4. Baldo
What the fuck is wrong with me? Did I just offer to marry my stepsister?
Everyone seems to be stunned to silence. Well, I think Brook gasped. Or maybe it was my mother.
I can’t look at them.
It’s the worst idea ever.
Someone should protest. Immediately. It’s not like I can squeal “just kidding.” That would be cruel.
But someone needs to point out how stupid this is.
What was I thinking?
I wasn’t.
Visiting home, seeing everyone, meeting the new members of my family… It’s all overwhelmed me way more than I expected.
What was I expecting?
An emotional reunion with my mother. That’s what.
I was hoping to hug my mom, and if I got lucky avoid my stepdad, Micah.
I didn’t expect a happy reunion. I didn’t count on all the memories rushing in the minute I stepped foot on the property.
I was so unsure about actually ringing the bell that I climbed the fence. Really mature. In my thousand-dollar suit, no less.
Just like the old times. The climb. Not the suit.
What I didn’t anticipate was the sense of loss and longing that this visit has stirred in me. And that was all before I even lay eyes on her.
She was the last person I wanted to face.
The one who got away. The one who stood me up.
With her blonde hair up in a messy bun, wearing a tank top and a cardigan, comfortable and not sexy at all, she still looks like a vision.
I don’t allow myself to dwell on what isn’t, what would have or could have been, but Brook Lowe has been my obsession for way too long.
And while I’ve toned down the obsessive behavior lately, I still think of her more than I should.
I’ve never let her go completely. But I also never planned on seeing her again. That’s why I’ve stayed away for years.
What are the odds she’d be here the night I decide to pay my mother an unannounced visit? I haven’t even been to New York since I left that night.
And she has been in the UK for the past nine years. So what the fuck is she doing here now?
And what am I doing proposing? She stood me up and chose her dad over me, and I come back almost ten years later and offer her marriage?
I’m certifiable.
“That’s actually not the worst solution,” London offers.
What the fuck? No, it is the worst solution. One that should have never been on the table. You put it there, asshole.
Brooklyn looked so desperate and lonely. So lost. The fire that burned in her all those years ago is missing. I wonder what or who doused it.
A perverted part of me wishes it was because of the way we parted.
So beautiful and fucking sexy with her defiant glower, practically shooting daggers at me. So maybe some fire is left. Full of hatred, as if I wronged her somehow.
And yet, even filled with venom, she’d be the poison I’d want to take. Or the woman I’d want to marry, apparently. Fuck.
She barely touched me when she greeted me, and yet I swear my cock twitched.
I can’t stop watching her. Her nails are battered, looking so sad on her slender fingers.
When she held her glass to her face, practically hiding, something snapped in me, activating an outlandish need to protect her, to make the situation—her life—better for her.
“Wouldn’t that be incestuous?” Paris scrunches her face.
I finally glance at Brook. She’s standing there, pale and paralyzed, tapping her fingers on the counter, staring at the tiny lines in the marble’s pattern. Fuck.
“It’s not like they’re actually related.” Sydney shrugs.
Why are we not putting breaks on this? I should just take it back.
“And it would be a nice fuck you to our beloved grandmother.” Does London sound excited about the idea?
“Don’t you live abroad?” Hunter asks.
That’s right. My way out. My mind offers that thought, but my mouth asks, “Where do you live?” As if that matters. As if I don’t know.
Brook looks up and our eyes meet. “I live here.”
Does she? Last I heard she was in London.
I can live in London.What? What the fuck?
“You’ve decided to stay,” Paris says cheerfully.
Brook blinks a few times. “Yes, yes, I’m staying.”
It feels like she’s just made that decision on the spot. To avoid marrying me. Smart girl. Certainly smarter than me.
“I’m opening a club in Manhattan,” I announce, “so I guess I’ll be here more often.” What the fuck is coming out of my mouth?
“A club?” Sydney asks. “There is so much we need to catch up on, but I’m so glad we’ll see more of you.”
I curve up my lips, hoping I seem as excited as she is. I would be. I didn’t expect this reunion to happen, let alone for it to affect me this much.
But there are more pressing issues to tackle right now.
My eyes find Brook again and then continue scanning the room. Mom is gone. Sometime after my proposal she left.
What’s up with that? I’d expect her to be the first one to protest.
What does her retreating mean?
“So does the will allow for a long-distance marriage?” London asks. “Or are you planning to stay around more?” She looks at me.
I have no plan. But my no-plan certainly didn’t include staying in New York.
“I think that’s something that can be arranged, but my business is in Europe and Asia. I’ll need to travel.”
“Brook can travel with you.” Paris slides off the tall chair, holding her belly.
A glance at Brook confirms she’s less than thrilled about all the meddling. Why is everyone talking about her like she isn’t here? Has it always been like that?
London stands up as well and rubs her hands together. “It makes perfect sense. You were always close, so you’ll get along, and you’re family, so we don’t have to let a stranger in for this fucked-up situation. It’s make-believe, anyway.”
I guess this is happening. I’m fucking getting married.
My mind immediately starts planning how I’ll make a year of marriage in the US work with all my other responsibilities across the world.
And for a brief moment, I get excited. I’m a restless bastard. A nomad of a sort, and this new challenge excites me.
There is only one problem. Brook would be a part of that life.
And then I stop myself. I’m being the same asshole as the rest of the family, ignoring her opinion on the matter.
Turning my head, I catch her biting her cuticle. She looks even more desperate and lost than before, and I grab the edge of the counter to keep from wrapping my arms around her.
Why is everyone getting ready to leave as if the matter is settled? Fuck.
“It was just an idea, Brook,” I say, and she snaps her eyes to me. “We don’t have to do it. I’m sure there is another solution.”
“This one would be an easy one,” Dom offers.
Shut up, fucker. Let her decide.
Her eyes dart around, meeting the expectant looks of her sisters, who seem to want to be done with this. Who, despite all odds, believe this is the perfect solution.
How many times has she stood under this metaphorical firing squad? Crushed under our family’s expectations. She only ever wanted to fit in. To be one of them.
From her non-cosmopolitan name to being always the baby of the family, she never felt like she had a voice.
And yet, in the end, when it came to us, she chose them. That’s how strong her need for acceptance used to be. And still is, I guess.
She squares her shoulders and grins—her very best fake grin that I still recognize—and shrugs. “But I want a huge rock.”