Chapter 1 #2
“Josh! You’re back.” I raise up on tiptoe, giving him a quick hug. He’s my brother, Sam’s, best friend, and business partner. He also happens to be one of my favorite people.
Josh accepts my hug, holding me close enough that his aftershave tickles my nostril, the clean, sharp smell different to the heavy colognes most men at this party wear. With his black hair, tan skin, and his mother’s deep-mahogany-brown eyes, he’s the antithesis of his brother’s golden looks.
I step back, my gaze dropping to his navy business shirt, absently noting how it falls open at the collar. His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, and he wears sharp black pants with perfect creases and shiny black shoes.
I relax a fraction, pleased to see that some things never changed. No matter how well-dressed, Josh remains a step too casual for most of the suit-and-tie affairs we’re invited to. It makes me feel like less of an outsider—though I’d never admit such to him.
Where Pete is smiling comfort, Josh radiates edgy tension.
If he were a cliché, he’d fall into the bad boy genre.
A man who always knows who he is, what to say, and how to act—consequences be damned.
He’s cultivated a bad boy persona over the years, dating numerous women, riding motorcycles, getting into all sorts of mischief—most of which has been published in gossip magazines.
But I know the truth. Josh is a good man wrapped in a bad boy shell.
He slips a hand onto the small of my back, guiding me a step forward toward the bar.
“Just for the month. I’m trying to write a new script.” He gives me a look. “It’s not going well, and this?” He waves a hand at the flower-bedazzled room. “I suspect my plans for peace and quiet are about to be blown out the window.” He sighs, making a face.
It’s a face I well know. “You’re staying with them.”
He grimaces. “Not for much longer. God forbid I’m subjected to another night of their amorous nocturnal pursuits.”
“Is it the screaming or the grunting that throws you?” I ask, unable to stop myself from teasing him.
“Both. Plus, the dirty talk. I don’t need to know that Bess likes to dominate my brother in the bedroom. I mean, there’s somethings a sibling just shouldn’t be subjected to.”
I chuckle, bumping him with my hip. “If it makes you feel better, I put up with them for six months.”
“It doesn’t. But it also means that you should be sainted. Any tips?”
“Noise-canceling earphones and try to find an apartment ASAP.” I tip my head to one side. “Actually, you should probably try to find a hotel for tonight. I can’t imagine how they’ll act after this.”
Josh shudders. “Fuck. Good call. Wanna put me up?”
“In my studio apartment? Sure, but you’ll be sleeping on a lumpy second-hand couch that smells like cabbage.” I glanced around, trying to locate my brothers amidst the crush. “Is Sam with you?”
“Nah. He stayed in Alaska. He’s out scouting locations for our next project.”
While Peter had happily followed the well-worn path into the family business, Josh had taken another route.
He’d partnered with my the youngest of my older brothers to start a production company.
Sam took center stage as director, and occasional co-writer, while Josh supported as lead writer and cinematographer.
They’d left Chars nearly a decade ago for the glamour of Hollywood, and had worked around the clock to make their dreams into reality.
Their first success had come in their early twenties—three Oscars and two Golden Globes for They Called Him Dog. I’d nearly burst with pride as I sat with face practically pressed to the television screen, watching them walk up the red stairs to accept their awards.
Unlike many of those around us, Josh and Pete had money but worked damned hard at their jobs to carve out their own legacy.
Growing up around people who had money and privilege—especially when you don’t—you learn certain truths.
I knew I could never change the opinions of those who have everything, that those born with silver spoons expected life to hand them opportunities on silver platters, and that money and connections spoke louder than talent or skill.
I’d also learned that all that glitters isn’t necessarily gold. In fact, it could be a toad of a human being.
But enough about Brad.
“Your attention please,” Pete calls from the front of the room. On cue, waiters begin to mingle in the crowd, handing out elegant glasses of bubbling champagne.
“Where were they ten minutes ago?” Josh mutters, plucking two of the glasses off a tray and handing one to me.
“We could down this and grab another,” I suggest, stubbornly holding my spot in line for the bar.
“Don’t tempt me.”
We exchange a grin as Pete launches into an emotional speech highlighting, all the things he loves about Bess.
Listening to him, watching them interact, a strange, disquiet builds in my chest, a tightness that grows from a seed into a voice.
This is what love is.
A longing seems to sigh through me as I watch Pete press an exuberant kiss to Bess’s lips. They’re beautiful and perfect—the very picture of a couple in love.
A movement pulls my gaze away from the couple to a man and woman standing across the room.
Bradley.
I stare at the couple, my chest tight.
She’s stunning—gorgeous actually—with long, flowing brunette hair and the kind of clear complexion that money purchased. She wears a bohemian-lace dress that sits tight across her abundant breasts before falling to gently dance across her stomach.
Her pregnant stomach.
My mouth goes dry, my heart giving a not-so-little lurch.
A little over two years since we’ve separated and he’s already replaced me and begun the family I wanted.
I pull my gaze from her to find Brad watching me, his expression blank.
I force myself to lift my head in a silent acknowledgement.
He does the same before turning to his wife and whispering in her ear.
Their whirlwind romance had been splashed across the cover of Vogue—their wedding extensively covered by all the gossip magazines. They’d met a week after our divorce—or so they claimed—and fallen into a whirlwind romance that had culminated with Brad proposing under the sunset in Tuscany.
It seemed his second wife got the trip I’d always dreamed of.
I need to go.
“Now raise a toast,” Pete calls as I turn away from the toasting crowd, tears blurring my vision. “To my soon-to-be wife, and the beautiful birthday girl. Our gorgeous, generous, wonderful Bess!”
I down my wine in one gulp, then shove the glass at Josh before blindly moving through the crowd, powering toward the exit. Single-minded in my purpose, I fail to see the waiter crossing my path.
“Watch ou—!”
A hand grips my arm, wrenching me back against a hard chest. The waiter wavers, his arm swaying frantically from side to side as he tries to stop the glasses on his tray from crashing to the floor.
Around us, the crowd claps, blissfully unaware of my imminent breakdown.
Steadying the tray, the waiter looks over at me, a relieved smile on his face.
“That was close!”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, jerking out of Josh’s grip. “I’m such a klutz.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The waiter offers me the tray. “Drink?”
“Oh no, thank you. I’m just about to leave.”
Josh plucks one of the glasses from the tray to shove in to my hand. He then takes another for himself.
I have no idea what he’s done with our previous glasses.
“Thank you.” He nods to the waiter, dismissing him.
I dance from foot to foot, frowning up into Josh’s fiercely dark eyes.
“I have to—”
“Don’t give them the satisfaction,” he growls, low and angry.
“Excuse me?”
He jerked his head toward Brad. “I know her, she’s a nice girl, but this show is a production.
They’re watching you. They’re waiting for a moment they can use to rub your face in it.
He wants to be seen as the victim, or the bad boy whose been redeemed by the love of a good woman. Don’t give him the victory.”
The heart of my blush sears away my tears.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I ask, stepping closer and lowering my voice. “That doesn’t make this any easier.”
Josh shakes his head. “I’m surprised you still love him after all he’s done.”
“What?” I splutter loud enough that we’re beginning to draw the attention of those closest to us. “I’m not in love with him anymore.”
While I’d been concentrating on the happy couple, it’s obvious that I’ve become the subject of whispered conjecture. As I glance around the room, clusters of guests shoot speculative glances my way, heads dipping together conspiratorially.
“Oh my God.” I turn my back on the room, facing the buffet table. “Oh my God.”
“Breathe, Molly. Don’t let them see.”
I shake my head. “I’m not even in love with him anymore. I’ve moved on. Why does anyone care?”
Josh coughs. “Are you sure?”
I shoot him a glare. “ I’m pretty sure I know my own feelings.”
“But the way you looked at him—”
“I didn’t know she was pregnant, okay?”
And damn if that isn’t a knife to my chest.
Josh blinks slowly. “Does that matter to you?”
I make a face. “No. Yes? I don’t know. I’m upset that something I wanted for years is—” The words dry up, turning to ash in my throat.
“Hey.” Josh reaches out, brushing hair away from my face. “Brad’s a fucking idiot.”
I huff out a laugh. “I know. That doesn’t mean I have to stick around and let them hurt me.” I tilt my head toward the stage. “I’m sure the happy couple will understand.”
“You’re letting him win?”
I scowl, barely resisting the urge to stomp my foot like a toddler. “I’m not letting anyone do anything. This isn’t a competition, Josh-u-ahhh.” I draw his name out, channeling my anger at him rather than the douchebag across the room. “I’m not competing against anyone.”
I search my feelings, verifying the validity of my claim. Apart from the almost desperate pain of wanting a baby, I feel nothing.
“Yeah? Then why do you look like they’re about to cry.”
“Can we drop it, please? I don’t think I have the capacity to deal with my emotions tonight.”
Josh falls into a prickly silence as we watch Bess and Pete hug his grandmother.
I sigh.
“I can’t stay mad at you.” I gulp the last of my glass, then hip-check him, crossing my arms as we continue to watch the room. “I’m sorry for being a bitch when all you were doing is trying to help.”
“I’m sorry for not respecting your boundaries. If you still want to leave, I’ll head out with you.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re right. I shouldn’t give him—or the gossips—the satisfaction. This is Bess’s night. She deserves better.”
We’re both quiet for a long moment as we people watch. The glances sent my way slowly ease as the vultures find new prey to pick over.
“Why did you ever go out with Brad?” he asks quietly. “He treated you like shit.”
I huff out a laugh, then sober. “He asked me.”
I feel Josh’s gaze on me. “What the hell does that mean?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter now. Water under the bridge and all that.
Josh,” I place a hand on his arm. “It doesn’t matter.
Anything I once felt for him is gone.” I force an ironic smile.
“And yeah, tonight is hard because I’m jealous of the fact they’re going to have a baby.
” I force that acknowledgement out with a dry, humorless chuckle.
“Which, good luck to them since I couldn’t even trust Brad with a goldfish. ”
I nod toward the dance floor. “Now, let’s just drink and be merry for your brother and my best friend, okay?”
He stares at me for a long moment, his dark eyes raking my face, searching for… reassurance? Truth?
Finally, he nods, running a hand through his hair and leaving the strands standing on end. His disheveled appearance is so achingly nostalgic that I can’t help the warm feeling filling my belly.
“So, how about them Lions?” he finally asks, changing the subject. “Hell of a year.”
I paste a grin on my mouth, forcing the melancholy from my thoughts as we talk football.
It’s only later, as I’m getting ready for bed that I allow myself to think about the evening and what it means.
I can do this. Be normal. Feel okay about my life.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.