11. 11
Killian
Inside the restaurant, the scent of garlic and fresh bread saturates the air. We’re led to a table, and I pull out Harlow’s chair — not that she deserves it.
She sits and says thank you softly before giving a weak smile.
I hate it.
She isn’t the same defiant girl. She pities me now. She knows she just knocked me sideways.
A date.
A fucking date.
He’ll buy her dinner and get to fuck her. I hand her a better-paying job, and I’m a mistake.
I can’t believe it.
We order drinks, and I slump in my seat, brooding. Feeling is overrated.
Her gaze drops to my clenched fists.
“You okay?” she whispers.
I glare at her. “What’s this Jaxson tool got that I don’t?”
She doesn’t need to think. “A job.”
“A job! I’m fucking richer than him. I guarantee it.”
“Killian.” She says my name like I’m the problem. “I love that he is ambitious, like me.”
“I can be ambitious.”
She purses her lips, holding back her words.
I hate that even more. This pity shit is unbearable.
“Hi, River. Hi, Nina,” says a woman.
I know that voice from anywhere. Frida.
Fuck. My. Life.
I force myself to look up. My stunning Puerto Rican ex stands beside the table, wearing one of her countless spandex dresses that hug every line. Her flowing brown hair is perfect, along with her makeup, her nails, everything. Like always.
And I couldn’t care less.
I hold back a groan and stand, waiting for her to rush around the table to give me a hug.
She does.
“Killy! Look at you.” She sucks in a breath through her teeth as she studies my new scars. She saw them before, but I guess it still bothers her.
“Sit with us,” says River, as if this wasn’t planned.
Why are my brothers trying to hook me up with this woman? They need to let it go.
“Oh, I shouldn’t,” Frida says, but gingerly settles into the chair River placed next to mine.
“So, how was your wedding on Sunday?” I ask Frida.
“It was beautiful. Matteo and I are so happy. I wish you would’ve been there. I was worried.”
“Everyone worries about me,” I grumble.
River clears his throat, his expression astonished. “I— I didn’t realize you were married.”
“Si. Killian didn’t tell you?” She pets my head like we’re still together. We haven’t dated for years, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m more interested in showing my brother what a psycho he invited to dinner.
Why do my brothers think I can’t want a girl like Harlow? I prefer hanging out with poor people. Nobody in my family wants to believe I don’t belong in a world of fine tablecloths and menus without prices.
The irony is, the penniless girl sitting next to me wants her own kind. A man with a job. A man with ambition. A man who belongs in her shitty trailer.
I unball my fists when a hand slips on my thigh. I look down, catching bright red nails stroking up and down.
Goddamn it.
A small gasp follows. Harlow stares at Frida’s wandering hand. I shake my head and lean close.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” I growl impatiently.
“No, no! I just... She’s married.”
That excuse just angers me more. Harlow’s hiding behind her ethics again. She’s obviously jealous and won’t admit it.
I don’t savor catching her lie like I normally would. This is the night from hell. Two women I’ve fucked at the same table, and the girl I want is hooked on some other guy.
Nothing I do gets her to soften, and—
Alcohol.
It hits like an intervention.
“They have good wine here,” I say to Harlow. I snap my fingers at the waiter and order her a bottle of Pinot Noir. She fights me the whole time. Frida demands she have some, too, giving me an evil glare because I hadn’t included her.
She and I dated for so long that we can say a lot without words. Too bad I stopped caring what she says.
As I look into her big eyes, I make it clear: Fuck off.
Frida doesn’t retreat and glances at the server. “Bring two bottles, please.”
He nods and shuffles off.
“So, River,” I say, “when did you and Nina start dating?”
“What was it, babe? Six months ago?”
Nina nods, her expression pained.
I’ve been living the life of a wanderer. I rarely saw my family. I have an excuse. Nina was with River. She had to know about me. That must be why she didn’t want my number.
But what was she doing around the places I hang out?
“We’re getting married in the fall,” says River. “We just need more cash. I want to give Nina the wedding of her dreams.”
Nina smiles softly. “Yeah, weddings are expensive. My dress alone is ten grand. The venue is fifty.”
Harlow chokes on her water. I can’t help but chuckle.
“Do you want a big wedding?”
She shakes her head. “Not if it costs that much!”
Everyone at the table laughs — except River. He looks me dead in the eye, dark and stern.
“I want you to talk to Mom and Dad. Ask them to pay for the wedding.”
I point at myself. “Why me?”
“Because they’ll give you whatever you want.”
That’s probably true. Oh, well. What do I care?
“I’ll ask.”
River softens and leans back in his seat, appearing relieved.
Really relieved. Part of me wonders if that was the point of this dinner.
It wouldn’t be the first time my brothers asked for favors.
They think I have direct access to our parents’ bank accounts.
In reality, Dad has cut me off more times than I can count.
“I’ll probably get married at a courthouse,” Harlow murmurs, only loud enough for me to hear.
A courthouse. Something about that bothers me. They always say it’s the bride’s day.
“Do you have a large family?”
“No. Just a sister and a few extended family. It wouldn’t be worth all that fuss.”
“What do you want? A big or small wedding?” she asks.
This is starting to feel like a date, which I am all for.
“I want whatever my bride wants, but I wouldn’t let her go to a courthouse or wear a cheap dress because she’s worried about money.”
To my surprise, she chuckles. “That’s because you don’t understand reality. It’s not like poor people get a choice in that kind of stuff.”
“So you plan to marry a loser who can’t give you anything you want?”
She balks, like the idea of marrying rich is unfathomable.
“I plan to marry someone I love, and yeah, he probably won’t be rich. It’s not like hanging out in places like this with people like you is something I ever do.”
I sip my water and say casually, “You should aim higher. You’re pretty enough.”
“Oh, gosh,” she mumbles.
That pisses me off. It was a real compliment. She is. I don’t know if I’d marry trash. My brother would. I mean, based on where I met Nina, I’m doubting she has money.
The server returns and opens a bottle, then pours everyone a glass.
Thank God.
I need drunk-Harlow tonight.