“I promise everything’s going to be all right. I’ll be there every step of the way, overseeing things from the sidelines?—”
“Are you okay?” I ask, gesturing in the general direction of her relatively small but definitely pregnant belly. She’d warned me that her previous pregnancy had been high risk and promised smooth sailing even if she had to go on bed rest.
“Oh, I’m totally fine.” She waves a hand dismissively. “It’s just—” She closes her eyes. “Have a seat.”
Warily, I do, and she closes her office door and sits behind the desk across from me. Photographs of beaming couples line the walls, and favors from weddings she’s coordinated clutter her desk. She leans forward. “Have you by any chance heard anything about my grandfather’s will?”
“There were some rumors,” I say carefully. Now I wish I’d listened more closely.
“Right. Here’s the thing.” She bites her lip. I realize this is the first time I’veeverseen Hanna look nervous, and that twists my own nerves into a bundle. “My grandfather’s will requires each of my brothers to do something…out of character, or there will be…consequences. To me. Well, to all of us, really. So far, because they’re not total dicks—well, about sixty-seven-point-eight percent of the time anyway—they’ve always complied with the will. And in this case, my brother…” She shakes her head and stops. “I can’t believe this is my life,” she says and then points down at the floor.
“You’re a real bastard, you know that?” she asks the wide planks. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself down there.” She returns her gaze to me. “I know you and Rhys have a history?—”
Oh,shit.
To be clear, Hanna’s brother Rhys and I don’t have ahistoryhistory. He and I weren’t an item or anything like that.
Almost the opposite.
Rhys represented my asshole ex-husband in my ugly divorce when I still lived in New York City.
Picture Heathcliff—or better yet, picture a young, short-haired Severus Snape. Tall, dark, broody, and so deeply scornful he barely acknowledged my presence. I think he made eye contact with me once, and when he did, he looked away like I was a sixty-year-old guy who’d exposed himself on the subway.
And meanwhile, he dismantled everything that mattered to me with a ruthless precision.
Savings: gone.
Inheritance: gone.
Business: nearly gone, but for a last-minute save by my lawyer.
And my beloved Milo—my adorable, snuggly rescue pup—in half-time custody with my ex, who didn’t even want us to get the dog in the first place.
He deprived me of six months a year with mydog.
So whatever Hanna is about to say about Rhys, if it concerns me and my wedding, it’s definitely not good.
Hanna’s eyes scan my face like she’s trying to read something there, and then she heaves a big sigh and says, “I’m so, so sorry, Eden, but because of my grandfather’s will, Rhys is taking over the final stages of planning your wedding.”
“You’re joking.”
“I assure you, she’s not.”
The voice is deep. Smooth. Commanding. It sends a ripple of sensation over my skin, like a warm breeze at the beach, and I turn. The man standing in the doorway is six foot four of scowling antihero—dark hair, dark eyes, and a slight, cruel curve to one side of his mouth.
And two years later, he still won’t meet my eyes. Instead he pins his gaze on his sister, eyebrows slightly lifted.
“This is my brother Rhys Hott,” Hanna says unnecessarily. “Rhys, this is?—”
“I know who she is.”
Right.
He crosses his arms. If someone can sneer without altering the lines of their face at all, Rhys is doing that.
Yeah, this should be fun.
He’s wearing—as always—a suit. This one is either linen or light wool—I can’t tell for sure—in a gorgeous light brown. The jacket hugs his bulky shoulders and clings to his biceps.
