Dream Girl Drama (Big Shots #3)

Chapter Three

Sig pulled up to the lavish estate and raked a hand down his jaw, hoping to drag the dopey smile off his face. No chance of that, though. Hell, smiling was the last thing he’d expected to be doing before a rare meeting with his father, but here he was.

Chloe Clifford.

Son of a bitch.

Meeting the girl of his dreams wasn’t on his bingo card when he woke up this morning. He didn’t have some mental archetype of how his dream girl would look. How she would act. Make him feel. None of that. Up until the lobby of that country club, he’d been fine being single. Getting a little action on an as-needed basis, but never feeling pressed to commit.

But Chloe?

Yeah, he already knew he’d commit to that. Fucking hard . She already wanted to come to Boston, didn’t she? He’d just do the long-distance thing until she decided it was right for her. And he’d make it right. He’d bring her down to Boston and show her everything. Every corner. She didn’t think she was built to thrive there? He’d help her believe the opposite.

Sig unbuckled his seat belt, because the stiff nylon was adding pressure to a chest that already felt like a powder keg. He rubbed at the twinge at the center, but it wouldn’t go away. Something happened tonight. Something important. God, he couldn’t wait to see her again.

Might as well admit it, too. He couldn’t wait to fuck her.

He shook his head on a pained laugh as his cock started to fill and extend, testing the denim fly of his jeans. Not a good time for a hard-on, but he’d been fighting one since she’d opened her mouth for his tongue and rubbed her belly against him. She liked making trouble outside of bed. What kind would they make inside of one? The goddamn filthy kind, if Sig had his way. He didn’t know any other way to fuck and something told him she wouldn’t mind being thrown into positions those country club boys could only dream about.

Get this dinner over with.

Track down the girl. No. Lock down the girl.

Take her back to Boston tomorrow, if she was willing. If not, he’d buy a new truck so he could make the three-hour trip as often as necessary. It wouldn’t be easy during the season, but nothing worthwhile was easy, was it?

When Sig was ten, his mother couldn’t afford to buy him hockey gear. With the tryout approaching in just a few weeks, he’d gotten on his bike and tracked down every secondhand, beat-up pad, helmet, and jersey in the county. He’d actually tried out for the under 11s team in mismatched skates. And when the other kids had made fun of him in front of his mortified mother, he’d informed them they were all pampered pussies who needed their parents to take them shopping. No one had bothered him after that—and Sig had kept that attitude all his life. One he’d developed for his mother’s benefit, but over time, had become his method of thought. Of dealing with his lack of funds or his lowball contract.

Occasionally, he looked at one of his higher-paid opponents and thought it would be nice to make eight figures. To buy a vacation house in Hawaii. Drive a Porsche SUV. But his mind would come back with but you don’t need it .

Parting with his faithful ride would suck, but breaking down again between Boston and Darien would suck more. Even the AAA mechanic he’d eventually called out to the country club parking lot had pondered out loud if the old bucket of bolts was worth saving. At least the guy hadn’t taken long to arrive—only twenty minutes—so while he was late for dinner, he wasn’t that late. Which was good. Because the sooner this dinner was over, the sooner he could find Chloe and finish what they’d started.

God , he was going to make her fucking scream.

Sig breathed through his nose for another minute until his erection subsided, then got out of the truck, his boots crunching in the crushed shell driveway. On his way to the twenty-foot-wide porch, adorned on both sides by sculpted bushes, Sig passed a fountain, smirking at the cherubs spitting water at one another. The woman who owned this house had probably paid tens of thousands for those weird, naked angels. Unreal.

He turned his attention to the house. How many people actually lived in this mansion perched right on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the Sound? If the answer was any less than ten, this much space was unnecessary. The entire Bearcats team—and the coaching staff—could live in this place comfortably.

Did Chloe live in a house similar to this?

Ignoring the way his neck tightened at the definite possibility, Sig rang the doorbell, took a deep breath, and braced.

With the distance in their geography, not to mention the pandemic, Sig hadn’t seen Harvey in almost six years. Prior to that, when Sig turned eighteen, he’d been required to track the man down, since Sig’s mother hadn’t kept in contact. Over the years, the relationship between Sig and Harvey was strained. Contentious. Truthfully, he didn’t know if there was any benefit to seeing Harvey. As far as Sig was concerned, the man was an unrepentant social climber who married for comfort—read: money—and this woman had to be nothing more than his most recent target.

Still, despite all his father’s faults, part of Sig couldn’t seem to quit his stubborn attempts to bond with his father. Even if that connection was tenuous. Small. Harvey had been as absent as a father could be, but Sig had always dreamed of looking up into the stands and seeing a dad. It was a need he couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how old he got. How successful. On the rare occasions his mother flew in from Minnesota to watch him play, her presence meant just as much. So much that he hated himself for wanting more. Especially since he never quite found any common ground with the man who’d fathered him.

Shaking off his nerves, Sig rang the bell and immediately rolled his eyes at the grand bong sound that nearly shook the marble foundation of the porch. Self-important much?

A woman in a uniform answered the door, smiling brightly as she gestured him inside.

“Good evening, you must be Mr. Gauthier. Please come in. Everyone is in the parlor waiting for dinner to be served.”

“Great. Thanks.”

He stepped into the foyer, which was more like a ballroom with its domed glass ceiling and sweeping staircase in the center of the room. Following in the maid’s footsteps, he walked by a table boasting a giant vase, bursting with white flowers. Pedestals lined the room holding various sculptures, each tastefully lit from above by frosted globes. On the far end of the room, the entire wall was made of glass, the view something out of a movie. Jagged rocks forming the coastline, wind-whipped grass, the body of water beyond, gently illuminated by a lighthouse.

Inadequacy prodded at him, more insistently than he’d felt it in a while. Even if the Bearcats renewed his contract for ten times the amount of his current salary, he’d never be able to afford a house like this. This was generational wealth. Money he couldn’t comprehend.

You don’t need it.

There was a sound coming from somewhere in the house and it stopped Sig in his tracks. Music. Gentle music. It wasn’t an overly familiar sound or instrument, but something about it made his stomach clench, though he wasn’t sure the curious shift in his ribs came from enjoyment—because damn, the music was the most beautiful he’d ever heard—or something else. And he didn’t have a lot of time to think about it, because before he could reach the parlor, his father and a woman in her fifties stepped out of the room to greet him.

Harvey had changed since the last time Sig saw him, a lot more silver in the temples of his jet-black hair, his gaze sharper than the lapels of his suit jacket. The blond woman he escorted fit into her surroundings in a cream-colored dress that wrapped and folded in places that made no sense to Sig, sapphires winking at him from her earlobes.

“Son,” Harvey said warmly, coming forward to wrap him in an embrace.

A little embarrassed by the hope that rippled inside him, his instinctive search for that elusive bond, Sig returned the hug briefly and clapped the older man on the back. “Harvey. Good to see you. Sorry I’m late. Had some car trouble.”

“Oh dear,” the woman said, holding a glass tumbler with both hands. “Is everything okay now?”

“Yeah, fine. I called AAA and got the old girl up and running again. Thanks.”

Based on the wrinkle of her brow, car trouble and AAA were foreign concepts to this woman.

“Well, we’re all here now. Isn’t that nice?” Harvey stepped back and gestured proudly. “Son, please allow me to introduce you to Sofia, the goddess of my heart.”

Sig gave his father a dry look. “Very nice to meet you, Sofia.”

“Likewise. I’ve heard such incredible things about Harvey’s son, the professional hockey player. Let’s get you a drink, so you can tell us everything there is to know.” There was something familiar about Sofia’s graceful mannerisms as she swept aside and gestured for Sig to precede them into the parlor, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what. Or maybe he didn’t want to put the clues together yet. Ignoring the bolt tightening in his gut, he followed Sofia’s wordless directive, entering another expensively decorated room, that light and sort of ethereal music growing louder. Louder. “We thought it would be nice if Chloe played for us while we waited for dinner to start.”

Sig’s throat burned like he’d swallowed acid, the world moving in muddled motion, as if he’d jumped out of the window and into the freezing cold Sound, his body encapsulated in pressure from all sides. His hands were notorious for being steady, but they shook now. Shook so noticeably that he shoved them into his pockets to hide them instinctively.

That was his first and most regrettable mistake.

He’d play it over and over again in the months to come.

Hiding.

He never should have hidden a damn thing.

Especially when Chloe’s fingers froze on the strings of her harp and he caught the horrified shock in her gaze as she saw his reflection approach in the picture window. In that moment, he should have announced to the room that he’d met Chloe earlier that evening and there was something happening between them. Something real. But he let the seconds tick by. Tick, tick, tick, while Chloe waited for him to react. Out loud.

He couldn’t find his voice, though.

Couldn’t wrap his head around their bad fortune quickly enough.

Their parents were dating. His father. Her mother.

Chloe turned slowly in her stool, blinking at him. Opening her mouth, closing it.

God, she was spectacular. She’d showered, twisted her blond hair up into some kind of style at the back of her head, little pearls peeking out everywhere. She had on a short, cream-colored silk dress and no shoes. And on top of every amazing thing about her—her wit, her warmth, her beauty—she had the ability to produce that music?

Our parents are dating.

“Honey, I can’t wait another second. Let’s make this a celebration dinner, shall we?” Harvey crowed behind him, his father coming up beside Sig to press a crystal rocks glass halfway filled with golden liquid into his hand. Then Harvey wrapped an arm around Sofia’s waist, both of them smiling from ear to ear. “Chloe. Sig. We brought you both here tonight to announce that we’re getting married.” He laughed tearfully while looking into Sofia’s face. “By the spring, we’ll be husband and wife.”

Sofia raised her glass in a salute. “And you’ll each gain a sibling!”

The resulting roar in Sig’s head rivaled the crashing waves below.

R ISING FROM HER stool in front of the harp and walking to the dining room was a challenge. Her legs weren’t working like they normally did. Not at all. Why would they be? She’d just found out that her soon-to-be stepbrother and the man she’d kissed passionately on the golf course just over an hour ago were one and the same.

And oh, stranger things had happened in this corner of the world. There were only so many blue-blooded rich people in this neck of Connecticut and they all insisted on marrying each other. Rumors of kissing cousins were not totally uncommon. It’s not like she and Sig had been aware of their impending connection at the time he kissed the face off her. It could be their secret, right? No one ever had to find out.

Except... the fact that she’d never be able to kiss him again was positively terrible. In the short time they’d spent together, Sig had made her feel more than any man ever had. She’d been breathless about seeing him again later. Sneaking out and making love with this rough-and-ready hockey player who said things like sit on my face . But who also looked at her like she might be hiding angel wings beneath her clothes.

Sig sat directly across from her now with lines of strain around his mouth and eyes, his fist curled tightly around a fork. Staring at her beneath drawn brows. They needed to talk. For some reason, she had this overwhelming belief that he’d know exactly what to do. She couldn’t imagine this man being uncertain of anything.

“Pancetta and pear puff, Ms. Clifford?” asked their chef, Yuri.

She leaned back to give the chef access to her place setting. “Oh yes, please! Thank you.”

A smiling Yuri used a silver tong to place the puff pastry onto Chloe’s plate. Pancetta and pear puffs were her favorite. With her stomach twisted in knots, she wouldn’t be able to eat, but she didn’t want to be rude when the chef had gone to such an effort.

Chloe realized she was staring without blinking at Sig, her lungs having ceased to operate. Commanding herself to breathe, she dragged her attention toward Harvey and Sofia who were laughing with each other at the corner of the banquet table.

It didn’t escape her notice that Harvey was sitting at the head.

Just like that?

The whirlpool that had become her stomach turned faster.

“Harvey, dear. We are ignoring our children,” Sofia admonished with a grin, batting her fiancé on the arm. “And after we brought Sig all the way here from Boston. In a car that apparently couldn’t make the journey!” She picked up her drink and swirled the ice around slowly. “One would assume a professional athlete might arrive in something a little more ostentatious, like... oh, I don’t know. A yellow Lamborghini.”

Briefly, Chloe widened her eyes at Sig in what she hoped he interpreted as an apology. She wished she could tell Sig that her mother didn’t mean to be condescending or backhanded with her compliments, but Sofia’s barbs were often more tailored than her couture wardrobe.

Sig replied, “My truck has been with me through a lot. Been loyal to me since I turned sixteen and I won’t reward her for that by sending her to a scrapyard.” Sig cleared his throat and attempted to stop looking at Chloe, but he couldn’t manage it any more than she could stop staring at him. “Anyway, light blue is more my color.”

Not... because of her eyes.

Right?

No.

He wouldn’t dare. Not after finding out they were going to be related by marriage.

“If I had my pick of cars,” Chloe said, “I would choose one of those big old Cadillacs that looks like a boat going down the road. Some of the seniors at the club drive them.”

“Why?” Sig asked, his tone amused, but his expression... not. At all.

“If I got into an accident in one of those ships on wheels, I wouldn’t even feel it. The other car would probably just bump right off.”

Sofia laughed, long and loud. “And that, dear Chloe, is why you have a chauffeur.”

Heat stained her face. Briefly, she looked at Sig to clock his reaction. No change, apart from a deep groove forming between his brows. “Do you want to learn to drive, Chloe?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. Not in a while. But...” She looked back over her shoulder toward the front of the house, as if she could see his truck parked in the driveway. “Yes, I think I would. Very much.”

“We’ll stick with having you driven by a professional,” Sofia said, dismissing the idea with a flap of her hand. “Sig, how do you find Boston?”

“On a map, usually.” He ignored the resulting laughter from their parents, keeping his gaze locked on Chloe. In fact, he didn’t seem to care at all that his overt attention might start to become noticeable. “When did you say you’re getting married? Is there already a date in mind?”

“Ah! Well.” Sofia clutched her drink close to her chest and looked adoringly at Harvey. “We’re angling for spring, of course.”

“So, roughly... eight months from now,” Sig supplied.

“Yes,” Sofia answered. “That should give me enough time to convince my friends to return from abroad and suffer through our glitzy little affair, don’t you think, Harvey?”

“You could convince the moon to become the sun, sweetheart.”

Chloe shielded her face with a cupped hand, so Harvey and Sofia wouldn’t see the gagging face she sent in Sig’s direction. His lips twitched briefly, before he settled back into dark intensity. A contemplative expression that told Chloe he was thinking a million miles an hour.

Eight months.

That was... a surprisingly long time. Her mother was usually a little more impulsive, especially when it came to planning her own exchange of nuptials. She had three ex-husbands to show for it, including Chloe’s father. Not to mention two broken engagements.

In fact, now that she really took the time to observe Sofia and Harvey together, she noticed a whole host of differences in her mother. Had Sofia ever looked so relaxed? Her waistline wasn’t pinkie thin, as usual, and for that, she looked much healthier. Had a glow, even. Her hair was down loose. She hadn’t covered her grays, and those lighter strands were weaving through the crown of blond hair that matched Chloe’s.

Was Harvey good for her mother?

Was this time different?

And if so, why did this time have to be different?

That frustration, which was admittedly selfish, caused Chloe to shift in her seat, scooting in closer to the table. As a result, the inside of her right foot brushed the toe of Sig’s boot and her stomach sucked in on reflex, a throb capturing her entire body in one big constriction. Whommm. Across the table, his eyelids drooped and he slowly dragged a breath in and out.

“Of course, you’ll both be part of the wedding,” Harvey said, oblivious to what was taking place on the other side of the table. “A big part, actually. Sig, I know we haven’t exactly been close, but I was hoping you’d agree to be my best man. Asking a mere friend simply doesn’t seem right when I have a son.”

Sig blinked several times, turning to face his father. “You’re asking me ?”

Harvey beamed. “Yes, son.” His smile dimmed slightly. “I know we haven’t been on the best of terms over the years, but Sofia... well, she has a way of making me hope again.” Growing visibly misty eyed, Sofia squeezed his arm. “What do you say, Sig? Stand by my side while I marry the woman of my dreams.”

Was it Chloe’s imagination or was there a touch of suspicion, skepticism, in Sig’s eyes as he observed the happy couple? Did he not find their relationship authentic?

Sig seemed to realize everyone was waiting for his response. “If it works with my game schedule, I’ll...” He massaged the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ll do my best.”

“Fabulous!” Sofia cried, holding up her glass. “And, Chloe, do I even need to ask you? You’ll make such a stunning maid of honor. I’ve already booked a girls’ weekend in Paris so we can be fitted for our gowns by Margaux Tardits. As if we’d go anywhere else!”

“Great,” Chloe said, feeling like she was on an out-of-control conveyor belt that continued to roll faster, faster and she couldn’t reach the off switch. She was six again, being thrown onto the stage in front of a packed auditorium, no plan, just told to play. Play! “Paris will be a lovely escape over the winter.”

“Indeed. Perhaps we can arrange a performance while we’re there. I’m sure any number of venues would love to host you. Haven’t you always wanted to play the Palais Garnier?”

“I...” Had she expressed interest in that at some point? She must have. Although sometimes it was difficult to tell where her wishes ended and her mother’s began. “Yes, I suppose I would.”

Her eyes drifted to Sig’s across the table and whatever he saw caused a muscle to hop in his cheek. “What about Boston, Chloe? Have you ever thought of studying there?”

A hush fell over the dining room.

Sofia lowered her drink to the table. Clink.

It was on the tip of Chloe’s tongue to say no, to please her mother and keep the dinner pleasant, but... something stopped her. Maybe it was Sig’s foot settling itself against hers beneath the table. As if to pass on strength or encouragement. Or maybe it was the overwhelming sense of isolation she’d been feeling lately. Her loneliness didn’t make any sense when she was surrounded by people at the club, instructors, tennis partners. Friends she’d known since birth who already owned their own homes in the area. Some of them were married, having babies, taking over charities from their parents. Living the life their parents had envisioned for them.

But Chloe had an unusual skill. She played the harp like she’d been born with the strings attached to her fingers. It was her most treasured escape. The elegant instrument drew her, cocooned her, nurtured her heart and soul. She loved it beyond measure.

It also meant she was stuck in this... in-between place.

Too promising in the music world to settle down and stop training, performing.

But too sheltered to really explore what was possible for her in music.

Or in life.

She’d been in this triangle existence for years, being driven between lessons, home, the club. She was at her mother’s beck and call. She kept the peace, did as she was told. And lately her skin had started to feel too tight, like she couldn’t move or breathe inside of it. What was the point of having this talent and not being free to achieve anything with it? Or see what she was capable of?

I’m twenty-five years old.

Oh my God, I’m twenty freaking five.

The need for change—for rebellion—had been brewing inside of Chloe for some time, but this man, this unexpected force of a man across the table, was kicking down the final blockage between Chloe and her courage. Perhaps because he was so obviously bold and confident and outspoken. Perhaps because his presence was so steady that it steadied her, too.

Their meeting wasn’t an accident.

It had been for a reason.

Time sort of slowed down as that belief registered, before it sped back up in a big way.

“Yes, actually,” Chloe said, keeping her gaze fixed on Sig. “I’ve always wanted to attend conservatory at Berklee.”

Sofia’s laughter wasn’t as carefree as before. “There are world-class instructors in Connecticut, Chloe. Our home is here. We can’t simply pick up and move to Boston.”

“Why is it assumed that you would have to move with me?”

As soon as Chloe asked that question, she wished she hadn’t, because she knew what was coming. A list of everything that made her helpless and incapable. “For one, dear, you don’t know how to cook for yourself. Neither do I. That’s why we have the incredible Yuri.” Sofia paused to smile blithely at the chef as he circled the table. “You don’t have any experience or knowledge of what it takes to live alone. The transportation system is a bear.”

“It truly is,” Harvey agreed. “A bear .”

“And cities can be dangerous. If you don’t need to live in one, why would you?”

“To try. To experience. To see if I’m able to do it—”

“But what if you’re not?” Sofia asked, nose wrinkling with sympathy. “We have such a lovely life here in Darien. A safe, contained one. There’s no reason to take risks.”

“ I’m in Boston,” Sig said, his voice landing like a judge’s gavel. “She’d be safe.”

Silence reigned. Outside of Chloe’s head and chest, anyway. Inside those two places, it sounded like the cluttered notes of an orchestra warming up.

“Son...” Harvey began, visibly uncomfortable by the shift in the evening’s mood. “Don’t get in between them.”

“He’s not,” Chloe found herself saying. Loudly. And she found in that moment that she didn’t like anyone questioning Sig. She wanted to run over to his side of the table and pat his big shoulders to make up for it. “He’s not getting in between anything. I... want to go to Boston. I’ve been invited to train at Berklee and they’ve even offered to waive the tuition.” Whatever the amount happened to be. She should probably look into that. “So... that’s what I’m going to do. I’ve already decided.”

She hadn’t really decided. Not until the declaration had left her mouth.

But once it was out there, oh God , the way the pressure released from her chest like a valve had been twisted in the right direction.

“Well. What an interesting plot twist.” Her mother looked at her serenely, but the snap of fire in her eyes was ominous. “If you go to Boston, Chloe, you’ll do it without my money.”

Just like that, her stomach filled with hot, bubbling concrete.

There it was. Money was the roadblock she couldn’t go past.

Without money, she wouldn’t be able to rent an apartment, wouldn’t be able to simply add food to her family’s tab at the country club. She’d be helpless and broke. And she had no idea how to survive like that. She didn’t even know how to live alone with money. Not yet.

“I’ll help you get started, Chloe,” Sig said, drawing her attention with a meaningful look. A look that said, Hey, don’t listen to them, you got this . “I’ll find you a safe place to live and show you how to get around. How to order takeout or cook. Whatever you want.” Sig looked at her mother, openly confused. “A free ride at her dream school is a huge opportunity, right?”

“Money isn’t the issue,” Sofia responded sweetly.

Harvey scrubbed a hand down his face. “Sig, please. You are overstepping.”

“No, he isn’t. He’s offering support... and that’s exactly what I need. I think maybe I’ve needed it for a long time. And... how hard can it be to make pancetta and pear puffs, right?” Chloe noticed the affront on Yuri’s face and immediately backpedaled. “Very hard, obviously. I’ll start with Pop-Tarts.”

Yuri softened. “Pop-Tarts make a delicious pie crust in a pinch,” the chef whispered, winking at her.

A gust of air blew into her chest at that subtle show of solidarity. “Thank you.”

Sofia threw up her hands. “Chloe, I forbid you to go. Don’t you care that I won’t be able to sleep at night because I’ll be worrying about you? Do you care about me at all?”

Guilt threatened to capsize Chloe, but she wouldn’t let it. The decision to go somewhere on her own felt too good. Too freeing. Honestly, she was having trouble stopping herself from running straight out the door into the night.

Why was she stopping herself?

Abruptly, Chloe pushed back from the table, upsetting her silverware.

“I think I’ll go pack.”

Sig popped the pancetta and pear puff into his mouth, speaking while he chewed, and Chloe found that lack of manners delightful . “Don’t forget your toothbrush.”

W HAT THE FUCK are you doing?

Sig followed a buoyant Chloe to his truck with her haphazardly packed bag thrown over his shoulder, awestruck by the way she bounded around in the moonlight, smiling at him as she danced in a circle, a princess who had been freed from her ivory tower.

But he was no valiant knight, was he?

Nope.

He shouldn’t have done this. Shouldn’t have forced them into a situation where they would be spending an untold amount of time together. Not when they were going to be stepsiblings in eight months’ time. Not when he wanted to touch her, drive himself inside of her, make her his home. He had to be out of his mind volunteering to show her the ropes in Boston. Stark raving mad.

And yet, there hadn’t been a chance in fucking hell he’d have left there without her.

Simple as that.

Chloe was his responsibility now and he couldn’t imagine life any other way.

What had life been before tonight? He could barely remember.

“Sig,” Harvey called from the doorway, forcing him to stop and turn around. To wait for his father to come storming out after him. “What do you think you’re doing?” Harvey asked through his teeth, a vein throbbing front and center in his forehead. It wasn’t lost on Sig that Harvey was echoing his own thoughts, but probably for a far different reason. “Are you deliberately trying to ruin this for me?”

Yup.

Very different reasons.

“I’m sorry,” Sig said, keeping his voice low. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you in the middle of ripping off another wealthy chick.”

Harvey blanched, rocking back on his heels. “Oh, right. That old chestnut.” For several seconds, he remained quiet and studied Sig. “You never fail to let me know exactly what you think of me, do you?”

“I only know what you did to my mother.”

“Jesus, you think you know everything.” There was some thing curious in his tone. Like a message Sig couldn’t decode. “You were a newborn at the time, I’ll remind you.”

Not for the first time, Sig wondered if he was missing an important part of the story when it came to his parents. How their relationship had ended in disaster and why. After all, Harvey had never offered his side of the story, no matter how many times Sig asked. But didn’t the truth lie in the fact that his mother had ended up poor, unable to afford basic necessities for them?

“I grew up with the effects of what happened,” Sig rasped, the pulse in his neck racing. “How she had to scrape by while you used her money to trap your next target.”

“Look, I’ve made mistakes, but I’m different now. I’ve changed.”

“And yet your taste in women has stayed exactly the same. Rich.”

“Yeah? Looks like the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Harvey split a look between Sig and Chloe where she stood waiting at the passenger side of his truck. “Listen to me, I’m marrying her mother. That’s the situation.” He studied his son hard. “If you have some kind of romantic interest here, you better think again. Her mother would disown her before she weathered a scandal like that. Is that what you want?”

Sig wasn’t sure why he denied what happened... or was happening between him and Chloe. Nothing about it felt remotely wrong. But that comment about the apple not falling far from the tree had fucking stung. So had the threat of Chloe being disowned. Because of him.

“I’m only helping her out. She wants to go to Boston and I know Boston. That’s all it is.”

“You better hope so.”

“And you better hope you’re marrying Sofia for the right reasons,” Sig said, taking a step into Harvey’s space, rocked by protectiveness for Chloe. If Harvey swindled Sofia, he swindled Chloe, by association. “Or we’re going to have a big problem.”

A glint shone in his father’s eyes. “Noted.”

Sofia appeared in the doorway behind Harvey, fresh drink in hand.

Based on her pinched expression, she’d overheard every word of their conversation. “Harvey has told me everything about his past, just in case you think he’s keeping secrets from me. He’s not. We have been open books with each other.” Sig highly doubted that, but God, she was speaking with so much confidence. “On the off chance there is anything to find out, my lawyers will find it as they craft the prenup. They’re very protective of me.”

Sig didn’t doubt it.

He also didn’t doubt they would find something. More than what Harvey had told Sofia.

It was only a matter of time, right?

Maybe this marriage would never take place at all.

Hope expanded his ribs for the first time in an hour.

“I’m glad you have people looking out for your best interests,” Sig said, ignoring his father’s snort.

“If only we could say the same for my daughter.”

Sig drew back at Sofia’s dry comment. “Come again?”

Her head tipped left. “Give me a little credit, Sig. I have eyes. I doubt you’ve volunteered to play Chloe’s host in Boston purely out of the goodness of your heart.” She sipped her drink extra slowly while the implication sunk in, finally bringing the glass down to her hip. “This is your last chance to leave alone, the way you arrived. Your last chance to consider how an... unconventional relationship might affect your career. Not to mention the life I’ve built for Chloe. Look around. You don’t think she’ll wish to return to this sooner or later?”

Sig almost caved. Because, yeah. Fuck. He’d been so bowled over by Chloe and how she made him feel, he hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe he was causing damage by taking her away, instead of helping her enrich her music career. Her life. But then he glanced back at Chloe over his shoulder and saw the determined set of her shoulders, the added confidence in her jawline. Her aura of optimism. How could keeping this person with him, near him, be bad? What was he supposed to do? Leave her there and simply hope their parents drifted apart naturally? Leave... them to chance?

Can’t do it.

He’d make sure their relationship stayed aboveboard. He’d do nothing to cause her harm. Not to her life or career. Not to his, either.

He’d find the willpower to keep himself in check.

“If Chloe wants to come home, I’ll drive her back here myself,” Sig said gruffly, backing away. “Bye, Dad. Great seeing you, as usual.” Once he reached the truck, he set Chloe’s bag in the middle cab and skirted around the front bumper to open the passenger-side door for her. Once in, she tested the cracked leather seat and looked around, sniffing the air, obviously used to getting into the back of freshly scented limousines, instead of beat-up trucks with a smelly hockey bag in the back. Would she change her mind at the first sign that she was leaving this ultrawealth behind? Because he could give her comfort, safety, and new experiences, but he couldn’t give her this palace overlooking the water.

But then she beamed a smile at Sig, gave him a thumbs-up, and he told himself never to underestimate her again. As of now, she was leaving that kind of treatment in the rearview. “Let’s get you to Boston, Chlo,” he said a moment later when he started the truck. “Right after we stop at the club and pay off your champagne bill.”

“You’re going to pay it?”

“As long as they’ll take a check.”

“They do! Hooray!”

And he told himself to never underestimate Chloe’s ability to spend money, either.

No, he’d learn all about that in the coming months.

“Is there a Sephora in Boston?” she breathed. “I’ve always wanted to go to one.”

What the hell was that? He shrugged. “Probably.”

It wouldn’t be long until he knew more about Sephora than hockey.

More about the harp than fixing trucks.

More about Chloe than he knew about himself.

He’d love every goddamn second of it, too.

Even if he could only love her from a safe distance.

For now.

“Sig,” Chloe said quietly.

His windpipe tightened because he knew what was coming. “Yeah?”

Several seconds of silence passed. “I know we only met tonight and maybe it’s premature or even... inappropriate to ask after everything that has happened.” She gripped the nylon of her seat belt with both hands. “But what does all of this mean for... us?”

Us.

The us that could have been.

The us they might very well never be.

What was the definition of us when it came to them?

As much as it burned, Sig didn’t have an answer to that. He only knew he would die before jeopardizing Chloe’s future when he could never, not in a million years, offer her the same level of wealth. Hell, he felt sick taking her away from it right now . If he didn’t believe she truly wanted to experience life on her own terms, he wouldn’t have driven her an inch out of the driveway. But his father and Sofia were right, she could return to Darien at any time. Probably would. Who would leave this kind of dream existence forever?

Even if she could get used to a regular life...

She was on course to become his stepsibling.

Having her in Boston was going to be full-time murder on his sanity.

Yet having her three hundred miles away would be worse.

For now, all he could do was wait. Hope Sofia realized she was marrying a grifter. Hope she called off the wedding... and freed up Sig to pursue Chloe. Romantically.

In the meantime... “We’re going to be friends, Chlo.” He forced himself to grin at her, the muscles of his cheeks barely capable of executing the feat. “Best friends.”

They looked across the cab of the truck at each other with stark acknowledgment in their eyes, as if they’d both made it at the same moment, albeit very reluctantly. It couldn’t be. They couldn’t be. And then they both went back to staring out at the road, regret filling the air that separated them, Sig’s heart heavier than an anvil in his chest.