Secret Twins for my Brother’s Best Friends (Surprise Baby Daddies #3)

Chapter 1 Parker

PARKER

The hotel lobby smells like money and sawdust.

Fresh paint tries to mask the scent of old wood and salt air.

I catch it anyway. That particular blend of Carolina coast and childhood summers I haven’t let myself think about in six years.

The marble beneath my heels is new, veined in gold that probably cost more than my car.

Crystal chandeliers throw prismed light across walls that remember when this place was all dark paneling and stuffed marlins.

I shift my weight, the slit in my dress catching cool air against my thigh, and try to focus on the woman behind the check-in desk instead of the knot tightening between my shoulder blades.

“So you’re saying the luggage will arrive tonight?” My voice comes out steadier than I feel. Professional. The same tone I used three days ago when I stood in front of the board and pretended my hands weren’t shaking.

The name on the attendant’s name tag reads, Melissa as she offers me a smile that’s meant to be reassuring. It isn’t. “As soon as the airport locates your bag, we’ll have it brought directly to your room. I promise, Ms. Carter, we’ll take excellent care of it.”

Excellent care.

Right. Because that’s exactly what you want someone promising when your luggage contains a leather flogger, two types of restraints, and a very expensive—very anatomically designed—prototype that your boss specifically said you needed to “field test for authenticity.”

The presentation was a success. Probably.

I won’t know until Tuesday when I’m back in the office, and Sandra either promotes me or thanks me for my time.

But either way, I’d shoved everything into my suitcase in a caffeine-fueled panic to catch my flight, and now those items are somewhere in the American Airlines void, waiting to be discovered by a baggage handler who definitely doesn’t get paid enough for this.

Heat crawls up my neck. I feel it in my cheeks, in the hollow of my throat where my pulse taps an anxious rhythm against skin.

“That’s perfect. Thank you.” I’m already turning away, already trying to calculate how quickly I can escape to my room and have a minor breakdown in private, when arms wrap around me from behind.

“Parker!”

The squeal precedes the impact. I stumble forward in my heels—six inches of white stiletto that suddenly feel like stilts—and barely catch myself on the desk edge before I’m spun around into a cloud of perfume and tulle.

Sienna Rhodes is exactly as beautiful as her Instagram promised.

Honey-colored skin, dark curls that cascade over bare shoulders, and a smile so genuine it almost hurts to look at.

She’s wearing a sundress that probably costs more than my entire wardrobe, cream linen that makes her look like she belongs in a Mediterranean villa instead of a North Carolina island hotel.

“You’re here, you’re actually here! I can’t believe you’re finally here!” She’s bouncing, actually bouncing, her hands clasped around mine like we’re old friends instead of two people who’ve only FaceTimed three times. “Charlie, look, it’s Parker!”

And there’s my brother.

Charles Carter, my fraternal twin, walks toward us with that easy confidence he’s always had—the kind that made him captain of every team, president of every club, favorite of every parent who wasn’t ours.

He’s in linen pants and a white button-down rolled to his elbows, looking like an ad for expensive watches or coastal real estate.

His skin holds a warm tan from days spent sailing and summers in the sun, and his light brown hair gleams gold beneath the chandeliers.

“About time, little sister.” His arms come around me, solid and familiar, and for a moment I let myself sink into them. For just a moment, I let myself be six years old again when Charlie was my whole world and not the overprotective pain in my ass who still thinks I need a curfew at twenty-eight.

“Missed you too.” I pull back, blinking against the sudden sting behind my eyes. I will not cry. I’ve already cried twice this week—once during the presentation, once on the plane when they announced my bag was missing—and I’m done. “Congratulations. Both of you.”

Sienna makes a sound that might be a sob or a laugh.

She loops her arm through mine like we’ve known each other forever.

“I’m so glad you could come. I know your schedule is crazy, and I know you couldn’t be maid of honor, but just having you here means everything.

You’re going to be my sister.” Her voice breaks on the word. “I never had a sister.”

Something warm and sharp twists beneath my ribs. Guilt, maybe. Or the echo of all the times I should’ve been here and wasn’t.

“Your bag will be delivered as soon as we locate it,” Melissa repeats behind me, and I turn too quickly, nearly losing my balance.

“Yes. Thank you. That’s—thank you.” I’m smiling too widely, my words tripping over themselves in my rush to end this conversation before Charlie or Sienna asks what’s so important about my luggage.

Because I cannot—cannot—explain to my overprotective brother that my suitcase is currently a traveling sex shop.

Charlie’s already frowning, that big brother radar pinging. “Everything okay? What’s wrong with your bag?”

“Nothing. Just delayed. Happens all the time.” I loop my other arm through his, sandwiching myself between them before he can ask more questions. “Come on. I haven’t seen anyone in forever, and I’m going to need at least three glasses of champagne before I deal with Mom and Dad in the same room.”

Sienna laughs, the sound like wind chimes, and starts pulling me toward the back of the lobby, where I can already hear voices and music. “Oh God, your dad brought Aria. She’s so sweet, but your mom—”

“Is pretending she doesn’t exist while making passive-aggressive comments about the hors d’oeuvres. I know.” I’ve been preparing for this all week. “That’s why I’m here. Professional buffer. Crisis management. I have a whole degree in it, technically.”

“Marketing,” Charlie corrects.

“Same thing.”

The lobby opens into a courtyard that didn’t exist the last time I was here.

It’s all restored brick and Edison bulbs strung between posts, ivy crawling up trellises that frame a view of the harbor.

The sun is starting its descent, painting everything in shades of amber and rose, and the air tastes like salt and champagne and something I can’t name.

Groups of people cluster around high-top tables, voices rising and falling in that particular rhythm of pre-wedding gatherings—excited, slightly nervous, trying too hard. I spot my parents immediately.

Mom, Evelyn Carter, stands near the bar, elegant in a navy wrap dress that shows off the toned arms she maintains with religious dedication to yoga and Pilates.

Her hair is honey-blonde, swept into a soft twist that gleams in the fading light.

Her eyes—those same sea-glass green eyes I see in the mirror every morning—track the room with the precision of someone used to being admired.

Dad, the infamous and imposing Dominic Carter, stands on the opposite side of the courtyard with his hand on the small of Aria’s back.

Aria, who is twenty-three. Who has beachy blonde waves and a romper that shows off legs that go on forever. Who is closer to my age than my father’s.

My stomach clenches. Not with anger—I’ve processed that, mostly—but with the exhausting knowledge that I’m going to spend this entire week running interference so this wedding doesn’t turn into a family therapy session.

“Parker!” Mom spots me first. Her face lights up in that way that makes her beautiful, that reminds me she was a model before she married Dad, before she had us.

She cuts through the crowd with the grace of someone who’s always been watched, and then her arms are around me, her perfume—something expensive and floral—filling my nose.

“You’re so thin. Are you eating?” She pulls back, her hands framing my face, her dark eyes scanning like she can diagnose all my problems in one look.

“I’m eating, Mom. Promise.” I kiss her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look exhausted.” She brushes a curl away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “This job is working you too hard.”

That’s just a mother’s love telling her daughter she looks less than appealing.

You have to love that backhanded concern, right?

Before I can respond, Dad appears at my elbow. He’s aged well—gray at his temples, lines around his eyes that make him look distinguished instead of old. He pulls me into a hug that smells like his cologne and the mint gum he’s always chewing.

“There’s my girl. How was the flight?”

“Long. Lost my luggage.” I don’t look at Aria, who’s hovering just behind him, her smile uncertain. I should acknowledge her. I know I should. But I can feel Mom’s tension radiating like heat, and I’m too tired to navigate this minefield right now.

Aria clears her throat softly. “Hi, Parker. It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”

She’s sweet. I can hear it in her voice, see it in the way she’s trying so hard to make this less awkward. It’s not her fault my father went through a midlife crisis and traded in his marriage for someone who wasn’t even born when he graduated from college.

“Nice to meet you, too.” I manage a smile. It probably doesn’t reach my eyes.

Charlie, bless him, swoops in with Sienna at his side. “So, Em.” He’s grinning now, that particular smile that says he’s proud of something. “What do you think of the place? It’s different from what you remember, right?”

I glance around the courtyard, at the carefully restored brick and the elegant lighting, the way everything feels both historic and brand new. “It’s gorgeous. When did they renovate?”

“Recently. The new owners have been pouring money into it.” Sienna practically vibrates with excitement. “And you’ll never guess who bought it.”