Page 7 of The Bad Brother
Finally getting the okay, the small army of relieved waiters and waitresses begin filing into the grand ballroom, each pushing a dessert cart laden with every sort of cake and confection you could possibly dream of.
When she sees them, my mother pauses just long enough to shoot me a look, her beautiful, sky-blue gaze narrowing briefly on my face, the hard glare of themmarking me as a traitor, before she remembers her audience. “But I’m sure my Sloane will put all that silliness behind her, soon enough, so she can devote all her time and energy into being a proper wife and mother.” She beams at me for a moment, before aiming her fake smile at her captive audience. “My little girl is truly blessed.”
Silliness.
I earned my Bachelors, aced my MCATs and was accepted into Duke University’s medical program by the time I was twenty and graduated,with honors, a full semester early. I fielded countless surgical residency offers from all over the country before I decided to come home and complete it here, in Clearwater. Five years later, I’m one of the country’s youngest, board-certified trauma surgeons. I’ve dedicated my life tosaving life. I spend seventy hours a week putting broken bodies back together.
That’s what my mother considerssilliness.
Looking down at the cellphone I’m hiding under the napkin in my lap, I tap out another text.
Me: Where are you? I’m not sure how much more of this I can handle on my own.
After I hit send, I continue staring at the screen, willing Ethan to text back. Like the string of unread texts before it, this one goes unanswered.
Sighing, I drop my phone back into my lap and cover it with my napkin. Looking around the room, I take note that both his best man and one of his groomsmen are missing as well. If I know Ethan, he’s liberated a bottle of expensive single malt from one of the club’s bartenders so he and his buddies can get drunk on the golfcourse.
Cut him some slack, Sloane. The last six months have been stressful for both of you.
I’ll admit, I have no idea what Ethan does for his father’s company but if his behavior of late is any indication, it’s beyond stressful.
Just as my mother launches herself into another round of,Sloane’s so lucky that Ethan was willing to lower his standards and propose,my stepfather stands and wraps his arm around her waist before cutting her short with a hasty kiss on the cheek while pulling the microphone from her manicured claws. “To Ethan and Sloane,” he says, saluting the ballroom full of people I barely know with his champagne flute.
Just as the guests start to clap, the door on the other side of the room opens. It’s Amy, her gorgeous, dark auburn hair pulled into an elegant knot at the back of her neck, flawlessly elegant in the vintage Chanel sheath dress I gave her for her birthday last month.
As always, when I look at her, I feel ridiculously compelled to make sure my hair is behaving because after countless hours of being trapped beneath a scrub cap, it’s taken on a life of its own. When she sees my questioning look from across the room, Amy gives me a wink and a discreet thumbs-up on her way back to her seat.
She found him.
As if to prove it, the door she just slipped through opens again and there’s Ethan. Looking at Amy, I mouth the wordsthank youwhile he makes his way back to our table.
“Sorry, babe,” Ethan whispers in my ear before grazing my cheek with pursed lips before taking his seat next to me. “What did I miss.”
Just forty-five minutes of my mother, singing your praises while making sure everyone within earshot knows how fortunate I am that you’d lower your standards enough to marry me.
“Nothing important,” I tell him, struggling to keep my tone light. “Where have you been? I’ve been texting you practically?—”
“I said I was sorry,” he repeats while reaching for my hand. Giving it a quick, hard squeeze before letting it go, Ethan reaches for his water glass. “The guys wanted to grab a drink in the cigar lounge, just the three of us.” He quirks his mouth and gives me an eye roll. “They think once we’re married, you’re gonna chain me to the radiator.”
Stung more than I should be, I sit back in my seat and watch while he digs into the slice of triple layer fudge cake I picked for him off the roaming dessert cart. “We don’t even have a radiator,” I point out, thinking about the luxury, river- front condo I bought six months ago.
Laughing like I just made a joke, Ethan leans into me again. “Baby, you could chain me to whatever you wanted,” he whispers against my mouth before giving me a soft, lingering kiss. “You won’t hear me complaining.”
I feel myself start to relax. “I’m the one who should be sorry,” I say quietly. “I think I’m just jealous you managed to escape my mother and didn’t take me with you.”
Ethan laughs again. “Six months from now, this will all be behind us,” he reminds me. Reaching for my hand again, he gives it another squeeze. “We’ll be married and your mother will have found something else to obsess over.”
Yeah, like when am I going to quit mysilly careerand devote my life to being a good little society wife.
While there’s nothing wrong with living that kind oflife, it’s not what I want. Much to my mother’s ever-growing dismay, it’s never been what I wanted and it never will be.
“I hope you’re right,” I say quietly, leaning into him to drop my head on his shoulder. “Because I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.” Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly.
He doesn’t smell like cigars.
Turning my head, I press my nose against his suit jacket. Taking another deep breath, I lift my head to look at him. “You don’t smell like cigars.”
Flicking me a confused look, Ethan reaches for his water glass. “What?”
