Chapter 32
Meirna
My parents’ apprehension of Bronte disappeared after salads because now they’re obsessed with him. The dinner carried on more perfectly than I ever could’ve imagined. As if they’d known him for as long as Bobby and, even then, they didn’t love him as much.
What’s wild is the fact that Bronte doesn’t even need to try. He’s not openly charming and tries to please my father by brown-nosing or complimenting my mother on how beautiful she is, and that she’s edging toward twenty-three.
He doesn’t do any of that.
He just speaks.
And they listen.
Tack on that Callie and Eleni have been humanizing him with little jokes and jabs, and my father has been hooting and hollering, slapping his knee when he laughs, and I just soaked it all in.
In the kitchen, I told Eleni I’d grab her another bottle of wine. Insisting she relax and remain seated because she made a beautiful meal, and it’s the least I can do since she wouldn’t let me lift a finger.
A few bottles are lined up along the back of the white marbled countertop as I grab the first one to see what kind it is. Eleni didn’t specify which one she wanted, and I’m no wine expert by any means when it comes to what merlot goes good with roast or if it’s a white wine for dessert.
Gathering up another one, two hands lock on either side of me, followed by the smell of musk and vanilla filling my nostrils.
“You hangin’ in there, Daydream?”
Better than I thought I would.
I haven’t thanked him yet for bringing my parents to Boston. Once he came back with my dad’s water, it’s been non-stop conversing, and I haven’t had a moment alone with him yet.
Turning on my heels, Bronte doesn’t back up or give me space when I peer up to look at him.
Light green eyes lock me into a place of comfort and ease. Bobby never would have given it much thought to get my parents here.
It never would have been another thought past me, saying my father’s health issues wouldn’t allow him to.
“How?” I ask, not thinking I need to explain further, but Bronte is always forcing full sentences out of me to make sure we’re constantly on the same page.
“How, what?”
“How did you get my dad here?”
“Limo.”
My brows fly to the ceiling. “You’re kidding.”
“Am I known for that?”
No.
I hit him with an exasperated stare even though I’m far from mad about it. It’s just that he spent money. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
“I needed to meet my in-laws at some point,” he vouches simply. “Or are you divorcing me within the next thirty-six hours?”
Question of the day.
Year.
Century.
On paper, if you write down everything that’s happened, you’d get more pros than cons. And that simply should be my answer right there.
I can’t deny the fact that I find him highly attractive. That he fucks me like no one has fucked me before. That he’s thoughtful, protective, and caters to all my needs.
However, it’s how we got here that has me pulling back on the reins and wondering if this was how my love story was supposed to unfold. If I, unintentionally, took a detour, and it was always supposed to be him all along.
“It doesn’t sound like I’m getting rid of you, regardless,” I reply noncommittally. “You’ve made your stance very known.”
“Communication is, in fact, key to a healthy relationship.”
“Is there a time stamp on that? Because I remember calling you Bobby for several days.”
“Circumstances were tight,” he deadpans.
“And you have zero remorse, huh?”
“Never entered my mind.”
I like how honest he is with me. It only reinforces how much Bobby wasn’t. Everything was vague and basic, something I should’ve caught and questioned, but I was too blinded by ideas of a future.
“I think you may be over your depth here,” I pose, earning a perked brow from him. “I’m not easy to tie down.”
“Are you speaking of your work schedule?” I nod, and Bronte looms closer, his hips driving my butt into the cabinet.
“If you thought fucking in an office was something…you haven’t fully experienced me during a packed work schedule.
All I need is fifteen minutes, a corner, a parking lot, or a dark space, and we’ll see each other just fine. ”
I can feel my mind racing with possibilities as half of it creates scenarios and the other half remains locked in on how much he appears that he’d like to do any of those right now with the way he’s staring at me.
“Give me a year, Daydream,” he mutters ever so softly.
“I will make all your marriage dreams come true. I will be the man you’re proud to call yours.
I will support everything you do, make sure you have dinner waiting for you, and fucking you to sleep every night if your heart desires to.
If not, I’ll still do all those things without the title.
I’m not here for the status. I’m here for you. ”
Perfect words.
Perfect man.
Perfect scenario.
“Can I ask you something?” I say quietly. “And promise you won’t get mad?”
“Anything.”
His response is too fast, and he’s going to quickly regret that.
“Where’s Bobby?”
As I predicted, Bronte’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t retreat or back away. Instead, he takes a few seconds to ground himself before professing, “In Chicago.”
I scrunch up my face. “Chicago…”
“With Franco Giordano, so I didn’t kill him.”
“What?” As fast as I can, I try to grapple with the idea that sending his brother to a mob boss is going to be a better scenario, but it just won’t stick. “You shipped him to a criminal and expected him to play nice?”
“I do.”
He’s either lost his mind or drunk too much wine.
“Murder isn’t something you’re going to give me a free pass on,” Bronte conveys. “I needed some space.”
“Then send him home.”
“I did.” I lift my shoulders because I don’t get it. “That’s where Jolene lives, Daydream.”
I’ve felt anger plenty of times since all this transpired.
However, I feel fury in groves, one coming right after the other, when he says that Chicago is where Bobby’s other chick lives.
“You mad about that?” Bronte implores with a flat tone and an even flatter fuck given. “I recently discovered he has her up in a penthouse suite—”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
I know why he wouldn’t tell me because I was just attacked by his brother yesterday, and now we’re at his family’s house.
Regardless, I still feel stupid and not worthy of the emotion because, again, it should’ve been clear as day.
“Bobby won’t die. He’ll come back to New York shortly, I’m sure.
I’ve already received threatening text messages from my father in the last twenty-four hours about where he is and what my plans are.
Technically, his will states that any living heir of his will still obtain Harding Holdings after his death.
The old man still thought I’d come back after all this time. ”
I blink, knowing this must be a sensitive topic for him, so I try to keep it light. “Was that what you were supposed to do?” He nods. “And you won’t.”
“For what? That’s not part of my life anymore.”
“Right.”
“There’s more.”
Okay, I hate this talking stuff.
Bronte reaches over for something, then arrives with bougatsa between his fingertips.
“Your mother is going to kill you,” I lightly chide before he takes a bite and lives dangerously within his mother’s wrath.
“She’d better hurry,” he replies while he chews. “Because he’s already asked Giordano to do it.”
My eyes bulge. “He told you that?”
“No.” He licks at his bottom lip and studies the dessert I’m told is his weak spot. “My man, Alexander, has his places of business bugged. I don’t trust him, never have, never will. He agreed, and I’ll—”
“He agreed?” Bronte suddenly presses the bougatsa against my lips, probably to control the volume of my tone, but I refuse to take a bite. “I will not be guilty by association. You’re a terror to this community.”
“Take one for the team. She’ll never blame you.”
“Exactly. Because I wouldn’t steal one.” Bronte takes another bite, chewing—almost happily—as his brother’s death threat still lingers over my head. “Are you going to call the police—” He looks at me like I’ve lost my shit, and it’s still the right thing to do. “Bronte, this is serious.”
“Depends on your definition.”
“You just said,” I leer in a controlled, low tone. “That Bobby is trying to hire someone…to kill you.”
“I did.”
I gape at him. “Are you being serious right now?”
“Careful, Daydream. You’re wanting to stay married to me is showing.”
My hands shoot out and push at his chest, gaining some space because this is insane.
It’s not real in my world.
“I can’t believe you,” I fume, clutching my fingers into tight fists. “What’s your plan? You going to off him yourself?”
“No,” he replies simply. “I’m going to take Harding Holding and give it to you.”
Lost it.
He’s officially lost it.
I eye him suspiciously. “How much wine did you have at dinner?”
“A glass.”
“Anything else?”
“Not yet. But I’d love your pussy on my—”
I shove my hands downward along my sides because I am freaking out, and he’s talking about giving head when he has a potential hit on him.
Yes, it looks like I’m about to pull a full-blown temper tantrum right now because I am.
“You need to stop being a dumbass right now and listen,” I grind out through clenched teeth. “I did not sign up for this, and you are taking matters into your own hands when you’re not the law around here.”
“I said I wasn’t going to kill him.”
I truly can’t believe I’m having this type of conversation right now, and he’s all blasé about it.
“Then what are you going to do?” I hedge evenly.
“Are you getting upset?”
He knows I am, so I don’t know why he’s asking me.
“Of course, I am. I’m not—” His fingers are suddenly laced in my hair, and he tugs my head back, exposing my neck and holding a steady gaze with me.
“I’m not new to this bullshit,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Of that family. In a perfect world, I wouldn’t have told you any of this.
I would have handled it myself, and you wouldn’t be any the wiser.
However…I’m not Bobby. I’m not going to give you a reason to put me in the same sentence with Bobby.
What I will say, though, Daydream…is I have it handled.
I’m not going to die. I’m just going to destroy.
Giordano didn’t take the hit on me because he won’t gamble with his town, because he’s already done his research on me.
I’m a billionaire. Buying his businesses and the blocks he operates out of is chump change to me.
There’s power in numbers, and mine has a lot of zeros behind it.
“If I were worried about being killed, I wouldn’t have come here, where my mother resides, to eat bougatsa and bring your parents here.
Bring you here. Bobby is desperate; he’ll remain that way because he can’t get out of his shit.
My so-called family has a home in London, which was my grandmother’s. He’ll go there.”
I’m not Bobby.
I’m a billionaire.
Power in numbers with zeros.
“You’re a billionaire?”
His lips coil slightly because I can’t help but lighten the mood, because it’s thick, tense, and so unlike what it was when I was in the dining room moments ago. “I am. So are you.”
I shake my head. “I’m not—”
“You didn’t sign a prenup with me.”
“I would never—”
“Stay married to me or take it?”
There’s that loaded question again.
And I know I need to jump. That I’ve left him on this cliff of jumping or leaving him behind.
It’s not fair to him, even though he put me here in the first place. If he really does have power in numbers with a bunch of dollar signs, he hasn’t shifted his weight onto me, so I felt the heaviness of it.
It’s my decision.
And even if I say I want a divorce, he still wants to support me. Despite giving up his marital rights on what’s moral or not.
“What do I get if I do?”
I know what he said before, but I want the little things. Not what he’s built for himself and what he could financially offer me.
“Christmases in Prague,” he mutters softly. “Late night dinners with me. Flowers because I love you. Me.”
All highly intriguing and exactly what I’d want.
Because he loves me.
How insane does that sound? That he fell in love with me from afar? How lonely that must’ve felt when I didn’t know anything about him or what was going on in the background.
“And in return?” I force from my lips, feeling equally giddy and nervous at the same time.
“You,” he deadpans. “That’s all, Daydream.”
My heart swells like a Swiftie to a Taylor Swift song. It’s all feels
I bob my head. “Your mother is waiting for me.”
“She can wait another few seconds.”
I’m sure she can and won’t mind since her son isn’t at the table and I’m in here with him.
However, my mother might come looking, and the last thing I want her to do is find us making out or his hand in places it shouldn’t be.
“You need an answer right this second?”
“No,” he drones evenly. “However, I’m not above forcing it out of you.”
“That sounds like coercion.”
“Then it’s coercion. Whatever you say is.”
I smile, despite trying to be dead-serious right now. “I think you need your head examined.”
“Can we do that after you put me out of my misery? I won’t deny that tricking you into marrying me, under the pretenses of being my twin brother, and allowing you to believe you were with the idiot you’ve been dating for two years, isn’t under the guise of being mentally sane.”
“At least you’re accountable for your actions.”
“I’m not going to be if you keep stalling.”
Patting his chest lightly, I round his frame when I say, “Good things come to the ones who wait.”