Silence
“Xavier’s not answering his phone,” Zayden says as I descend the stairs. “If he’s late, I’m going to kick his ass.” He dials again, growling when there’s seemingly no response. “X, if you’re not here in the next two minutes, we’re leaving without you.”
Yale chuckles. “Who leaves voicemails anymore?”
I reach Zayden’s side. “He’ll be here. Is Grant meeting us at the restaurant?”
“Yeah.” He frowns at his phone, but it fades quickly when he sees me.
His gaze drops down my dress, and he holds his arm out.
“Wife.” The word is possessive, seductive, and I go to him, his lips quickly meeting mine.
It’s far too intimate a kiss for an audience, but the spark it creates in my heart has me leaning into it, anyway.
When he lifts his mouth from mine, I recognize something dark and delicious in his expression—the urge to play. “Doesn’t she look incredible, Yale?”
My heart thuds painfully against my rib cage, and I shift my gaze to my husband’s brother.
“Yes,” he says, his expression similarly heated as Zayden kisses my neck. “She does.”
The unspoken dream dances between us, and a pleasant throbbing between my legs has me squeezing my thighs together. The quiet holds so much potential. My nipples harden, and Zayden’s hand skims down my back, squeezing a handful of my—
The roar of a motorbike interrupts the moment. Yale winks at me, and I stifle a stuttered laugh as Zayden snatches the door open. We step out into the December air, the street glowing with Christmas lights, front lawns covered in blow-up Santas and elves. It’s a colorful, pretty sight.
And then there’s Xavier.
Clad in his thick, worn biker leathers, he stops his bike on the drive before taking off his helmet. He climbs off, and his dark, silky hair slips through his fingers as he brushes it back.
“You’re late,” Zayden says through gritted teeth.
“You said be home by seven.” Xavier walks by us and into the house, stripping off his leathers. He tosses them and his helmet onto the sofa.
“And it’s fifteen past,” Yale points out. “Where’s your suit? You can’t get into this place in jeans and a T-shirt, X.”
Xavier cracks his neck, emerald eyes meeting mine.
“I’m sure Little Q doesn’t mind me being late.
Do you, Q?” I arch a brow and say nothing.
It’ll dissolve into an argument that I can’t be assed to have, especially considering I’m still having flashbacks of what I saw this morning.
“As for my outfit, I’d like to meet the person brave enough to get between me and a steak. Are we going?”
He breezes out of the house and over to the SUV, climbing into the back. Yale follows, and Zayden stands in place on the front doorstep.
“You coming?”
He works his jaw. “I need a minute.”
“He’s just being Xavier,” I say, resting my hand on his arm. “Ignore him. I plan on doing so for the rest of the evening.”
“It’s your birthday, baby.”
I smile and shrug. “When has X ever cared about what’s important to me?”
After bickering for a few minutes over who should drive, eventually I get into the driver’s seat.
We battle our way through traffic with one brother giving crappy directions, one insisting he doesn’t “do navigation,” and the third sulking in the back seat.
Yale sighs from behind me, insisting that Zayden is talking out of his ass when he tells me to turn left, and Xavier groans for the millionth time.
I’m going to kill all three of them.
“Okay, enough!” I bark, gripping the steering wheel, my knuckles bleaching. “I’m turning around!”
Xavier throws his hands up. “Thank fuck for that.”
“Not a chance. I booked this restaurant six months ago,” Zayden says from beside me. “Yale, if you know the way so damn well, you tell Silence where to go.”
“Or better yet, let me fucking drive,” Xavier snaps.
And it begins.
Zayden turns in his seat to glare at his brother. “Three words for you. Peanut butter. Racoon.”
“What happened to never bringing that up again?” Xavier flicks his brother’s cheek, and Zayden leans into the back, punching his brother’s leg, who starts cackling and punching him back.
Yale sighs. “This is not road safe.”
I let out a scream. “Everyone shut up, or this will become the smallest crime scene on earth! I swear I will paint the interior of this car with the blood of every male Silver!”
Everyone falls quiet, until Xavier whistles through his teeth. “Jesus, Q. That’s dark.”
“I am a woman on the edge,” I hiss.
Zayden lands one final punch in Xavier’s leg before returning to his seat. Resting his hand on the back of my neck, he strokes his thumb across my nape, something he knows I love. “You’re far too pretty to go to jail, Q.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Kiss-ass.”
“There it is,” Yale says, and he’s right. We’ve finally beat the streets of LA and arrived at our goddamn destination.
Parking takes as much time as you’d expect on a Friday night, so thirty minutes later, we’re walking into Clovers—the newest, most exclusive hotel and restaurant in the city.
Zayden slides his arm around my waist. “Do you want to get a drink while I deal with the reservation?” he says low into my ear, and I nod.
He kisses my temple, and I’m seamlessly passed to Yale.
Xavier keeps close, and his quick wink at the hostess and her following blush meaning he’s likely dodged a bullet with his outfit.
The restaurant that’s connected to the five-star hotel isn’t overly dim, which makes it perfect for people-watching.
The sleek white and silver décor could feel futuristic and tacky if it weren’t for the soft, almost rustic lighting that lines the walls and flooring.
Piano music floats from the solo performer to my far left, and the conversation is murmured, as if everyone here understands the noise level must be adhered to, otherwise it’d be a scandal.
People are draped in diamonds and designer, and their laughter feels as polished as their cutlery.
Nine years of drifting among these people and my skin still crawls at the thought of anyone thinking I’m one of them.
My childhood was food stamps and sparse Christmases, and I’m okay with that.
Our bank balance wasn’t the problem—my father was.
Zayden grew up with money, but even he says these places set his teeth on edge.
We’re in this fishbowl of wealth for two reasons only: one, people-watching is my guilty pleasure. I could create endless tales about those surrounding me and never get bored. Two: this is the only restaurant offering chocolate spaghetti, and I want to know what the heck that is.
“I’m surprised they let you in. You’re too lucky for your own good,” I say to Xavier as we reach the bar. I’m already hunting through my purse for lipstick.
“Three beers and a Seven and Seven,” Xavier says to the bartender, not even bothering to look at me. “It’s charm, Q. Not luck.”
I grunt in response to Xavier’s tone and scan the bar as I apply my lipstick, attempting to ignore the eyes on us.
It’s the brothers they’re looking at, not me.
After all, it’s incredibly rare to see identical triplets, let alone ones as handsome as the Silver brothers.
But I still feel like they can pick up on my unease—the glare of not belonging.
It’s frustrating. Thirty years old and still feeling sixteen. Unsure of what I’m doing, certain I’m doing most things wrong. The only difference now is that I don’t have the pressure of being my father’s daughter—I just have the scars.
Yale moves close, resting his hand on the bar behind me, essentially boxing me between him and his brother. I’m trapped between muscles and expensive cologne, and I resist leaning into Yale and the safety he and his brother provide just by being close.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
Yale nods, taking a swig of his beer—the only one he’ll have tonight. “Fine.”
“She’s my brother’s wife,” Xavier suddenly snaps. “Keep looking at her ass and this glass is going in your eye.” I glance behind me in time to see a man duck low in his seat.
Yale sighs. “I was trying to be subtle, X.”
My chest warms a little at how quickly they jump to my defense, even Xavier, and I note several women watching us—in particular, a redhead at the end of the bar.
I frown, and this time I do lean into Yale and make a point to remove some non-existent lint from Xavier’s T-shirt.
The woman smirks knowingly and raises her glass before a dark-haired man whispers in her ear and they disappear to the other side of the restaurant.
I snatch my hand back when I notice Xavier is watching me with a perplexed expression, my pinched fingers hovering over his chest. “What are you doing?”
“Bullet hair,” I mumble, turning away.
Why do I even care that women are looking at them? Yale hasn’t been on a date in God knows how long, and he’d make a great boyfriend. I doubt Xavier goes more than a few nights without bringing someone home, but maybe he’d like to get to know the beautiful redhead.
I blink when Xavier presses the tip of his index finger between my eyes. “Stop frowning. It’s your fucking birthday.”
Slapping his hand away, I pull myself out of my thoughts and scan the room, and as I do, Zayden and I lock eyes. He’s waiting by the hostess as she types into her computer, and his gaze cuts quickly to my right, then back to me.
Following his attention, I spot a blonde man at the end of the bar, drinking alone. He’s watching me and raises his glass.
My cheeks warm, my heart races, and a pleasant tingle works its way between my thighs. I offer the stranger a smile, then meet the heated gaze of my husband.
“Q, you ready?” Yale asks, sliding his arm around my waist. I nod, and he guides me to the table.
Zayden pulls my chair out and leans in close as I sit.
“Are you wet?”
I almost choke as I try to swallow, landing an elbow in his ribs, and he lets out an “ooft” as if I’ve shot him.
Asshole.