1. Parker #3
“So you know them.” She leans in, her interest sharpening. “Are they single? Please tell me at least one of them is single and interested in a wedding fling.”
A laugh bursts out of me, surprised and genuine. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen them in six years.”
“But you knew them before. What were they like?” She’s watching me now, her gaze speculative. “Give me something to work with here. I’m trying to decide which one to target.”
“Target?” The word comes out sharper than I intend.
“For the week.” She grins, shameless. “Come on. You can’t tell me you looked at those pictures and didn’t think about it. Three gorgeous men, running a hotel, hosting a wedding. It’s basically a romance novel setup.”
It is. She’s right. And if I were anyone else, if they were anyone else, maybe I’d be plotting the same thing.
But they’re not anyone else. Jace, who taught me how to fight and then ratted me out. Cal, who read beside me in silence and reported back to Charlie every time I skipped curfew. Silas, who made me laugh and then made sure I never got close enough to any boy who showed interest.
Four overprotective older brothers. That’s what I had growing up. Charlie plus three.
And that’s exactly what I’m about to walk back into.
“Jace’s intense,” I say finally, taking another drink. “Like, scary intense. Military background. He doesn’t smile much, and when he does, it usually means someone’s about to have a very bad day.”
Rochelle’s eyes gleam. “I like intense.”
“Cal is...” I pause, trying to find words that won’t reveal too much. “Quieter. But don’t mistake that for soft. He notices everything. Remembers everything. You won’t know he’s watching until it’s too late.”
“Even better.”
“And Silas is exactly what he looks like. Charming. Funny. The kind of guy who can talk his way into or out of anything.” I meet her gaze. “But underneath all that charm is someone just as dangerous as his brothers. Maybe more, because you won’t see it coming.”
She’s practically vibrating now. “So you’re saying I should go for it.”
“I’m saying you should be careful.” The words come out more serious than I intend. “They’re... protective. Of the people they care about. And if Charlie’s getting married here, if they’re hosting everything, then they’re going to be everywhere. Watching everything.”
“Including watching me?” She grins. “Good. I like being watched.”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s bold. Confident in a way I’ve never quite managed. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Duly noted.” She raises her glass in a mock toast. “So what about you? Any plans for a wedding fling of your own?”
The question hits harder than it should. Because yes. Yes, I’d had plans. Vague, champagne-fuzzy plans to maybe find someone to help me forget about work stress and family drama. To remind myself that I’m twenty-eight and single and allowed to have fun.
But those plans died the moment Charlie said the Kane brothers owned this hotel.
“Probably not,” I say, aiming for casual and missing. “I’m here for Charlie and Sienna. Family obligations. Parental interference. That sort of thing.”
“Mmhm.” Rochelle doesn’t look convinced. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. We can be each other’s wingmen. Or wingwomen. Whatever.”
“Deal.”
She opens her mouth to say something else, but her gaze catches on something over my shoulder. Her expression changes. Sharpens into something predatory and interested.
“Speaking of the devils,” she murmurs.
My spine goes rigid. “What?”
I follow her eye line to the double door entrance of the room, and I can practically hear the collective sigh of new Kane Brother fangirls in the room.
I roll my eyes.
Yep. Just like old times.
Cal enters first, or maybe he was always there, and I just didn’t see him.
That’s how he moves—like a shadow, like something that exists in peripheral vision until suddenly he doesn’t.
He has his arm around a woman, blonde and sleek in a black uniform that marks her as staff.
She’s laughing at something, tilting her face up toward his, and he’s looking down at her with an expression I can’t read from here.
Then he says something—I can’t hear it over the music and conversation—and her face falls. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see disappointment flicker before she masks it with a professional smile. He releases her, gently but finally, and she slips away into the crowd.
Waitstaff. She’s waitstaff, and he just dismissed her.
Down goes another one. She’s better off.
Well, that’s not fair. He may have—I don’t know—matured in the past six years…maybe?
Another familiar face comes into view, but Jace doesn’t enter at all.
He leans against the doorframe, one shoulder pressed to the wood, arms crossed over his chest. He’s in all black—black slacks, black button-down, black everything, like he’s attending a funeral instead of a wedding party.
His hair is short, military-precise, and his jaw is sharp enough to cut.
He’s bigger than I remember. Broader. All that teenage lankiness filled out into something solid and immovable.
He’s not looking at the party.
He’s looking at me. But not the way he used to.