I did not have ‘Crying in front of Evan Branson’ written on my 2022 bingo card and I’m a little terrified. Not only did I hold his hand because I felt bad for him, I cried in front of him, he held me and he told me what I had been expecting. What’s worse is that I enjoyed having him hold me. His weight is new and comforting and those hands…
I never would have been vulnerable with him like that, but I was emotional as it was, I was trying my best to ignore what’s been going on with my family and he was there with his kind words and less dickish personality. I’m a simple girl, I cry when people say nice things to me.
Knowing that he might have actual feelings for me worries me a little. Relationships aren’t my thing. They never have been, and they never will be. I’m still navigating my feelings towards him, just as a human, let alone romantically.
Okay. He’s more than good looking. He’s fucking gorgeous. He’s been on the cover of B&Co website and magazine for God’s sake. His jawline is sharp, he has a dimple that appears every once and a while, his eyes are so fucking green it’s scary. But what’s more attractive is his vulnerability and his honesty. I’ve never met a guy as in tune with their emotions as him. If he’s upset, you know. If he’s angry, you know. If he’s uncomfortable or needs something to squash his compulsions, you know. He doesn’t hide things from me, and I appreciate that.
After our new truce was established, I even took his plane back to Salt Lake with him. We didn’t speak for much of the plane journey. It was still a bit awkward. There was only one large TV on his plane so we ended up arguing over who could choose the movie. We landed on ‘Dunkirk.’ I only wanted to watch it for Harry Styles, and he was obsessed with the Second World War when he was in high school. Weirdly enough, I didn’t make fun of him for it. We just sat and watched the movie in silence. He did glance over at me every time Harry appeared on the screen though.
The new friendship thing we’ve established is the only reason I’m calling him right now. My mom suggested an impromptu dinner at home with all my siblings, excluding Alexander. She made it very clear that I needed a date. She even added in some very Oscar-worthy sniffles and insisted that it is ‘what my dad would have wanted’ as if he’s gone already. After visiting him this morning, confirming that he’s still stable, I’m getting ready in my room, waiting for Evan to pick up the call.
“Hello?” he asks when it finally connects.
“You took your time,” I mumble.
“Well, I was hoping you weren’t. I need a date to come with me to my family dinner. My mom made it very clear that she wanted to meet someone I’m seeing, and I don’t have the energy to scour through dating apps to find someone not serial killery to bring. So, I was thinking you could come, but if you’re busy, it’s fine,” I say in one go, rambling like a fool.
“Oh, so you cry to me one time and now you think you’re entitled to favours?”
“Fine, I’ll call someone else,” I drawl.
“What time do you want me there?”
“I’m not anymore,” he says easily. “What time, Scar?”
“I’ll send you the address. Meet me outside the estate in an hour. Don’t knock and wait till I get there,” I instruct. “And wear something appropriate.”
“Obviously. I’m not an idiot, Angel. I’m about to have dinner with five millionaires.”
“Four millionaires,” I correct. “My mom just hit a billion, so you better tell her that and you’ll be on her good side.” I’m only bending the truth a little, so he’ll be on his best behaviour. Not much would take my mom to like someone. Especially since she thinks it’s someone I’m ‘dating.’ She’d be thrilled whoever it is.
“Yes, boss,” he replies. “I’ll see you there.”
* * *
Exactly an hour later, I’m standing outside the huge doors watching Evan’s escalade pull up into the driveway. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Maybe it’s because I don’t usually bring my dates here and my mom is expecting some respected gentleman who will sweep me off my feet and help me settle down. Evan is not that person. Still, I know he can put on a good show when necessary.
I adjust my black dress for the hundredth time, trying to pull it down my thighs as I watch him climb out of the car. It’s not as tight as the ones I usually wear, but it shows off a little cleavage and cuts off halfway down my thighs. My hair is tied into a low ponytail, a few flyaways at the front and my black bow in the back.
I look and I feel hot as fuck.
Evan smiles at me when he sees me, holding a bouquet of roses in his hand. God, he’s such a cliche. Luckily, my mom loves roses. He’s wearing a tailored navy suit and a white shirt. He’s also wearing a tie to match, but it’s not tied properly. He looks annoyingly good.
“You look lovely, Miss Voss,” he drawls when he gets to me, even bowing for extra effect. He holds the roses in one hand, his other shoved inside his pocket, standing tall.
“And you look like you’re trying too hard,” I say, grabbing onto his lapels to pull him into me. He stumbles a little but manages to regain his balance as he opens his arms a little to give me better access to his tie. My hands are shaking, but I do my best to fiddle with it, tightening it so it looks presentable. I can feel his eyes on me as I keep mine strained on his tie and chest. I can tell that he’s not looking at my face. When I’m done, I tap the space between my eyes and say, “My eyes are up here, you perv.”
He snaps his eyes to me, and I swear he blushes. It’s hard to tell. It’s freezing outside, so it could be because of the cold. Still, I smile to myself, knowing that in one way or another, my proximity affects him; possibly as much as his affects me.
He plucks a flower from the bouquet and hands it to me. “Uh, thanks.”
“I asked for a dozen, and they gave me thirteen. I think they wanted it to be an extra one, but it just pissed me off. Uneven numbers and all,” he explains, avoiding my eyes.
“Thirteen is supposed to be a lucky number,” I say, retrieving the flower. He shoves his hand back in his pocket, fidgeting with the seam of his trousers.
“Says who?”
“Taylor Swift,” I respond, grinning. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. I turn around to open the door and he follows behind me.
I stop for a second, taking a moment to breathe and Evan holds onto my elbow. His touch is featherlight. I almost miss it, but then he tugs on it harder, making me turn towards him.
“Are we supposed to hold hands and kiss and all that?” he asks, his voice quiet as he subtly scans the foyer.
“You’re my date, not my boyfriend. There’s a difference.”
I roll my eyes. “If you want to so badly,” I say, holding out my palm to him. He looks at it and shakes his head. He’s nervous. That’s fine, but I don’t like the way it’s making me feel like I should be nervous too. I can handle my brothers and my mom. They’re nice people when you get to know them. I haven’t told Evan anything about them so he’s just going to have to find out.
“What?” I ask, shaking my hand at him.
“No. I don’t want to do it if you don’t want to,” he whispers almost angrily.
“Ev,” I warn, watching the way his face softens and his shoulders sag at the use of the nickname. “Stop making this weird.”
“I’m not. I’m just-” I cut him off by dragging his hand that isn’t holding the flowers, slipping it around my waist. His heavy hand rests on my hip and he grips it tight. I gasp at the force of him. He releases his grip gently, tugging me into his side a little.
“Better?” I ask, looking up at him as he stares down the hallway.
He clears his throat. “I guess.”
It takes us a few seconds to get comfortable with his hand on me like that as we walk down the hallway. By the time I’ve finally settled into his touch, I’m pulled out of it. My brother pulls on the back of my ponytail, and I yelp as he drags me out of Evan’s arms, and I turn to face him.
“You’re such a dick,” I say when he faces me. Leo’s got his signature Voss smile on, grinning at me. He’s not dressed appropriately for dinner, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s wearing sweats and an old grey shirt, his dark brown hair a mess like always. “You could at least get dressed. We have a guest.”
He shrugs, turning to Evan. “How much did she pay you to come here?”
“Oh my god, shut up,” I say, groaning as I link my arm through Evan’s. He seems a little starstruck. Still nervous. “This is Leo. One of the twins. He and Arthur are identical, but you won’t get them mixed up, trust me. Their personalities are a dead giveaway.”
Evan nods, holding out his hand to my brother. “I’m Evan. It’s nice to meet you.”
Leo smirks before grabbing his hand. He glances at me as if this is the most unnatural meeting in the world and I give him a tight smile. “Pleasure,” Leo says before turning to me. “Everyone’s ready to eat and Hen’s looking for you.”
“Great,” I say, holding tighter onto Evan’s gigantic bicep and twisting us around to walk towards the dining room. “And Leo, please take a shower before sitting at the table. You smell like weed.”
Evan snorts and Leo laughs from behind me. “So, that isn’t your youngest brother?” Evan asks. I shake my head, chuckling.
“Where would you get that idea from?” I ask sarcastically just as we stop outside the door that leads into the dining hall. Henry is sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, his legs spread open in front of him, a pack of Swedish Fish resting between them. He’s wearing a black tux, but he still looks put together. “That’s my youngest older brother.”
Henry’s head pops up now and he smiles wide. “Mia sorella Scarlatta,” he gets out between a mouthful of sweets. I can’t help but smile back at him. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“I’m here now,” I say, detangling my arm from Evan’s so I can help my brother up. He leaves the packet on the ground, wobbling as he stands, brushing off his trousers. “This is my date.” I turn and gesture to Evan and he holds out his hand to Hen.
“Evan,” he introduces. Henry takes his hand and shakes it. “It’s nice to meet you. Henry, right?”
Henry nods. “Evan?” He turns to me, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t we hate him?”
“I used to hate him,” I say, chuckling. Henry’s about to get me into some real trouble tonight. “It turns out he’s not that bad.”
“L’hai scopato? Is that why we’re suddenly best friends with someone we didn’t like two days ago?” Henry asks. I know he’s trying to be protective but it’s not helping. The last thing we need is my brother suggesting that we’re sleeping together right in front of him. Good job he doesn’t speak Italian.
“No, non l’ho scopato io, stronzo. Non ancora,” I reply, muttering the last part as I paint my face into a smile to not arouse suspicion. Henry shrugs, not believing me. “You ready to go in?” I ask Evan.
Henry interrupts, whispering, “That’s why I was trying to find you. Arthur’s giving mom a lecture about dad’s care. He thinks that they should stop life support.”
My stomach bottoms out. Evan catches me as I stumble back a little at his words. It’s been months now since my dad’s been in the coma and we’ve still not figured out how or why. He’s going to pull through. He has to. Arthur’s been a dick since Alex left for London and he’s been trying to fill in this pathetic role as the CEO of Voss even though he’ll never be.
“That’s bullshit,” I mutter, brushing past both of the boys to storm into the large dining hall. A long, oversized mahogany table sits in the middle, ten chairs spread around it. On one side, a large window opens into the backyard: a large field containing a miniature golf course. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you not care about our dad?”
My mom and Arthur are sitting at opposite ends of the large table. I’m looking directly at my older brother, his brown hair tied back in a short ponytail. His face is hard and focused, his mouth pressed into a straight line. My mom stands up out of her chair, her arms wide as she tries to trap me in a hug, but I dodge her.
“Have you not got anything to say?” I ask Arthur.
“Scarlett,” he chides before adding calmly, “Don’t cause a scene.” He’s not even looking at me anymore. His eyes are focused on the black placemats, his hand clasped around a cold glass of wine. “We’ll talk about this another time. Preferably when guests aren’t present.”
Evan shifts beside me, still holding the flowers. For a second, I forgot that he was there. That I invited him. I hate that he had to see me like that. What I hate more is the way my mom’s face lights up when she sees him. I don’t know how I’m going to let her down easily when I tell her we’re not actually dating.
“Oh, Scarlett,” my mom exclaims dreamily. “You really brought someone.”
I sigh, trying to push back all my feelings and anger towards Arthur. I link my arm into Evan’s again. “These are for you, Mrs. Voss,” he says, handing her the flowers. I don’t know where mine went. I think I lost it on the way from the door to here. I’d be a terrible girlfriend. He places his hand over mine. It calms me for a second, remembering that when this is over, I can relax. “I heard the big news. Congratulations on your new milestone.”
“Oh, you are lovely. And these are lovely,” my mom says, fussing over the flowers. Evan smiles proudly, puffing his chest out. Of course, he’d be perfect at the boyfriend thing because I’m terrible at it. “And thank you. I’ll put these in water. You two can take a seat.” She walks off through the swinging door into the kitchen, shouting Leo to come back down.
As we make our way over to the table, ignoring eye contact with Arthur, Evan tugs on my arm. Luckily, there’s faint jazz music playing in the room so no one can hear him as he whispers, “What did your brother say before?”
“Oh, nothing. He was just asking when we started dating. Don’t worry. I made a believable lie,” I say, lying straight through my teeth. He hums in response, pulling out a chair for me. He takes the seat closest to Arthur and I take the one next to him. Henry comes stumbling into the room, sitting across from me.
I try to tell myself to breathe. To remember that everything is fine. To stay in the present moment and remember that whatever happens, I’m going to get through this alive. Even if I want to commit murder just by looking at my brother.
Evan’s hand on my thigh is not helping this either. I don’t know when he put it there, but it feels comfortable. Everything about him just feels too damn comfortable. Too safe. I try not to look at his hand, but it’s so veiny, huge, and just right. Why do his hands have to be so fucking attractive?
He leans into me as he squeezes my thigh. My skin is already sensitive there, but coming from him, my whole body feels slightly overstimulated. “Hey, can you relax for me? You’re making me sweat and no one’s even talking to me,” he whispers.
“This is worse for me than it is for you. Trust me,” I mutter. I shift slightly in my chair, slouching a little as I lean my head back, allowing myself to breathe properly. Evan’s hand starts to rub circles on my inner thigh and my breathing picks up again. Great. “Can you stop doing that?” I breathe.
“Doing what?” he asks innocently. He even leans his other hand on the table, staring at the jug of water, all while still rubbing his thumb over the sensitive spot on my thigh. “It’s helping, no?”
“No, you’re making it worse, and you know you are so cut it out,” I warn. He stops, finally and places both of his hands in his lap. I sigh, pulling my dress further down. Arthur scrutinises me from beside Evan and I roll my eyes. “What?”
“Why are you wearing that?” he asks, looking at my outfit.
I bark out a laugh. “Do you think I would wear this if I cared what you thought?” I turn away from him and I can see Evan sticking his tongue in his mouth, trying not to laugh. Arthur ignores and sticks a thumb at Evan.
Evan clears his throat. He doesn’t seem intimidated. Good because he shouldn’t be. Arthur is not scary at all. Alexander is scary. Arthur’s just trying to fill in that role since he left and he’s doing a fucking terrible job at it. “Evan Branson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
I may have left out his last name for several reasons. One reason being the reactions I get from everyone at the table. Henry snorts. Leo smiles, nodding as if he somehow knew all along. My mom grins, a little confused, but prouder. Arthur…looks like he’s about to set the world on fire and is deciding where to start first.
I sit up straighter, matching Evan’s confident stance.
“You brought a fucking Branson here? What are you doing, Scarlett?”
“I’m doing what I want,” I say, picking up a napkin from the table, trying my best for my hands not to tremble as I lay it on my lap. “Now, he’s my date, so can everyone play nice for one night?”
