Twenty-One
Theo
I sla and I don’t speak as we navigate our way back to the heart of the party. I don’t need mind-reading powers to know her concern for Asher mirrors mine.
When we reach my family, Mom steps in immediately, giving my arm a reassuring squeeze.
“He’ll be okay.” The conviction in her voice helps to settle me. “The boys took him home.”
“Good. He shouldn’t be alone.”
Unlike me, my brother needs people.
Her gaze shifts to Isla, an apologetic smile tugging at her lips.
“Ash told me everything.” She lets out a remorseful exhale.
“It’s all my fault. I pushed too hard for his healing instead of giving him space to grieve his relationship.
” Reaching out, she cups Isla’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. ”
“I’m the one who should be sorry.” Isla places her palm over Mom’s hand. “I didn’t—”
“No one needs to apologize for anything,” Willow cuts in, waving her fingers dismissively. “Isla and Ash are still best friends. Sienna’s not marrying some criminal creep. Happy endings all around!”
Mom’s features soften. “You’re right. It really did work out for the best.” When she spots a group of friends waving her over, she gives Isla’s face a parting love tap and heads off to join them.
Willow stays put, her focus lasering in on Isla. “You know you don’t need to marry my brother to be my sister, right?”
Isla’s eyes widen, snapping to me. “What?”
Willow jabs an elbow into my ribs. “Tell her, Theo.”
It’s my turn to say: “What?”
“Tell Isla she’ll always be our sister.”
Sister ? That’s the last fucking thing I want her to be.
I fold my arms across my chest and continue to hold Isla’s gaze. “I’d rather not.”
Willow’s mouth dips into a frown. “You’re being a dick.” She swivels toward Isla, not missing a beat. “Why is he being a dick?”
“It’s fine,” Isla says quickly. “The feeling is mutual. I don’t love the idea of being his sister, either.”
Willow squints at us. I know that look—it’s her puzzle-solving, true-crime-podcast-listening expression. “ Wait .” She drags out the word, her voice climbing with excitement. “Did I stumble onto a nugget of sexual tension here? Isla! Do I still stand a chance at snagging you as my sister-in-law?”
The “No!” that rushes out of Isla’s mouth is far too quick. So damn final.
No .
No jokes. No deflections. Just a clean, sharp hit to my sternum.
What the hell did I expect?
That’s the definition of no strings .
“No,” she repeats. It’s a slammed door, leaving zero room for confusion.
Or hope.
“Fine.” Willow sighs dramatically, dropping her shoulders in mock defeat. “Since you’re dead set on avoiding joining the family, maybe I can introduce you to my friend’s cousin? He’s visiting for the holidays. Really great guy. Hot. Smart. Works in finance.”
“Isla is not interested,” I cut in firmly. There’s no way I’m letting some random finance bro hijack the last few days of our holiday.
I’ll gladly endure no strings with Isla over no Isla at all.
The territorial bastard awakened in me demands I drag her out of here and away from this alleged great guy .
I rein in the feral impulse, gesturing toward the cupcake tower instead. “Let’s get you something that will actually satisfy you,” I offer, then point a finger at my sister. “You, little demon, stay .”
“ Ooh . A night full of twists and turns!” Willow sing-songs after us.
As soon as Isla and I reach the dessert table, I grab a plate and assess the elaborate display. “One of each flavor?”
“What? No way.” A soft laugh spills past her lips. “We’re at a wedding. I should at least pretend I have manners. Jovie isn’t here to bail me out.” She gestures to a cupcake dusted with edible silver glitter. “Let’s go with this one.”
Sleigh Bells.
One of her top three favorites from Holly’s winter collection .
I make quick work of plating it. The frosting catches the light, resembling a freshly dusted snow hill. When I hand it over, our fingers brush. The contact lasts a beat too long. Or, rather, just long enough for a jolt of electricity to travel from her skin to mine.
Isla brings the treat to her lips with an R-rated kind of reverence that would be wasted on baked goods if it was anyone else doing it. But because it’s her—she’s got my undivided attention.
Her lashes lower, eyelids fluttering shut like she’s bracing for bliss. Her tongue swirls through the frosting in one smooth, indulgent lick. She goes back for seconds. Then thirds. Each stroke is a masterclass in torture.
By the fourth pass, my grip on reality is slipping.
Watching Isla savor sugar is infinitely better than consuming it. It’s a spectacle. A performance I can taste in more ways than one.
My cock twitches in agreement, fully invested in the show. I shift, subtly adjusting the growing pressure behind the fly of my tailored trousers.
Our eyes catch above the cupcake, locking with a tactile kind of tension. As if tuned in to the thoughts barreling through my skull, Isla grins.
And— fuck .
Fantasies of sucking the sweetness off her lips roar to life. I want to taste the icing from her fingers, chase it down her throat, lick it from between her thighs. Coat her in sugar so I can clean her with my tongue. I crave to feast on every inch of her until she’s entirely mine.
I’ve seen her come twice. Felt her tremble against me once.
Her next orgasm?
It belongs to my mouth .
The thought of devouring her winds me so tight that when her tongue darts out to swipe the corner of her mouth, I groan.
Out. Loud.
Shit .
“Oh my!” A chirpy voice slices through my lust-drunk haze like a candy cane shiv.
Holly —in all her sugar-dusted glory.
“What a sight!” she exclaims.
I jerk back like she’s the pastry police here to bust me for indecent thoughts about her product.
Honestly? Valid .
“I knew you were the right Thorne man, Theo!”
She wedges herself between us, sporting a pastel apron over her formal dress. A sparkly headband crowns her dark hair.
“Thank goodness!” She beams, then follows it up with a wink. “Willow had me thinking I was losing my mind.”
Isla arches her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
Holly doesn’t answer. She just leans in to straighten out the small wooden sign displaying her new company logo.
“You did an incredible job with the design. Now, when this guy”—she tilts her chin my way—“sends over your weekly cupcake order, your incredible talent will shine front and center on every box. How special is that?”
With those words, the shit-stirring baker vanishes, leaving me to smother the flames she fanned.
“Why did…” Uncertainty clouds Isla’s features. Curiosity, too. “What did Holly mean by this guy ?” She gestures vaguely at me before turning to the cupcakes. “She made it seem like…”
I keep my face neutral, letting her take charge of how this plays out .
“Those orders have been arriving at my desk for over a year. Every single Monday sin—” She freezes, her mouth falling open. “Since you left AdCraft?!”
I can’t tell if it’s a question or a realization, but I nod.
“It’s not just cupcakes!” Isla continues, panic gripping her voice. “There’s been so much stuff! Art supplies, design books, bubble tea from the fanciest place downtown. So many indulgences I could never justify—” She gasps. “My Jingle Bells socks!”
“To be fair, I regret sending those now that I know they traumatized poor Jovie.”
Isla’s fingers tremble as she stares at the cupcake in her hand like it might provide answers. “Why did you do it?”
“AdCraft is a soul-sucking hellhole. I hated you working there. Alone. Sunshine surrounded by darkness. I couldn’t fucking stand it, Isla.”
She takes a step back. “Ash said the packages were from someone who cares about me. I assumed it was him being his usual dramatic self and playing some silly game. He went along with it. I never thought you…” Her voice fades as she trails off.
“I knew you’d refuse anything that came from me,” I say quietly. “When he told me you thought he was the sender, I asked him to run with it.” At the time, it was the only way to stay close without scaring her off.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this information?” She throws her hands up in the air.
“Nothing. Just don’t stop accepting the deliveries.” I pause and swallow through the tightness in my throat. “Just…let me care.”
“But you don’t care! We worked together at the same company for an entire year, and you pretended I didn’t exist. Except, of course, when you took it upon yourself to sabotage my career. ”
I flinch at the accusation. “That was never my intention.”
“No?” she fires back. “Because from where I stood, you made it impossible for me to succeed! The big conference in Mexico City? You threw your weight around to block me from attending. How about when you shut me out of the gala at Klubb Elixir?” She takes up listing my infractions on her fingers.
“You even ordered Jett to keep me away from the international client meeting in Paris. Told him I wasn’t ready!
” Her breath hitches, but the blaze in her eyes doesn’t dim.
“Every time I got close to proving myself, you slammed the door in my face.”
That last sentence is a punch to my gut.
As I open my mouth to reply, a woman I don’t recognize approaches the dessert table.
I wait a moment for her to load her plate, but when she spends an excessive amount of time wavering between cookies and macarons—then finds it necessary to enlist an entire committee of peers in the endeavor—I steer Isla away from the action.
“You think I didn’t want you to succeed?
” I ask in a low tone. Nausea accompanies the next words out of my mouth.
“Mexico City wasn’t about showcasing your talent.
Jett, Dante, and Axel were taking bets on which of their sick little followers would get into your pants first. And, trust me, Isla, those pricks were ready and willing to take any path necessary to win.
So yeah, I made sure you weren’t there.”
“Klubb Elixir?”
“Same shit, different font. Ever heard of Rookie Roulette?”
Isla shakes her head.
“How about Fresh Meat Frenzy? Intern Initiation Inferno?” I rattle off the stupid titles, repulsion deepening my voice with each one.
Another headshake. Followed by a frown. “Paris?” she whispers. “I knew it was too good to be true for someone in my position to get a chance at taking point on a project, but since it required graphics-heavy work I just—”
“Paris was a setup. Those idiots were balls deep in a shady deal. They knew it would fall through and bite them in the ass, so the plan was to sacrifice you. Let you lead the path up the cliff, shove you off the edge, and walk away clean. I couldn’t stand by and watch them destroy you—personally or professionally. ”
“Is that why they fired Golden Boy Kyle?” A hint of satisfaction creeps into her voice. “He rubbed that trip in my face every chance he got.”
“He quit, but it wasn’t exactly voluntary.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” She presses a hand against her sternum, as if bracing for impact.
“I tried. At the beginning.” A muscle in my jaw ticks. “It ended with you going on a date to spite me.”
Her eyes narrow, heat creeping into her glare. “My date with Oliver had nothing to do with you.”
I let out a low, humorless laugh. “Do you want to know how much money he won?” The going term between the frat boy execs was Pussy Points .
“No! That’s—”
“Let’s just say I knew exactly how far that date went.” I spent the entire night wide awake—wired with worry, seething with rage, imagining the satisfying sound of the bastard’s neck snapping.
“What?” Her fingers fly to cover her mouth. “We didn’t—”
“I know.” Thank fuck .
“So, he got money? For… me ?”
I nod. “He also earned a concussion.”
“Theo!” Her mouth pops open. “What did you do? He just… vanished after that night.” The concern winding through her words is palpable .
Is it for me or the asshole?
“You asking if I offed him?” I tilt my head. “If I started by ripping off every finger he laid on you, then buried him somewhere so deep even the earth would forget him?”
She gasps, evidently shocked by the vivid details of my fantasy. One I’ve replayed far too many times.
“I wanted to.” The asshole is lucky he walked away with just a concussion. “I struck a deal with Alistair. They got rid of Oliver, and I agreed to take on an oil conglomerate campaign the firm had been trying to shove down my throat.”
“The Gaiatrax Energy Group job?” she asks. “I always wondered how that made its way into your portfolio. It was so out of character.”
“Trust me, it’s not in my portfolio,” I say. “It was one hell of a moral dilemma.” And what made me realize I needed out of AdCraft. An infraction I’ve been attempting to repent for with every client I sign to my new firm’s roster. “But Oliver had to go.”
“You gave someone a concussion and sold your environment-loving soul for me?”
“Tell me again how I hated you.”
“But…you left. And left me with the sharks.”
“I figured that if I didn’t leave, I’d end up destroying both of our careers.
Yours maybe inadvertently, but ruin it nevertheless.
And I rerouted those sharks before getting out,” I remind her.
“In exchange for not poaching any of my loyal clients from AdCraft, Alastair’s grandsons ended up with major promotions—far the fuck away from you.
Axel is terrorizing the Japan office, Dante is screwing over Brazil, and Jett has been working remotely from strip clubs all across Europe. ”
“Theo, that’s—” Her breath stutters. “That’s a lot of new information.”
“I’m not expecting you to do anything with it.”
She meets my gaze. “Then what do you expect?”
“Nothing.” My care for her isn't about a return on investment.
Her eyes drop to my mouth. “ Right . No strings.”
Not what I meant— at all —but if sticking to that rule is what she needs…
“Whatever you want, Isla.”
“Whatever I want?” she echoes.
I nod. “Yes.”
Always .