Twist of Fate

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a bad ‘tude, Diego Stone sprawled on the sky bridge of his boat and stared up at the low, pewter-gray San Francisco sky. It was bone-deep cold, restless, and moody— which suited him just fine.

Some people meditated. Diego glared at clouds until they backed off. He had no idea why he’d left sunny, warm, sexy San Diego.

Oh, wait, he did.

He’d received a text asking him to show up for his brother’s important, all-hands-on-deck wedding planning lunch that, as Rocco’s best man, Diego was required to attend. A text. And not from Rocco, but from his fiancé, Tyler, who used emojis like punctuation.

Hands behind his head, feet crossed, Diego purposely relaxed his body one inch at a time. It was a technique he’d learned early on during a childhood as tempestuous and unstable as the sky above him. A childhood he’d spent right here in San Francisco.

The difference was the sky eventually cleared. His family drama never did.

When he emptied his head of the past the best he could, he rose to get things over with. A week back in this city already felt like too long. He knew of only one way to get through it, and that was to plow straight ahead.

As far as command performances went, he could’ve tried a little harder to muster up some enthusiasm, but after ten years of being an island of one, he was out of practice at the whole family thing.

The French House at one p.m., the text had said. And, apparently, his presence was both needed and required. Hilarious, considering that once upon a time when Diego had desperately needed and required Rocco’s presence, he hadn’t gotten it.

Damn. And here he’d told himself that he was over the past.

He’d spent the past few years running a small boat charter service for a guy who didn’t like to get his hands wet.

Since he loved being on the water, the job had been tailor-made for him.

He also moonlighted as a tattoo artist as well to keep his skills honed, and he loved that gig, too.

But “dressing up” these days meant a clean t-shirt tucked into board shorts and calling it effort

The French House was a high-end restaurant he was pretty sure no one in his family had ever been to, but he was willing to bet the place frowned on jeans.

Adulting, party of one. Moving below deck, he stripped and stalked to his closet where he upgraded to black pants and a slate-colored button-down, both of which at least matched his mood.

At the last minute, he added a jacket because why get this far, only to get refused at the door.

He paused with the jacket, listening to the rigging tick in the wind and the slap of bay water against the hull—home sounds that usually calmed him. Today they only made the silence louder.

He hit the road, still brooding. Russian Hill tried to buck him off the motorcycle, the wind knifed through the seams of his jacket, and the air smelled like ocean and coffee and wet pavement—pure San Francisco.

It’d been a long time since he and Rocco had been in the same room at the same time. Even longer since they’d been in the same room at the same time without yelling at each other.

When he finally walked into the restaurant, a ma?tre d’ with blue, spiked hair and a bowtie greeted him. “I’m here for the Stone wedding planning lunch,” he said.

The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty and wore his bowtie like a warning label.

He shook his head. “I don’t see a wedding planning lunch…

Oh, but I do see a Stone reservation. This way, sir.

” And then he turned and started walking through the restaurant.

The place had been built over the pier in such a way that, combined with all the glass walls, it felt like they were walking right on the waves.

For a guy who lived on the water, it was annoying as hell to feel off balance on land.

Oh, wait, that wasn’t the water at all, but the fact that he could see a table nestled in a corner of glass walls just up ahead.

A table for four. And three of the seats were occupied.

Rocco, his fiancé Tyler, and…a blast from Diego’s past that he had thought to never see again.

Daisy Evans.

He staggered back a step as if he’d been shot. Pierced in the damn heart. He put a hand to his chest, shocked to find that he wasn’t actually bleeding. Could’ve fooled him by the amount of pain he was suddenly in.

Ten years, and one look still hit like a rib-cracking wave.

The three at the table looked cozy. His brother, the guy’s fiancé, and the woman Diego had once loved more than life itself leaning into each other, speaking quietly but earnestly, smiling easily, laughing…

The sight stung like salt in a fresh cut.

Diego realized that he’d stopped in his tracks right in the middle of the restaurant. Rocco glanced over and saw him. “Diego,” his brother said, coming to his feet, gesturing him closer.

Diego’s feet took him there, though he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from Daisy.

Ten years. It was almost too much to process.

It’d been ten years, and just the sight of her still rocked him off his axis.

Her hair was darker, sleeker, the curves he remembered were now paired with a lethal kind of poise.

But her eyes—those slay-me gray eyes—were the same.

With immense difficulty, he tore his gaze off her and looked at his brother.

Rocco grinned. “It’s good to see you.”

Diego didn’t smile or speak. Wasn’t even sure he could. His tongue felt like sandpaper and his chest like a locked box.

The ma?tre d’ was trying to get him to sit. He’d pulled out the empty chair and was gesturing to it with a flourish of his hand. Like he was defusing a bomb.

Not wrong.

Rocco looked at Diego with a half-smile and some worry in his eyes.

He should be a helluva lot more than worried.

Tyler, who Diego had never met, came out of his chair and moved around the table.

And then he wrapped Diego up in a hug. The guy was a foot shorter than Diego, but that didn’t deter him one bit.

He just gave Diego a warm squeeze as if they were old friends and then pulled back—leaving his hands on Diego’s arms—as he smiled up into his face.

“You’re as gorg as the pics promised,” he said.

“Nice to finally meet you. Won’t you sit?

We’ve ordered, I hope you don’t mind. But Daisy’s on a lunch break from her office and has limited time today. ”

Tyler’s smile was weaponized sunshine, resistance was futile.

And then, somehow—Diego would never know how—Tyler gently nudged him into his chair, fussing over him a moment and making sure he had his water and napkin.

Diego let it happen because tackling the social octopus would cause a scene, and he was trying—really trying—not to be that guy.

Tyler then turned and did the same to Rocco, letting his hands linger. “Darling, you too. Let’s sit. Let’s toast. Let’s lunch. Let’s have our little chitchat to clear the air, it’ll all be good.”

Diego’s brother took a deep breath and nodded. Downed a glass of something that was most definitely not champagne. He started to speak but stopped, then swore beneath his breath and rubbed his eyes.

“He’s all verklempt,” Tyler explained to Diego.

Diego nodded. Same. “So…this isn’t a wedding planning lunch,” he said, wishing he had more than a glass of water in front of him. “It’s what? An intervention?”

Because if it was, someone should’ve warned him to pre-game.

Daisy met Diego’s gaze for the first time. Her eyes were still stunning, framed by inky black lashes that drew a man in like she was the only warm haven in a world gone mad. “Diego,” she said softly.

“Daisy.” Hey, look at that. His voice sounded perfectly calm. Casual. Not at all like his heart was about to pound right out of his chest. The heart she’d once slayed.

Points to him for not visibly combusting.

“Diego.” She didn’t seem surprised to see him.

As for what her thoughts might be, she kept them damn well hidden, though her voice when she spoke trembled a bit.

“Thanks for coming,” she said, like this was a normal thing and not the first time they’d seen each other in ten years.

“We’re all just hoping you and Rocco can talk out any…

issues so we can make sure things are smooth for the wedding. ”

Professional. Polite. Completely devastating.

Her voice was still quiet but husky, just as it used to be, the same tone that had given him more sexual fantasies than any other.

But these days, he no longer thought about her. At least, not that he’d admit. “You’re here…why?”

“Because I asked her,” Rocco said.

At his older brother’s words, Diego cocked his head but didn’t take his eyes off Daisy. “Because…?”

“She’s our wedding planner,” Tyler said smoothly, waving down a waiter and signaling for more wine. “The best in the business.”

Of course she was. Daisy had always turned grit into gold.

Daisy smiled at Tyler and then turned back to Diego. “It’s nice to see you.”

What the hell? He’d fallen asleep on the boat and was dreaming this, right?

Nice to see him? Was she kidding? He’d told her that he loved her, and then she’d left.

Moved to New York for college without looking back.

He opened his mouth to remind her of that fact, but Rocco stood up and tugged on his arm.

“I think we should talk outside.”

Diego wrenched free without looking at him and turned to Daisy. “I need to talk to you.” He had no idea what game she was playing, but he intended to find out.

No plan, just a pulse and too much history.

Daisy opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Rocco once again put a hand on him.