Chapter 1 Parker #2
Something in her tone makes my stomach flip. That particular combination of glee and mischief that usually means trouble.
“Who?”
“Jace, Cal, and Silas,” Charlie says, and the names land like stones in water, ripples spreading outward. “They bought it last year.”
The champagne in my hand suddenly feels too cold. My fingers tighten around the stem.
Jace Moreau. Callum Voss. Silas Vale.
Ugh.
“What? Why?” My voice sounds flat. Distant.
My brother doesn’t provide more of an answer than a simple shrug. That’s how it’s been since Dad bestowed the inheritance of the Carter family name on him. Ladies aren’t exactly invited to sit in the meeting room.
“I couldn’t decide on a best man,” Charlie continues, oblivious to the way my pulse has kicked into overdrive.
“So they just...took over. Offered the hotel as the venue, said they’d handle everything.
The bachelor party, the bachelorette party, and accommodations for all the guests. The whole thing.”
Sienna squeezes his arm, her eyes soft as she looks up at him. “They’re your family. Of course, they’d want to do this for you.”
Family.
The word scrapes against something raw inside me.
Because they were family once. The Kane brothers were as much a part of my childhood as Charlie, as present in my memories as our own house.
Summer days at their place by the water, winters skating on the pond behind their property, springs and falls, and every moment in between.
Until I left and didn’t look back because staying meant living under the watchful eyes of four overprotective men who saw me as nothing more than a responsibility.
Charlie’s annoying little sister. The girl who needed protection from the world and from herself.
I couldn’t grow up. I couldn’t have my own life.
Don’t even ask if I’m still a virgin, okay.
“That’s... generous of them,” I manage.
Charlie’s studying me now, that older brother scrutiny that sees too much. “You okay?”
“Fine. Just tired from the flight.” I drain my champagne and immediately wish I hadn’t. The bubbles pop sharply against my tongue, my throat. “I should probably—”
“Parker, you haven’t met Rochelle yet!” Sienna’s already pulling someone forward. “Rochelle, this is Parker. Parker, this is my cousin Rochelle. She’s my maid of honor.”
Rochelle Martins is stunning. Deep brown skin, braids that fall past her shoulders with gold cuffs catching the light, and a body-con dress in deep burgundy that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
She’s holding a champagne flute like it’s a prop, her lips curved in a smile that’s all confidence and invitation.
“So you’re the famous little sister.” She looks me up and down in a way that feels appreciative rather than assessing. “Charlie talks about you constantly.”
“Everything is true. Especially if he told you about when I hopped a fence wearing a jean miniskirt.”
“Mm. Overprotective things mostly.” Her smile widens. “But I get it. Brothers are like that. My older brother still tries to vet my dates, and I’m twenty-eight.”
I laugh despite myself. “Charlie tried that once in high school. I went out with the guy anyway just to spite him.”
“That’s the spirit.” She links her arm through mine like we’re old friends. “Come on. I need another drink, and you look like you need several. Let the lovebirds do their thing.”
Charlie and Sienna are already being pulled away by another group of guests, and I let Rochelle guide me toward the bar. She moves through the crowd like she owns it, all confidence and curves, and I find myself grateful for the distraction.
“So.” She leans against the bar, signaling the bartender. “Six years in California. That’s a long time.”
“Work,” I say automatically. “And school before that. It’s hard to get time off.”
“Mmhm.” She accepts two champagne flutes from the bartender and hands me one. “Well, I’m glad I finally have someone here to help me navigate maid of honor duties with a Kane brother thirst traps.”
Jeez. You’d think puberty had hit them differently than I remembered from her Google Review.
My stomach tightens. “Or something.”
“She showed me pictures.” Rochelle takes a sip, her eyes glinting with interest that has nothing to do with me. “Holy *shit*, Parker. Jace looks like he could break someone in half. In a hot way. All that intensity and control.”
She’s not wrong. Even the thought of Jace makes my chest tighten—memories of broad shoulders and careful hands, the way he taught me to throw a punch and then immediately told Charlie I’d been in a fight, so I got grounded for a week.
“And Cal,” Rochelle continues, her voice dropping to something appreciative. “That whole dark and dangerous thing. Quiet but deadly, you know? The kind of guy who sees everything and says nothing until it matters.”
I take a long drink instead of responding. Cal was always like that. Watching. Waiting. Making me feel like I was under a microscope whenever he was around, like he could see straight through every lie I told.
“And Silas.” She practically purrs his name. “God. That smile alone should be illegal. He looks like trouble wrapped in the prettiest package.”
“He is,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her eyebrows rise. “Personal experience?”
“He’s one of Charlie’s best friends. Was. Is.” I shake my head, trying to clear the champagne fog that’s already settling over my thoughts. “They all are. Were. I grew up with them.”
“So you know them.” She leans in, her interest sharpening. “Are they single? Please tell me at least one of them is single and interested in a wedding fling.”
A laugh bursts out of me, surprised and genuine. “I have no idea. I haven’t seen them in six years.”
“But you knew them before. What were they like?” She’s watching me now, her gaze speculative. “Give me something to work with here. I’m trying to decide which one to target.”
“Target?” The word comes out sharper than I intend.
“For the week.” She grins, shameless. “Come on. You can’t tell me you looked at those pictures and didn’t think about it. Three gorgeous men, running a hotel, hosting a wedding. It’s basically a romance novel setup.”
It is. She’s right. And if I were anyone else, if they were anyone else, maybe I’d be plotting the same thing.
But they’re not anyone else. Jace, who taught me how to fight and then ratted me out. Cal, who read beside me in silence and reported back to Charlie every time I skipped curfew. Silas, who made me laugh and then made sure I never got close enough to any boy who showed interest.
Four overprotective older brothers. That’s what I had growing up. Charlie plus three.
And that’s exactly what I’m about to walk back into.
“Jace’s intense,” I say finally, taking another drink. “Like, scary intense. Military background. He doesn’t smile much, and when he does, it usually means someone’s about to have a very bad day.”
Rochelle’s eyes gleam. “I like intense.”
“Cal is...” I pause, trying to find words that won’t reveal too much. “Quieter. But don’t mistake that for soft. He notices everything. Remembers everything. You won’t know he’s watching until it’s too late.”
“Even better.”
“And Silas is exactly what he looks like. Charming. Funny. The kind of guy who can talk his way into or out of anything.” I meet her gaze. “But underneath all that charm is someone just as dangerous as his brothers. Maybe more, because you won’t see it coming.”
She’s practically vibrating now. “So you’re saying I should go for it.”
“I’m saying you should be careful.” The words come out more serious than I intend. “They’re... protective. Of the people they care about. And if Charlie’s getting married here, if they’re hosting everything, then they’re going to be everywhere. Watching everything.”
“Including watching me?” She grins. “Good. I like being watched.”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s bold. Confident in a way I’ve never quite managed. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Duly noted.” She raises her glass in a mock toast. “So what about you? Any plans for a wedding fling of your own?”
The question hits harder than it should. Because yes. Yes, I’d had plans. Vague, champagne-fuzzy plans to maybe find someone to help me forget about work stress and family drama. To remind myself that I’m twenty-eight and single and allowed to have fun.
But those plans died the moment Charlie said the Kane brothers owned this hotel.
“Probably not,” I say, aiming for casual and missing. “I’m here for Charlie and Sienna. Family obligations. Parental interference. That sort of thing.”
“Mmhm.” Rochelle doesn’t look convinced. “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. We can be each other’s wingmen. Or wingwomen. Whatever.”
“Deal.”
She opens her mouth to say something else, but her gaze catches on something over my shoulder. Her expression changes. Sharpens into something predatory and interested.
“Speaking of the devils,” she murmurs.
My spine goes rigid. “What?”
I follow her eye line to the double door entrance of the room, and I can practically hear the collective sigh of new Kane Brother fangirls in the room.
I roll my eyes.
Yep. Just like old times.
Cal enters first, or maybe he was always there, and I just didn’t see him.
That’s how he moves—like a shadow, like something that exists in peripheral vision until suddenly he doesn’t.
He has his arm around a woman, blonde and sleek in a black uniform that marks her as staff.
She’s laughing at something, tilting her face up toward his, and he’s looking down at her with an expression I can’t read from here.
Then he says something—I can’t hear it over the music and conversation—and her face falls. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to see disappointment flicker before she masks it with a professional smile. He releases her, gently but finally, and she slips away into the crowd.
Waitstaff. She’s waitstaff, and he just dismissed her.
Down goes another one. She’s better off.
Well, that’s not fair. He may have—I don’t know—matured in the past six years…maybe?
Another familiar face comes into view, but Jace doesn’t enter at all.
He leans against the doorframe, one shoulder pressed to the wood, arms crossed over his chest. He’s in all black—black slacks, black button-down, black everything, like he’s attending a funeral instead of a wedding party.
His hair is short, military-precise, and his jaw is sharp enough to cut.
He’s bigger than I remember. Broader. All that teenage lankiness filled out into something solid and immovable.
He’s not looking at the party.
He’s looking at me. But not the way he used to.