I slam into Tate’s office on Monday morning to find him kicked back in his chair, his feet on his desk as he talks into the phone. This is the first time I’ve seen him since the awards ceremony, which he disappeared from while I was still doing my best to keep Delilah in my view at all times. Then he up and flew his personal airplane to Napa Valley for the rest of the weekend and refused to answer my calls.
His brows rise at my precipitous entry. “Something’s just come up,” he says to whoever’s on the other end of the phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”
He hangs up as I stalk toward his desk, then pisses me off by grinning and folding his arms behind his head. “To what do I owe the honor, big brother?”
I fist my hands, pressing them hard onto his desk as I lean over it. “What the fuck are you playing at?”
He pretends confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“You had your hands on her.”
He taps his finger against his lips. “I’ve had my hands on lots of women. I mean, just last night I—”
“I don’t give a fuck what you were getting up to last night. I’m talking about Saturday night. You had your hands. On. Delilah.”
“Oh, that’s right. You know, I can see the appeal. She really is gorgeous, isn’t she? All those curves, and that mouth. The things I could do—”
“Shut the fuck up!” I roar. “I don’t want you anywhere near her. If you touch her again, I will end you.”
The way his brows rise makes me realize how unhinged I sound. About as unhinged as I feel.
Seeing Delilah looking so fucking beautiful and real while I was forced to stand next to Jessica for appearance’s sake had made me a little crazy. When Tate brushed his thumb across her lower lip, I’d almost crushed the glass of champagne I held in my hand.
Jessica had called out after me as I stalked over there, but in that moment, I hadn’t given a fuck about my fiancée. The only thing that had thrummed in my veins over and over again was that Delilah was mine.
But of course, she wasn’t mine, as she’d pointed out a few minutes later on the balcony. The ice in her eyes when she told me she wanted to forget I existed had been the reminder I needed. Whatever was between us—had been between us—would die just as surely as it did for everyone. Better to see that coolness in her gaze now before I did something stupid like tie us together and condemn us to a lifetime of regret.
That didn’t stop me from being furious with my little brother. He has always been a man whore, but he’s never gone after a woman I’ve slept with. It’s an unwritten rule that all three of us have stuck to over the years. What he did with Delilah is unacceptable.
“Why all the fuss?” he asks, as if he doesn’t notice that I’m about to launch myself across the desk at him. “You’re about to be married. Why should you care about one of the many women you used to sleep with?”
My nostrils flare. “She’s not—” Although it must be obvious from my actions that she’s far more than that, I cut myself off before I can admit the truth. The fury suddenly leaves me, and I drop into one of the leather chairs facing his desk.
I scrub my hands over my face. “Fuck.”
When I look at him again, there’s an expression of curiosity on his face. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
I let out a harsh laugh. “You haven’t been around me enough to see me in any particular way.”
He nods. “Fair point. But if I had been around you more, would I have seen you like this before?”
I shake my head, and he leans forward.
“So what is it about this woman that has you all jealous and possessive when one of the most beautiful women in New York is wearing your ring on her finger?”
The reminder of the huge rock I’d given Jessica a couple of weeks ago has my stomach clenching. It was expensive, gaudy, and ostentatious, and Jessica had loved it. Mainly because she’d sent the details of the ring she wanted to Samson, and I hadn’t cared enough to look for something myself. In fact, I’d sent him out to buy it for me.
Tate appears genuinely curious about what’s on my mind, but I’m at a loss for how to explain it to him. Even if I knew, I’m not sure I want to share my feelings with him. Despite being brothers and working in the same building, we barely see each other. Not until our father’s arrest six months ago, anyway. Since then, we’ve spent more time together than we have in the past ten years.
“Do you remember how we used to play hide and seek whenever Mom and Dad were out of the house?” I surprise myself by asking.
Tate sits back in his chair, caught off guard. “I remember. You two could never find me.”
“That’s because you were small and could hide in places we couldn’t reach.”
His lips curve up, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the little boy I used to play with. A dull ache throbs in my chest. “When did we stop being friends?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
His smile fades. “Were we ever really friends?”
I’m taken aback by his response. Doesn’t he remember? He and I were closer in age than me and Roman, so we naturally gravitated toward each other. “I thought we were.”
He nods, but his expression grows distant. It’s rare to see my youngest brother looking so pensive, and I find myself leaning forward. “Remember that time you hid in the heating vent so you could leap out at old Mrs. Jenkins when she was folding the laundry? She almost had a heart attack.”
The pensive expression vanishes, replaced by his familiar smirk. “Fuck. I was an asshole.”
I chuckle. “We all were.”
It hits me suddenly. I can’t point my finger at any one thing that caused the distance between us as kids, but perhaps dwelling on the why isn’t as important as working out a way to bridge that gap now. If my time with Delilah taught me anything, it’s that life may not be perfect but having even one person who shows up for you when you need them can make everything better.
Our parents won’t ever be those people, and there’s no way my future wife will be. But maybe, just maybe, Tate and I can be that for each other.
“Would you like to grab a drink tonight?” I ask.
His eyes widen a little, and he rubs his chin. “I’m game. But only if you answer one question for me.”
I narrow my gaze, but what do I have to lose? I nod. “Go ahead.”
“You’ve never had a problem telling Roman no before. Why did you go along with this marriage arrangement?”
Something flippant hovers on my tongue, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Trivializing what I’m doing feels like a disservice to Delilah. So I tell him the truth. “That whole thing about ‘it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’ is bullshit. Believing you have something special and then seeing it disappear in front of your eyes is far worse. If I’m going to end up in a loveless marriage, I’d rather not start off with the illusion that it’s more.”
He seems to understand. “You won’t miss what you never had.”
“Exactly.” Except, even as I say it, I know it might be too late for me. I’ve had Delilah now, and I don’t know if the memory of the warmth in her smile and the heat of her touch will ever fade or if I’ll carry around this ache in my chest for the rest of my days.
“I’m sorry I messed with you on Saturday,” Tate says, knocking me out of my reverie.
“Why did you?” Even with our new truce, I’m not sure I won’t punch him if he says something I don’t like about Delilah.
“Because I liked you better when you were with her. You look too much like our father with Jessica on your arm.”
I wince. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
He raises his brows. “Do you want me to?”
“No. It will be nice to have one person I can rely on to tell me the truth.”
A slow grin crosses his face and out of nowhere, a surge of affection hits me. “You may live to regret that,” he says.
I push myself to my feet. “I’m sure I’ll start regretting it as soon as I leave this room.”
His chuckle follows me out of the office, and as I walk back to mine, I feel the slightest lightening in my chest for the first time since I told Delilah I was marrying Jessica. It’s bittersweet, though, because I’m not sure the possibility of a better relationship with my brother would have been possible without Delilah.
The lightness doesn’t last. As I take a seat behind my desk, a wave of regret hits me. Even when she’s not with me, she’s making my life better.
But I haven’t done the same for her.
And now I’ll never get the chance.
