Chapter 8 Evan
Evan
Iwalk into Silas’s office and stop in the doorway. Callum’s gripping the back of one of the chairs across from Silas’s desk, knuckles white.
Silas is behind the desk, spine rigid, with his fingers pressed flat against the wood. “You crossed a line.”
I should leave and let them work this out. But that’s not what I do. I’m the one who keeps things from exploding.
Callum’s grip tightens on the chair. “What line? The one where we all pretend we don’t want her?”
“The one where we keep this arrangement exactly what it is—fake.”
Shit, what did Callum do? Now is not the time to ask. But he must have fucked her or at least kissed her.
I’m jealous. I can admit that. But if this were real—if we were actually in a committed relationship with her—would I still feel this way?
Callum would still be fucking her, but I would be, too. We’d share her. I just never thought about what that would actually mean—what it would feel like in practice instead of theory.
And now something’s obviously happened between them.
“Oh, come on.” Callum laughs, bitter and sharp. He drags a hand through his hair. “You’re telling me you don’t want her, too? That you haven’t thought about it?”
A vein in Silas’s neck pulses quickly with the fast rhythm of his heartbeat. He is trying so hard to rein in his temper. “It doesn’t matter what I’ve thought about. I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t stick my dick in her.”
Callum throws up his hands. “Well, I didn’t stick my dick in her, either.”
“I don’t want to know the specifics,” Silas seethes. “Whatever you did with her went too far.”
“This is bullshit.” Callum adjusts his posture and rolls his shoulders back. “It’s always about what you want. You decide what’s allowed and what isn’t.”
“We made a promise to Ben.”
“She’s an adult. And technically, she’s my wife.” Callum clenches his fists. “She made a choice. I just gave her what she wanted.”
I should smooth this over the way I always do, but my mouth stays closed.
The right thing to do would be to take Silas’s side.
We promised Ben that she is off-limits. But Callum has a point; Tania can make her own choices.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about her every single night when I’m alone in bed.
I’ve wanted her since she walked through the door at the lake house, and I didn’t recognize her at first. She’s smart. Funny. Clever. And fucking gorgeous.
I want her in ways that have nothing to do with the arrangement. And I’ve been pretending I don’t.
Silas pushes back from the desk and rises. “Get out.”
Callum stares at him. Three seconds. Four. His breathing is harsh in the quiet.
He heads for the door, shouldering past me hard enough that I have to brace against the frame.
Silas circles the desk, grabs his coffee mug, and drains it. “Don’t tell me you’re on his side.”
“I’m not on anyone’s side.”
“Then what are you doing here?” He carries the mug to the small bar cart in the corner and pours whiskey into it instead of coffee.
“Making sure you two don’t kill each other.”
“We’re fine.” The whiskey disappears in two swallows.
“You’re not fine. Callum’s not fine. And Tania—”
“Is Ben’s sister.” He refills the mug but doesn’t drink from it. “We can hold her hand in public and smile for the cameras. But we don’t fuck around with her in the back of a car.”
“How did you find out?” I can’t imagine either of them offered that information willingly.
“Tania seemed upset. Callum seemed guilty.” He sets the mug down hard enough that liquid sloshes over the rim. “I pried it out of him.”
I don’t have a response for that. What can I say?
Silas returns to his desk and pulls his laptop closer. “I need some time to myself. Whatever you do, don’t tell Ben what Callum did.”
I snort. He doesn’t have to tell me not to tell Ben. There’s no way I would actually get in the middle of that shitstorm.
I turn and leave.
I find Tania in her room an hour later.
The door is open. She’s lying on her bed staring at the ceiling, with one arm thrown over her eyes.
I rap my knuckles against the doorframe. She lifts her head and forces a smile.
“Hey.” I stay in the doorway. “ Are you okay?”
Her mouth twitches, and she sits up. “I heard yelling.”
“Yeah. Silas and Callum got into it.”
She pulls her knees up to her body, arms wrapping around them. “Were they fighting about me?”
“They fight about a lot of things.”
She rests her forehead on her knees. Fuck, I don’t want her to feel bad. She didn’t do anything wrong.
I take a tentative step into her room. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”
She scrunches up her nose. “Where?”
“Karaoke bar.”
Her eyes widen. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes.” I grin. “It’s too tense here. You need to have some fun.”
“I don’t sing in public.”
“You do tonight.” I back toward the door. “I’ll call our driver. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
“Evan,” she draws the first syllable of my name, and I love it.
“Now you only have nine-and-a-half minutes.” I close the door before she can argue.
Thirty minutes later—because she took longer than ten to get ready—we leave for the karaoke bar.
The venue is packed with the Friday night crowd. Drinks flow from the bar while someone on stage murders a classic rock song.
Tania stops in the doorway. “This is a terrible idea.”
“This is a great idea.” I take her hand and guide her through the crowd.
We grab a table in the back. It’s not too close to the stage, but close enough that I can drag her up there when the time comes.
I order drinks. She downs half of hers in one go.
“Nervous?” I lean back in my chair.
A smile spreads across her lips. “Terrified.”
“Good. We’re conquering fears tonight.”
She glares at me, but she’s still smiling.
The current singer finishes to polite applause. The host calls for the next volunteer.
I gesture toward the stage. “Your turn.”
“No.”
“Come on. One song.”
“I can’t.” And I can see she is not ready to get in front of the crowd.
“I’ll go first.” I stand before she can protest. “But you’re next.”
I head to the stage, grab the mic, and pick something upbeat. I’m terrible. But I play it up—dancing badly, pointing at random people in the crowd, and making eye contact with Tania, winking.
She’s laughing. She’s covering her face with her hands, but she’s laughing.
When I finish, the crowd cheers. I take a bow and head back to the table.
“Your turn, Wifey.”
She blinks at me. “Wifey?”
“Too much?” I grin.
“It’s...” Her mouth twitches. “Ridiculous.”
“You love the pet name.”
She picks up her drink. “I don’t.”
“You do.”
Her expression softens, but she doesn’t argue.
“Now go pick your song.”
“You can win over any crowd.” She glances at the stage. “I can’t follow that.”
“You don’t have to follow it. You just have to get up there.” I hold out my hand. “Come on. I’ll go with you. We’ll do a duet.”
She stares at my hand. And I’m relieved when she takes it. We pick something easy. Something everyone knows. I start us off, keeping it light, bouncing around the stage like an idiot to make her laugh.
She comes in on her part. And she’s good. Not just okay. Good.
Her voice is clear and strong, and she hits notes I didn’t expect. The nervousness melts off her as she gets into it, and by the second verse, she’s smiling. Really smiling.
We finish to actual applause, not just polite clapping.
Back at the table, she’s breathless. Flushed. And her eyes are bright.
“See? Told you.” I grin at her. “You did great.”
“That wasn’t so bad,” she admits, taking a long drink.
“Wasn’t so bad?” I ask incredulously. “You were amazing up there.”
Her cheeks redden at the compliment.
I lean forward. “Now do one solo.”
“What? No.”
“Yes. I’ll be right here cheering you on.”
She bites her lip, looks at the stage, and then looks back at me. “Fine. One song.”
She goes up alone this time, and I watch her pick a song I don’t recognize—something slower, more her speed. She takes the mic, and for the first few seconds, her voice wavers. Then it steadies.
She gets into it. Eyes closed. Voice clear.
The bar quiets. A few people near the stage actually stop their conversations.
When she finishes, people clap. Really clap. I stand, clapping the loudest. She opens her eyes, startled by the reaction.
“Not bad.” I pull her into a hug, lifting her off the ground for half a second. “You’ve been holding out on me.”
She’s laughing when I set her down, breathless and happy, and we collapse onto the small couch near our table.
Her shoulders shake with leftover laughter. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“You should do it more often.”
She leans into me. “Maybe I will.”
We sit there, catching our breath, the energy between us still buzzing. Then I notice someone across the room. Phone out. Pointed our direction. Someone recognized me.
I lean closer to Tania, lowering my voice. “Someone’s watching. Smile.”
She straightens slightly. I slide my arm around her shoulders and pull her in.
My mouth is near her ear. “We’re supposed to look like a couple,” I whisper. “Let’s give them something to see.”
I’m already moving to kiss her on the cheek. But at the same time, she turns her head to respond to what I said. Our mouths meet. It’s brief and accidental.
We both freeze.
Her fingers come up, brushing her lips, and her eyes are wide. Then she leans in and kisses me. For real this time.
Her hand slides into my hair, and I pull her closer, my other hand finding her waist. She tastes like whatever fruity drink she ordered, and I forget about the person watching. Forget about the bar. Forget about everything except her mouth on mine.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing hard.
She grins. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell Ben.”
I laugh, grateful and guilty all at once. “You’re trouble.”
“You like it.”
“Yeah.” I stand, offering my hand. “I really do. You ready to get out of here?”
She nods.
I settle the bill, and we head outside. The cold hits us immediately, which is refreshing after the heat of the crowded bar.
The car is waiting at the curb, and she slides in first. I follow, and she sits close, her hand finding mine in the space between us.
She doesn’t let go of my hand during the drive home, and my brain won’t stop spinning. I just kissed Ben’s sister. I should regret it. I don’t.
Inside the penthouse, the lights are dimmed. Silas and Callum are either asleep or in their rooms. We stand there for a moment, neither of us moving toward the hallway.
Tania tips her face up. “Goodnight, Evan.”
“Goodnight, Wifey.”
I lean down and brush my lips against hers. Soft. Brief. When I pull back, her eyes are still closed. They open slowly, and she smiles.
Then she turns and heads down the hallway without another word.