”
“Oh, fine.” She huffed sweetly. “I don’t know where you get this rebellious streak from.”
“You only need to look in the mirror, mother darling. I didn’t fall far from your wild tree.”
“I never.” She gasped, nearly clutching her antique pearls, and Joelle giggled, threading an arm through her mother’s daintier arm.
On the first floor, servers were dressed immaculately in festive red and white.
Hosting top-notch parties was Sandrine’s specialty. They were the talk of the town. No doubt there were journalists coming tonight, and the party would be splashed on Page Six tomorrow. She only hoped to avoid the spotlight. It was bad enough she’d have to hold a smile for hours. Joelle anxiously rolled the bangles around her wrist. Her silver rings glinted under the hundreds of white Christmas lights.
“Sweetheart, find your father. I need to check with Serge about the appetizers.”
“Okay, mom, break a leg.” Isn’t that what you said for a successful party? If only she could break her leg to get out of this thing.
Joelle’s silver heels clicked on the shiny floor as she went to her father’s private office.
No one entered Judge Snow’s domain without knocking, so she raised her clenched hand to rat-a-tat on the door when she heard raised voices coming from inside.
Her instinct was to stop and eavesdrop, so she inched closer to the partially open door and listened.
“I need your best men on this, Tucker. And I don’t need to remind you of discretion.”
“I’m not in the business of advertising who I work with, Snow. You know this already. You’re not a first-time customer.”
Joelle was surprised when the Judge didn’t react angrily to the disrespectful comment.
“How long for?” Came from a rough-speaking voice.
“Until the threat is neutralized. My son may give you problems, but he refuses to have security details. So you’ll need to be discreet while guarding him. Sandrine has agreed to whatever is needed, and she understands its importance. Joelle will be... difficult.”
Joelle’s spine straightened as she heard her name.
It wasn’t a surprise her father thought she was difficult. Since she didn’t conform to her father’s ideal picture, everything she did disappointed him. Though she would have accepted that character assessment, his words still hit somewhere soft and vulnerable.
And yet she still loved him.
She knew he cared, but didn’t know how to be a typical father. He maintained a distance, as if he were merely an outsider looking in on his family.
Who the hell was he talking to in there?
And why was he putting security on everyone?
There was only one way to find out.
She tapped on the door, every bracelet jangling like symbols, and pushed it open.
She was taken aback to see two men, plus her father.
Joelle approached her father in the spacious office with a Snow-worthy fake smile. However, she’d momentarily peeked at the two strangers. Now, she was more curious than ever to know why the formidable, law-abiding man of the bench was in a conference with two Diablo Disciples MC men.
“Sorry to interrupt, father, but mom sent me to get you. The party is about to start.” Just as he was about to talk, likely to give her a gentle scolding for interrupting, she quickly glanced at the bikers, all decked out in ripped jeans, heavy boots, and leather jackets. These two were definitely sketchy.
You couldn’t live in Utah and not have heard of them.
They were infamous for all the wrong reasons and often featured on the news.
Her father made his distaste for those club men clear, arguing that they were bad for Utah’s economy and respectability. This then made Joelle wonder why her law-abiding parent would offer them a job, not to mention an invitation into their home.
“Hello, I’m Joelle.” She held out her hand, and the man with the shoulder-length hair twitched his mouth but reached for it, shaking gently. “Axel.”
“And you are?” she asked the stoic, behemoth blond man. His eyes were like two ice blue crystals, pinning her like he thought she’d stolen the last Italian struffoli.
He didn’t shake her hand, and he didn’t answer.
Okay then.
“Are you gentlemen coming to the party? It’s going to be wonderful.” Every Snow knew how to lie.
She felt like a monkey in the zoo the way they both kept staring.
Hadn’t they seen a chubby girl in a fabulous Zimmermann dress before? She guessed not. What a sheltered life those bikers must be living.
“Joelle, tell your mother I’ll be along shortly.”
“I sure will. Try not to be late. Santa Claus is dropping in, and you don’t want to miss him.”
The long-haired biker smirked. The stoic Viking didn’t move a muscle, but his ice-pick eyes hadn’t left Joelle, and she knew it wasn’t because her burgundy lipstick was smudged.
“Close the door on your way out, Joelle.”
She wiggled her fingers at the two strangers, and as she walked out, she addressed the head of the household. “Of course, father. This is me not being difficult .”
She heard one biker chuckle, but couldn’t identify them as she was already closing the door and walking away.
She was baffled more than anything else.
Because she’d had bodyguards in her youth, she was familiar with the dangers that often came with her father’s job, particularly from the criminal underworld. There was a constant presence of death threats against him. This had a ripple effect on his family, leading them to hire bodyguards, especially when traveling abroad occasionally.
Why was he using the Diablo Disciples if they needed to beef up security?
The date was December 1 st . The month Joelle disliked the most and knowing she’d have to deal with a muscular biker’s presence was about to irritate her, especially when there was merriment to avoid.
Getting through this party was mission one.
She planned to tell her father she was too old for a babysitter. The police were there to handle any problems that arose.
Dangerous bikers might intrigue her as much as the next woman with working eyes and shakeable ovaries. She recognized desirable men; she wasn’t blind, but Joelle didn’t have time to be followed by one of them.
Instead of turning into the party hall, she headed back upstairs.
Now that this new dilemma was weighing on her mind, she wouldn’t settle until she slipped on another bracelet. A green one, she decided, to ease stress and bring upon calmness.
The night was less Ho! Ho! Ho! And more, oh, no, no.