Chapter 14
Strolling into the dining room that night mentally preparing myself for another heinous “family” dinner with Byron and my mother, I faltered a step when I found Dacre, Sin, and Presley there, and Byron and my mother absent.
I glanced at the time on my phone. “Byron demanded we all be here at eight for dinner then doesn’t show?”
Pres snorted a laugh. “He’s on the path to Governor now, Sass. He doesn’t have time for little, inconsequential people like us.”
It was said in humor, but I could see the hurt beneath it.
“Unless it’s for a photo op,” Dacre said, raising his glass in Presley’s direction.
Pres raised his glass in return, which was thankfully filled with water.
My gaze fell to Dacre, surprised at his overt jab at Byron. His art show was this weekend. Was the pressure of the event bringing all his resentment towards his father to the surface? I’d hardly blame him if it did.
“Without Byron and Bea, we get dinner with Dempsey all to ourselves,” Sinclair said, lifting his glass to his mouth and watching me over the rim.
The four of us were seen out in public often, especially now that Byron was trotting us out like prized ponies for endless photo ops.
But we never got to be out in public on our terms. I couldn’t sit in Presley’s lap, or stroke Dacre’s hair or have Sinclair feed me.
Eating dinner together here wasn’t the same, but at least with Byron and my mother absent, we didn’t have to hide our real feelings.
I could flirt with them over our first course if I wanted to, and the mood in the room was instantly lighter because of it.
When the food was brought in by the service staff and placed in front of us, we all fell silent.
“Why does Byron like this stuff so much?” I gagged, staring down at the little balls of caviar on my plate.
Dacre motioned to the plates. “Can you please take these back to the kitchen and ask the chef to prepare pizzas?”
The maid nodded.
“As much meat as possible for Pres. Sausage, mushrooms, and black olives for Sin. Barbeque chicken for me.” Dacre’s gaze landed on me. “And gluten-free pepperoni, feta and jalapenos for Dempsey.”
She hurried off to the kitchen to get things organized, leaving us.
Sinclair entertained us with stories about the staff member he’d had to fire that day for stealing from the company, and Pres told us about the underclassman second-string quarterback who was subbed in at practice and spent most of his time fumbling the ball.
I loved sitting around the dinner table with the three of them with the pressure to perform no longer on us.
Was this what it could be like if we moved out of Byron’s McMansion and into something just for us?
Would they want that? We’d never really talked about the future that way, I just knew I wanted each of them in mine.
I listened attentively, knowing full well that when one of them asked about my day I’d either have to tell them about my interaction with Boston this week or lie to them when I’d promised I wouldn’t.
And if I told the truth, I’d have to detail exactly how the run-in started, which would mean being honest about Boston punching Trent for me.
Sinclair sat back in his chair, those keen eyes assessing me. “How was your week, Princess? Anything interesting happen?”
He knew I was hiding something. There was no point lying about it.
“I’m not sure if interesting is the right word.” I sipped my water, stalling. I glanced around the table, each of them waiting patiently for me to continue. “I ran into Trent on campus.”
All three of their expressions hardened at the mention of Trent’s name.
“He tried to grab me.”
Dacre slammed a fist against the table.
I picked up my glass again, holding it near my mouth. I rushed the next words out, bracing myself for their reactions. “Boston intervened. He pulled me away from him and punched Trenton in the face.”
I sipped my water and silence hung over the table. The room was a lot more tense than it had been, similar to what it was like when Byron was in the room.
“Trent assaulted you again and Boston hit him on your behalf?” Presley asked, staring at me.
“I guess you could characterize it like that, yep.”
I waited for Dacre and Sin’s reactions.
Sinclair’s voice was a low rumble when he asked: “Is that all that happened?”
“Then he walked me to my car and left before Dacre or Pres showed up and punched him out.”
“Damn right I would have,” Presley muttered. “What was Boston even doing at CCU?”
I shrugged, my focus on Dacre. He hadn’t said a word yet and I would have paid good money for a peek into his thoughts. Talk of my forced husband defending my honor had killed the jovial mood fast.
“Anything you want to chime in with?” Pres asked Dacre.
Clearly I wasn’t the only one concerned by his lack of reaction.
Dacre stared at me from across the table, tilting his head. “You like him.”
I let out an indignant noise of surprise. “I definitely don’t like him.”
He assessed me. “But you don’t hate him the way you did.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. “I don’t know.”
It was a weak response. I knew it, and so did they. But it was an honest one.
Presley’s frown was so deep, his eyes narrowed tightly. “I thought you were afraid of him.”
“I was,” I said, shifting in my seat at the scrutiny. “I mean, I am. He’s still a heartless enforcer who murders people.”
Dacre scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the way he did when a painting was troubling him. “But now he’s also a savior who punches assholes like Trent when they’re harassing you.”
God, he was getting chatty now with all these probing statements. Why did he have to see right through me? There was no possible way I could lie to myself with him calling me on my bullshit.
“I guess? I don’t know.”
Dacre nodded, clearly lost in his head. “Yeah, you said that already.”
Silence fell again.
Sinclair sat back in his chair, giving both of his brothers a long glance, another one of their silent conversations taking place. “You know that’s not all he is.”
Dacre gave him a look that resembled begrudging agreement.
What did that mean? Did Sinclair, Dacre, Presley know something about Boston that I didn’t?
Sinclair’s gaze locked on mine, speaking before I could ask. “If getting to know him is what you want, you can tell us that. We won’t stand in your way.”
“Like hell we won’t!” Presley said, leaning over to possessively take my hand. “I don’t care that he—”
Sinclair shot him a warning look.
There was definitely something they weren’t telling me about Boston. And I didn’t like it one bit.
I shook my head. “I don’t like any of this. And I don’t know what I want, but not that.”
“See? She doesn’t want to get to know him,” Presley said to Sinclair. “Stop putting fucking ideas in her head.”
Dacre was still watching me carefully. “She likes him, Pres. Even if she won’t admit it to herself, something has changed for her when it comes to him. Some of the fear is gone.”
The fear I’d been using like armor to shut Boston out.
“So she’s not afraid of him anymore? That’s great. That doesn’t mean she wants to get to know him.”
I didn’t miss the desperate edge to Presley’s voice, and I gripped his hand tighter in reassurance.
“I don’t know what I want, Pres. I’m so confused by the whole situation.
He showed up here unannounced, I’ve been forced into a marriage to him against my will, and my father is still somehow manipulating this whole thing.
I’m not any closer to understanding the truth of what is really going on.
Every time I’m around Boston, I’m in constant conflict.
My body doesn’t know whether to be afraid of him or… ”
The words died in my throat, because what was the end of that sentence?
Sinclair provided it for me. “Attracted to him.”
I gave him a pleading, desperate look. I wasn’t attracted to Boston.
Was he objectively attractive? Yes. But the only people I was attracted to—the only men I wanted to give myself to—were seated at this table.
“He’s an attractive guy, Bambi. You’d have to be half dead not to notice it.” Dacre lifted a brow at me, daring me to deny it.
“Fine, he’s good looking, but it’s… whatever. He’s not important. And the one thing I’ll never be confused about is how I feel about the three of you.”
I reached out to cup Presley’s cheek, knowing he needed the physical reassurance the most. Sinclair and Dacre seemed almost accepting of Boston’s presence, but Presley was resistant, and honestly…
so was I. Punching Trent in the face wasn’t going to send me running into his arms. Especially when it meant leaving Pres, Sin, and Dacre behind.
That wasn’t going to happen. Ever. And the sooner Boston understood that, they better off we’d all be.
Pres calmed slightly at my words, but I could still see the panic behind his eyes that he was trying so hard to hide. He thought I was going to leave him, like everyone else in his life had, with the exception of his brothers.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I pressed my mouth to his in a quick kiss and when we pulled apart his panic had eased.
“Get to know him if that’s what you want,” Sinclair said, voice hard. Presley went to protest again, but Sin cut him off.
“Ivers is here, Pres, whether we like it or not. The way the guy’s…” He paused, choosing his words carefully, my suspicion that I was being kept in the dark only growing. “... showed up here, it’s clear he doesn’t plan on leaving any time soon.”
I swallowed at the sudden lump in my throat. I didn’t want this tension between us, and I was all too aware that I was the cause.
“If you had a shot at Dempsey,” Sinclair went on. “Would you fight for her?”
Pres brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. “With everything I had.”
I melted at his words despite the funk we were all in.
“So let him try,” Dacre cut in. “Us making this harder on Dempsey will only push her away. From us.”
I shook my head. “None of you could ever push me away.” I glanced at each of them. “I’ll never stop wanting you.”
I needed them to believe me. What I felt for each of them could never be broken or tainted. Not by anyone.
Pres sighed. “Do what you have to do, Sass. Just make sure you always come back to us.”
The words were encouraging, but laced with defeat at the same time.
“I’ll always come back to you, Pres. Because I’m not going anywhere. Least of all with Boston Ivers.”