Chapter 4
Tania
Ben lets himself into the penthouse with his key.
I follow him through the entryway and look around in awe, not fully believing this will be my home for the next twelve months.
A woman in her fifties emerges from the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist. She’s short, about my height, and has dark hair streaked with gray, with reading glasses pushed up on her head.
She smiles at Ben like she knows him. “Mr. Dalton. Right on time.”
“Sandra.” Ben grins. “This is Tania.”
She does know him.
Sandra’s eyes land on me, warm and assessing. “Welcome. The boys told me you were moving in.”
The boys. That’s not how I’d describe them.
“Sandra runs the house,” Ben explains. “If you need anything, she’s your person.”
“That’s right.” Sandra wipes her hands on her apron. “The boys are all in the living room. They’re waiting for you.”
We follow her through hallways that open into a massive living space. Windows overlook the city. Leather furniture sits arranged around a glass coffee table, and expensive art hangs on the walls.
The triplets are scattered across the room.
Silas stands near the windows, phone to his ear, pacing. Evan sprawls on the couch, controller in hand, eyes locked on the football game filling the massive TV. Callum sits on the arm of the couch next to him, elbows on his knees, tracking every play.
Evan pauses his game and tosses the controller aside. “She’s here.”
Silas ends his call and pockets his phone. Callum straightens.
Sandra clasps her hands together. “Should I bring refreshments?”
“Thanks. We’re good, Sandra.” Evan crosses to me and leans in, his lips brushing my cheek.
I freeze. The kiss is brief, casual, but I wasn’t ready for it. Whiskers scrape my skin, and he smells clean and warm, expensive cologne mixed with soap.
He pulls back and grins as if nothing happened. But this is the part where I start pretending the affection is normal.
Sandra beams at us and disappears down the hallway.
Ben clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you guys get her settled.”
“You’re leaving?” The panic in my voice is embarrassing.
“You’ll be fine.” He squeezes my shoulder, then looks at the triplets. “Take care of her.”
“Always,” Evan promises.
Ben heads for the door, and I’m alone with three men who are supposed to be my partners or boyfriends. Or whatever the plural is.
Callum stands and crosses to the bar, grabbing a bottle of sparkling water. “So, Sandra thinks you’re our wife.”
“Wife?” I hold out my ring finger, waving it back and forth playfully, showing the lack of a ring. “I don’t remember having a wedding.”
Evan laughs. At least he thinks I’m funny.
“Husband works better than boyfriend for what we’re doing,” Silas explains. “It signals permanence. Commitment. That’s what the executor needs to see.”
“So, I’m supposed to call all of you my husbands?” The word feels strange on my tongue. Too big. Too real.
“That’s the idea,” Callum confirms, twisting the cap off his water.
Evan grins. “Don’t worry. We won’t make you have three weddings.”
“Can’t legally marry all three of us anyway,” Callum points out. “The contract you signed is the binding agreement.”
Evan leans forward, eyes bright. “But if you want a wedding, I’m in. Any excuse for a party.”
“I don’t need a wedding.” The words come out too fast.
“You sure?” Evan’s smile softens. “We could do something small. Just us.”
“I’m sure.”
Silas watches me carefully. “The staff needed to know we chose a wife before you moved in. Sandra. The chef. Housekeeping. They all think this is real.”
“How many people work here?”
“Five,” Silas answers. “Sandra manages the household. The chef comes in daily. Three housekeepers rotate.”
Five people who think I’m married to all three of them.
My head spins. “What did you tell them exactly?”
Evan moves to the couch arm that Callum vacated. “That you’re Ben’s little sister. That we’ve known you since we were kids. That we ran into you a few months ago and reconnected, and things developed fast.”
“They bought that?”
Callum drinks his water. “Why wouldn’t they? It’s basically true.”
“Except for the part where we’re actually married,” I remind them.
Evan winks at me. “But that’s our little secret.”
“So, we will have to make our relationship believable, even at home.” I’m trying to process this new information. “Your staff will be here every day?”
“Yes,” Silas confirms. “We should have prepared you for that. Is that a problem?”
I think about my old apartment. Quiet. Empty. Mine. This is the opposite of that.
“No. Not a problem.”
Evan pats the couch beside him. “Come sit. You look ready to bolt.”
I cross the room and perch on the edge of the cushion. He moves from the couch arm and sits beside me, easy and relaxed, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind my shoulders.
Not touching me. But close.
Callum wanders over and joins us.
Silas stays standing. “We’ll show you around. Your room. The kitchen. Gym. Pool.”
“Pool?”
“Rooftop,” Evan supplies. “You’ll love it. It’s heated, so we can use it year-round. I hope you brought your swimsuit.”
Silas pulls his phone from his pocket. “That reminds me, I need your sizes. Everything. Clothes, shoes, dress size, swimsuit size.”
I blink. “Why?”
“Because you’ll need a wardrobe.” He is typing on his phone, not making eye contact with me. “We have events coming up. Dinners. Galas. You need the right clothes.”
“I have clothes.”
Callum snorts. “No offense, Red, but you’ll probably need different clothes.”
“He’s right,” Evan adds gently. “These events have dress codes. You will need designer labels. It’s a whole thing.”
Silas finally glances up from his phone. “Sizes?”
I don’t fight it and give him the information he needs.
He types something into his phone. “I’m having things sent over. You’ll try them on, keep what works, and send back what doesn’t.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s—”
“Non-negotiable.” Silas pockets his phone. “This has to look real. That means you need to look like you belong with us.”
The words sting, even though they’re practical.
Evan’s hand drops to my shoulder. “He didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know what he meant.”
Silas exhales. “I meant you need to have the wardrobe of a woman marrying three billionaires. Not that you don’t belong.”
“Sure.”
Evan grins. “For what it’s worth, I think you look perfect.”
“You’re not helping,” Silas mutters.
“Wasn’t trying to.” Evan squeezes my shoulder and stands. “Come on. Let me show you your room.”
I follow him upstairs. Callum trails behind us. Silas stays downstairs, already back on his phone.
My room is at the end of the hall.
Evan opens the door and steps aside, and it’s bigger than my entire apartment.
King bed. Windows overlooking the city. Walk-in closet. Marble bathroom visible through an open door.
“This is mine?” I manage.
“All yours.” Evan leans against the doorframe. “Bathroom is stocked. The closet has your clothes that the movers brought. If you need anything else, you can ask Sandra or use the credit card we gave you.”
Callum brushes past me and flops onto the bed, testing it. “Good mattress.”
“Get off her bed,” Evan scolds.
“I’m quality-checking.”
I set my purse on the bench at the foot of the bed. My hands are shaking. This is real. I live here now.
Evan notices. “Are you okay?”
“Overwhelmed.”
“You’ll get used to it.” Callum stands from the bed and heads for the door.
Evan lingers. “If you need anything, we’re just down the hall.”
“Thanks.”
He nods and follows Callum out, closing the door behind him.
A week passes before I stop feeling like a guest.
The clothes arrive in waves. Designer labels I recognize from magazines—clothing, shoes, handbags, and jewelry. I try everything on in my room while Sandra brings me tea and makes approving noises.
Most of it fits. Some of it I send back. The rest fills my closet until it no longer looks empty.
The staff treats me with as much respect as they give to the triplets. The chef asks what I like to eat. Sandra learns I take my coffee with cream. The housekeepers knock before entering my room.
The brothers are harder to predict.
Silas leaves early and comes home late, always in a suit, always on his phone. But every time I see him, he checks in with me and asks if I need anything.
Evan pulls me into the kitchen for late-night snacks and onto the couch to watch movies. He pulls me into conversations I’m not sure I belong in. He makes everything feel easy.
Callum disappears for hours and reappears with energy that fills the room. He drags me to the gym, teases me at breakfast, and calls me Red until I start answering to it without thinking.
By the end of the week, I know Evan leaves the TV on when he falls asleep, which coffee mug is Callum’s, and that Silas hates disruptions before nine a.m.
On Friday night, I head downstairs to grab water and find Callum in the gym.
The door is open.
I should walk past. I don’t.
He’s shirtless, running on the treadmill, headphones in, sweat dripping down his spine. His muscles move under his skin as he runs. I watch longer than I should.
He catches me in the mirror and grins.
Then he slows the treadmill and pulls out his headphones. “Enjoying the view?”
My face heats. “I was passing by.”
“You were staring.”
“Passing by,” I correct, reiterating.
He steps off the treadmill and grabs a towel, wiping his face. “You can stare. I don’t mind.”
“I wasn’t staring.”
He tosses the towel onto a bench and crosses to me, and he’s closer than necessary. Close enough that I smell sweat and something clean underneath.
My back hits the doorframe. “You’re sweaty.”
“You’re blushing.”
I’m totally blushing. “I’m leaving.”
His hand lands on the frame beside my head, blocking me in. Not trapping. But deliberate. “You’ve been here a week. You haven’t left the penthouse once except to go to the museum.”
“I’ve been settling in.”
“You should be settled by now.” His eyes drop to my mouth, back up. “Let’s go have some fun. Tonight. You, me, Evan. Dancing.”
The word sends a thrill through me. “Dancing?”
“Moving your body to music.” He grins.
I roll my eyes. “I know what dancing is.”
“We are going to a club tonight. You have a whole closet full of new clothes and three husbands who will buy you whatever you want. Might as well enjoy it.”
“Silas won’t go?” I ask.
“Silas never goes.” Callum pushes off the frame. “He’ll stay here and work. We’ll take you out. Show you off.”
Show me off.
“I don’t know if I should.”
“Don’t overthink it, Red.” He heads back to the treadmill. “We leave at ten. Wear something I won’t be able to stop thinking about.”
I leave immediately, so I don’t risk staring again.
Upstairs, I close my door and lean against it. He’s right. I need to have some fun.
I’ve just been so nervous about going out in public with them, pretending to be their wife. But I have to get past that at some point.
I shower and stand in front of my closet for twenty minutes before settling on a black dress that’s shorter than anything I’ve ever worn. It fits like it was made for me.
Because it was.
By the time I head downstairs at ten, Evan is waiting in the living room, dressed in dark jeans and a fitted shirt. He looks up when I enter and goes still.
“Holy shit.”
Oh no! I picked out the wrong outfit. “Is it too much?”
“It’s perfect.” He stands and crosses to me, eyes dragging over the dress. “You look incredible.”
Callum appears from the hallway, and he stops when he sees me. “Well, fuck.”
Evan grins. “Told you.”
“I hate that you’re right.” Callum moves closer, circling me slowly. “This is going to be a problem.”
“What problem?” I ask.
“Every guy in that club is going to want you.” He stops in front of me. “And they can’t have you.”
“Because I’m yours,” I finish, the words strange in my mouth.
“Exactly.” His grin is wicked. “Let’s go show you off.”
Silas emerges from his office as we head for the door. He’s in his suit, tie loosened, exhaustion written across his face. He sees me and stops.
Evan notices. “We’re taking her out. Don’t wait up.”
Silas’s eyes drag from my heels to the hem of my dress to my face. “Have fun.”
“We will,” Callum promises.
We’re halfway to the door when Silas speaks again.
“Tania.”
I turn.
His expression is unreadable. “You look beautiful.”
The compliment sounds different coming from him. Silas doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean.
“Thanks.”
We’re out the door, into the elevator, and I’m between two men who smell too good and stand too close and look too hot.