My Sister's Husband

by Marsh, Nicola

  She rolls her eyes. “Like I need reminding. Perfect Brooke, with her perfect boyfriend. Do you know they’re going to be crowned prom queen and king?”

  “No, I didn’t know. Aren’t you happy for them?”

  I will her to say yes. I want her to say she loves her sister and she’d never do anything to hurt her. But her brown eyes are glowing caramel, lit from within with a familiar resentment, and I’m worried all over again that this will boil over in a way I won’t like.

  “Why does she always have to be the best? The prettiest, the smartest, the one with the great boyfriend…” Her voice is tight with anger and her fingers are curled into fists. “And she’s so damn nice all the time.”

  “If you let this consume you, it will make you unhappy,” I say, not making the mistake of reaching out to touch her. She won’t welcome it. I hadn’t way back when my mom had given me a similar lecture when I’d broken down one night and admitted how I felt about Diana. My mom had let me rant, to get my vitriol out of my system, and only then had she hugged me.

  The way Freya’s eyes are blazing, she harbors a lot more resentment than I ever did.

  Yet look what you did to your sister.

  I ignore my conscience and focus on Freya. “If you can’t talk to me, I think you should see someone—”

  “I don’t need a shrink!” She leaps off the sofa like I’ve prodded her. “I’m fine.”

  I beg to differ but I’ve pushed enough for one evening. Besides, I hope that sowing the seed of seeking help will take root and she’ll consider it. I have to do something to help.

  Forty-Six

  Brooke

  I assume Freya saw Riker hugging me in the barn doorway and had been the one spying on me from the kitchen, because she’s tightlipped for the rest of the evening. I wish she’d bring it up so I can set her mind at ease. I tried twice but she changed the subject. It reminds me of our childhood when she’d avoid me during one of her ‘moods’. Back then, she’d be happy to hang out with me, then something would set her off and she’d be in a huff but trying desperately to pretend nothing was wrong. She’s doing the same thing tonight and it’s disappointing, considering how far we’ve come since I returned.

  Luckily, we’ve got Hope to defuse the tension and my gorgeous niece has no idea her mom’s upset. I’ve enlisted her help with the surprise bridal shower I’m throwing Freya, which is in two days’ time. It can’t come quick enough if it gets her out of this mood.

  Hope and I are in her room, sitting on the floor, scrolling through her laptop looking at teeny-tiny canapés from a local supplier. Freya thinks I’m helping Hope with her homework and while I don’t like encouraging kids to lie, I want this to be a fun surprise for Freya.

  “Mom loves shrimp,” Hope says, pointing to a dainty shrimp and lox combo.

  Confused, I stare at the picture. “Really?”

  As I remember it, Freya had been allergic to shrimp. She’d had a major meltdown one day at the beach when she’d tagged along yet again with Eli and me and a bunch of our friends. One minute everyone had been having fun, the next she’d begun coughing and spluttering after eating a shrimp roll, saying her throat was closing up.

  Eli had helped some kid up the beach earlier who’d had a similar reaction to peanuts, so he lay her down, checked her airways and fussed over her. She’d popped an antihistamine someone had in their first aid kit and she’d recovered quickly. Strange, to learn she now loved the thing she professed to be allergic to. Had she been attention-seeking? Yet more proof she might’ve liked Eli as more than a friend. It makes me feel sorry for her. She’d never had a boyfriend when we were teens and having a secret crush on mine must’ve been tough. I thought her grief when he’d died had been because of her sympathy for me; it never crossed my mind she had deeper feelings for him too and that’s why she’d been devastated.

  “What’s wrong, Auntie Brooke?”

  Hope is staring at me in consternation and I carefully blank my expression. “What other foods does your mom like?”

  “Practically everything.”

  I laugh at Hope’s blunt response. “In that case we better start choosing some for the party, huh?”

  As we pore over the online offerings, I resist the urge to cuddle her. She’s the sweetest child and not precocious for her age. Soon she’ll be entering the tween years and I’m sure Freya will have her hands full, but for now I’m glad I came back home so I can spend time with her.

  “Why is it called a bridal shower?” Hope asks after we finish choosing the food and email our order to the catering company.

  “Probably because we have to shower the bride with gifts.”

  “Oh man, we have to get Mom a gift too?”

  I chuckle and this time I sling my arm around her shoulder and squeeze. “Yeah, we do. Got any ideas?”

  Hope’s brow furrows as she thinks, before she straightens and snaps her fingers. “I know. What about one of those pill dispenser thingies?”

  It’s a bizarre choice and totally from left field. “Uh, what would your mom need one of those for?”

  “Because I saw her once in Aunt Alice’s room and she had a lot of bottles filled with pills, and she looked really worried trying to sort through them so I thought something like that might help?”

  I’m surprised. As far as I know Aunt Alice is healthy apart from the dementia. Why would she need a lot of pills? Then again I know nothing about her medication schedule; Freya’s the expert.

  “That sounds like a great idea, sweetie, and very thoughtful, but perhaps something more fun?”

  Her shoulders slump in disappointment. “I thought it would be good so she wouldn’t get mad at me again.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently I wasn’t supposed to go in there when she was giving Aunt Alice her pills. But I needed her to sign a permission slip so I could go on a field trip and when I went in the room, Mom flipped out.” She bites down on her bottom lip. “She yelled at me really loudly and said it’s important Aunt Alice gets the right medication and I’m never to go in there again when she’s taking her pills.”

  When Hope raises her eyes to mine, I see genuine fear. “She really freaked out. She’s never yelled at me like that before so that’s why I thought the dispenser might be a good gift.”

  I’m annoyed Freya overreacted and if it’s anything like the way she behaved when she learned the truth about Lizzie, no kid deserves that. But Hope’s her daughter and I have no right to interfere, even though I hate the thought of this precious girl being yelled at.

  “You have bad moods sometimes, yeah?”

  Hope nods.

  “Adults do too and your mom’s probably really sad to see Aunt Alice the way she is. So maybe when you interrupted her doing something important for Aunt Alice she yelled?”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Hope shrugs and her expression clears. “And you’re right, a fun present might be better.” She angles the screen toward me. “Let’s do a search for ‘fun bridal shower’ gifts.”

  “Now why didn’t I think of that?”

  We share a conspiratorial smile but as Hope starts typing I can’t help but wonder why Freya blew up like that at her own daughter.

  Maybe it’s time I start doing a few online searches of my own, namely how early onset dementia is treated.

  Forty-Seven

  Freya

  While Brooke is helping Hope with her homework I go in search of Riker. He hasn’t been at many family dinners lately and, while I know his work is all-consuming when he’s creating a commission, I miss him. I’ve tried to excuse his frequent absences from mealtimes since Brooke got back because I know if I start to dwell on his rationale I’ll drive myself crazy with paranoia. It’s a worry though, how he rarely leaves his studio these days and when he does it’s to deliver his latest masterpiece. Even Hope has noticed he hasn’t been around much and while I make excuses for my fiancé, those same excuses that are whirring inside my head are wearing thin.


  He works hard. I’m used to not having him around all the time. But it feels different now, as if something has shifted since Brooke came home and I don’t like it. Even at his busiest, Riker would pop into the kitchen for his first coffee when Aunt Alice got too ill to have it with him in the barn. I’d be in a hurry, getting ready for work and hurrying Hope along for school, but seeing him for those brief five minutes brought a smile to my face.

  He’s stopped doing that now and I wonder if it’s because he doesn’t want to run into Brooke.

  I can relate, because I used to do the same thing after Brooke started dating Eli, preferring to stay in my room than run into the happy couple. It had been a combination of jealousy and fear that had kept me away; I’d been insanely envious of Brooke dating the guy I had a crush on, and fear they’d see right through me.

  Is this why Riker’s avoiding the house? The thought makes my stomach cramp and I press a hand to it. This is crazy. I’ve seen nothing that suggests he’s into my sister and while Brooke had tried several times earlier to broach the subject, I hadn’t wanted to discuss it with her because I knew I’d end up feeling bad; like I’m overreacting, like I’m imagining things. Brooke would’ve explained what I’d seen as meaning nothing and made me feel worse than I already do.

  Which only leaves me with one option. Confront Riker and discover why he was comforting Brooke.

  When I slip into the barn he’s sitting on an overturned crate, a sketchpad resting on his knee and a piece of charcoal in his right hand. He rarely draws his pieces before he starts sculpting but if he gets stuck he resorts to this medium to get the creative juices flowing.

  His brows are drawn together and he’s glaring at the paper like he wants it to spontaneously combust. I’m loath to interrupt when he’s like this but breaking his concentration is a small price to pay if I can sleep tonight, and I know I won’t if I don’t put my fears to rest.

  He’s so deep into his work he doesn’t hear me approach. When I’m two feet away and my shadow falls across the page he looks up. For a second I glimpse annoyance before his mouth eases into the familiar grin that makes everything right with the world.

  “Hey, beautiful, sorry for missing dinner.” He brandishes the sketchpad. “I’m having trouble with this latest design and wanted to get some new ideas down.”

  “You know it’s no problem.” I bend to place a lingering kiss on his lips before pulling up a crate alongside his. “I’m used to the trials and tribulations of being engaged to a creative genius.”

  “Tell me more about the genius bit,” he says, swooping in for another kiss that makes my toes curl. Deep, open-mouthed, incredibly hot and I sway toward him, giving myself over to the pleasure of my man.

  I pretend to swat his chest when he releases me. “As much as I love that, you keep going and I’ll be distracting you in the best possible way.”

  He laughs. “Hold that thought for later.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Then you can distract me all you want.”

  “Deal.”

  I should leave. What’s the point of dredging up what I saw earlier? Riker has never given me any reason to doubt him and we’re in a good place, why spoil it? It’s not long until the wedding and after that, I’ll look back on this time and realize how silly I’m being. But I know myself. I’ll dwell over what I saw, not because of him. I trust Riker. I don’t trust Brooke.

  “When I got home from work I saw Brooke was here,” I say, keeping my tone light. “She looked pretty upset.”

  I watch for the slightest flicker of guilt and exhale in relief when his gaze is as guileless as ever. “She was talking about Alice and got a bit teary. In fact, one minute we were talking about Alice, the next Brooke was running out the door. I went after her.” A slight frown dents his brow. “I barely see her and I don’t know her that well, but I think she’s struggling.”

  Riker’s insight surprises me. “With what?”

  “Being back here. Seeing Alice the way she is.” He shrugs. “I mean, she must be pretty tough to stay away from her family for so long, yet every time I see her she seems upset?”

  Guilt floods me. I’ve doubted Brooke, wrongly accusing her of making moves on my fiancé, albeit in my head, and maybe she’s turned to Riker because I haven’t been around enough for her? It’s often easier to offload to a stranger and perhaps that’s why she’s been discussing her worries with Riker?

  “You could be right,” I say, determined to make more of an effort with my sister.

  Riker’s solemn as he eyes me. “You looked ready for battle when you marched in here. You weren’t jealous that I gave her a hug, were you?”

  I roll my eyes, hating how close to the mark he is. “Like I’d be jealous.”

  “I think you are.” He tickles me and I wriggle, playfully slapping him away. “You saw me hugging your sister and got all crazy.”

  “I did not.”

  My response is uncharacteristically sharp as I jerk away. Being labeled crazy is a trigger for me. Another guy had made that mistake in the past and it hadn’t ended well.

  Riker’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’m kidding, babe.” He grasps my chin and I let him, needing to smooth things over. “You know that, right?”

  “Of course.” I bridge the inches between us to press a conciliatory kiss against his lips. “I’m just crabby after a bad day at work, then I missed you at dinner. It’s not a big deal.”

  “I hope not, because we’re getting hitched in a few weeks and don’t you forget it.”

  The tension drains from my body at the thought of this amazing guy being all mine. And though I believe Riker was just comforting Brooke, it makes me uncomfortable. I want to be the one he reassures.

  “I can’t wait.” I snuggle into him, letting his heat infuse me, calm me.

  “Speaking of our wedding, I want to talk to you about something.”

  There’s an underlying thread of nervousness in his voice and my tension returns, bunching the muscles on the back of my neck so hard I want to rub them.

  I ease away and search his face for some clue as to what this is about. “What?”

  “I want to instigate proceedings to formally adopt Hope,” he says in a rush, the words tumbling over themselves. “I want us to be a real family and with us tying the knot I don’t want her to feel left out.”

  I’m stunned. We’ve never talked about this before because I didn’t want to push him. I see how much he loves Hope and treats her like his own daughter, but I thought he’d be content to be her step-dad. Not that I’m averse to the idea. This big, brawny, beautiful man never ceases to surprise me.

  “Hope doesn’t need a piece of paper to make you her dad.” I clasp his hand between mine. “She already thinks you are.”

  “I know, but I want to make it official,” he says, mulish. “I’ve spent my life drifting around and now I’ve finally found what I’m looking for, I want to make it official.”

  “If it means that much to you… sure.” I lift his hand to my mouth and brush feather-light kisses across each knuckle. “She’s lucky to have a dad like you.”

  “I’m the lucky one.” He clears the gruffness from his throat. “Now, are you going to let me get back to work or do I have to punish you later?”

  I laugh and stand, brushing off my butt. “Promises, promises.”

  He waggles his finger at me before making a shooing motion with his hands. “Go.”

  I blow him a kiss. “See you later.”

  He doesn’t respond, the piece of charcoal already between his thumb and fingers, flying over the page like I’ve inspired him.

  I like the idea of being his muse.

  It’s nice to have the attention of an amazing guy all on me for once.

  Forty-Eight

  Alice

  THEN

  Prom Night had been excruciating for me. Mom and Diana had fussed over my hair and make-up, but I knew all the hairspray and foundation and mascara in the world wouldn’t tra
nsform my drab hair and plain features into pretty. Though I had looked better than expected. Mom had made my dress; a simple navy satin sheath with spaghetti straps, that I loved. When I put it on, I felt special, and combined with my hair in a chignon and my eyes highlighted by smoky shadow, I thought I actually looked like a girl who could command the attention of a guy like Cam.

  Of course that didn’t happen. Apart from greeting me like a pal when I walked into the school gym, Cam had been captivated by his date, one of the popular cheerleaders. What did I expect, for him to take one look at my transformation and suddenly develop feelings? Sadly, that’s exactly what I’d hoped and when it didn’t happen, it soured the entire evening for me. I barely conversed with my date; he’d asked me as a last resort and I’d accepted because Verdant was a small town and I didn’t want the real object of my affections, Cam, to think I was pathetic.

  The night had been uneventful. My date had sipped bourbon stolen from his dad from a hip flask, had an obligatory dance with me, tried to feel me up and when I’d rejected him he’d avoided me for the rest of the night.

  I know Brooke’s night is going to be nothing like that but I’m worried just the same. But my concern has more to do with how Freya will handle her sister’s golden night than Brooke having a good time. I volunteered to chaperone the dance to give Freya some privacy to sulk. I knew she would and all through Brooke’s preparations Freya had made snide comments or scoffed at her dress until my temper snapped and I banished her to her room.

  “What’s with her?” Brooke asks before slicking a final coat of gloss over her crimson lips.

  “You know what your sister’s like. All the attention is on you, she’s feeling left out.”

  I wonder if Brooke will elaborate on the other times she’s seen her sister behave jealously. But Brooke’s too focused on having a good time tonight and I’m relieved when she shrugs and says, “Her time will come next year. I’m not interested in getting caught up in one of her moods tonight.”