Billionaire Romance Series: Dreams Fulfilled (1-3)

by Scarlett King

  I move our entree in front of me and set to work with a knife and spatula. He’d set out the lasagna in its baking dish, like a giant TV dinner. At least he remembered a trivet.

  * * *

  He nods mutely and just watches for a minute as I cut generous squares of lasagna for each of our plates. It’s a one-dish meal, full of beef, cheese, spinach, mushrooms, homemade red sauce, and spices. I cook for fun, and to see the way the men in my life light up when I set a good meal in front of them.

  * * *

  “You okay, Dad?” I ask him gently as he sits stiffly at his seat instead of starting prayer.

  * * *

  “I’m worried about you, Julia,” he says very gently, and my smile freezes on my face.

  * * *

  Here we go. “Okay, what’s got you worried? I told you I’ll start saving for the four wheel drive instead of that cute Kia. You’re right, commuting to and from Buffalo in winter isn’t safe in a small city car.”

  * * *

  He blinks and sits back slightly. “Wait, you did? I was...very tired this morning.”

  * * *

  I nod. “That’s okay, maybe I wasn’t clear.” It’s always best to pretend obliviousness to derail suspicion. Also, he is right about the damn car.

  * * *

  He nods briefly, seeming just a touch more relaxed. At least he can see that I still have my common sense. “Good. But—no, that isn’t what’s worrying me. I knew you’d make the right decision about trading in your truck.”

  * * *

  “Okay, so, what’s the concern?” I look down at my plate. My mouth is watering. We don’t take a single bite before prayers in this house, which means I either have to resolve his worries quickly, or let my lasagna go cold.

  * * *

  “You and Mr. Gates. I’m concerned about his influence on you.” He watches my face.

  * * *

  “This may be the twelfth time in two years that you’ve said that, Dad, and in that time, Aaron hasn’t been a bad influence on me. If anything, we’ve been a good influence on him.” And Aaron has come back strong. I remember a time when getting him to smile or make eye contact was a Herculean task.

  * * *

  My father rubs his face and then looks up at me, his eyes a little bleary from exhaustion and frustration. “That’s very likely true. I’m not discounting the improved state of Mr. Gates’s soul, which has been remarkable. He does a great deal of good work for us, and since he’s gotten back on his feet, he has asked for little in return.”

  * * *

  “Then what’s the issue? Seriously, Dad, you keep coming back to this, and then nothing ever happens to make us regret my friendship with him.” I am trying to point out the history of his suspicions and all the times he’s cried wolf about Aaron.

  * * *

  “The guy cares about me. About you too, for that matter,” I add.

  * * *

  “That’s different.” He looks away. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

  * * *

  “Why do you think he would hurt me?” I’m genuinely astonished.

  * * *

  “Julia, he may care about you, but he has a history of violence. He was in jail for ten years for beating a man nearly to death. What if he can’t leave that violence behind?”

  * * *

  “He has. Dad...I’ve told you that he went to jail in his brother’s place. He’s innocent.”

  * * *

  “If he’s innocent, he would have fought for his freedom and his reputation. He tells a story about taking the fall for his older brother, but how believable is that?” His frown doesn’t waver. He’s genuinely worried, and I’m not quite sure how to reassure him.

  * * *

  “Dad, this is a guy who gives all his weekends to us, provides the town with thousands of dollars of free labor every year, and has worked like crazy to leave his old life behind. He makes big sacrifices for others all the time—and for his brother. I believe him, Dad, and I think that time will prove me right.”

  * * *

  He winces and looks away, his expression so troubled that I fall silent. “You’re in love with him,” he says very quietly. “And so you’re defending him. Just like your mother did with her father during his hell-raising days.” His eyes rise to mine slowly. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  * * *

  “Dad, look.” My heart is banging away and sending ice water rushing through my veins. Oh God, please help me out here, I’m trying to ease his fears without treating him like a child. “First and most importantly, it isn’t that I thought you would not notice anything. It’s that I thought you would trust me to show good judgment, and to know that if I trust Aaron enough to want him in my life, there are good reasons for that.”

  * * *

  That catches him by surprise, and he relaxes a little more, taking a deep breath. “You’re concerned that I’m worried because I’m not in full possession of the facts?”

  * * *

  “I think that’s part of it.” But my Dad doesn’t want or need to be in full possession of the facts, not if some of them are nonessential and would hurt his peace of mind.

  Aaron didn’t influence me to kiss him. He didn’t push a kiss on me. I kissed him under the damn mistletoe, and I have no regrets. But it would still freak my Dad out to learn about it.

  * * *

  “Fine. What facts am I not aware of?” He looks down at the cooling lasagna and sighs. “Briefly.”

  * * *

  “The one you should most know is that he’s anything but violent, Dad. Go into the bar some time while he’s working, and you’ll see it in action. He has a job that could be violent if he made it so—he has drunks from three counties testing his patience all night.”

  * * *

  That catches his interest. He nods, brow furrowing. “Go on.”

  * * *

  “He has never raised a hand to any of them. He’s trained in judo and just marches them outside; sometimes he even holds them for Earl when the cops need to be called. Nobody has ever complained of rough treatment except for one guy who Aaron pulled off a woman who was calling for help.” These things are important. All of them.

  * * *

  “Dad, I’m not asking you to take me at my word. I’m asking you to look at the man that Aaron is, the man he proves himself to be every day. Even if he was a bad man once, he’s done his penance, and he’s been seeking redemption. He’s also a really responsible guy.” This is going better than expected, but I still wish I could plow through and soothe myself with too much lasagna.

  * * *

  “He’s old for you.” That protest is a bit weaker.

  * * *

  “He is.” I run into a wall for a moment. Come on, come on, you were doing so well a moment ago. “But I want the kind of guy who is stable, responsible, wants to get serious, and has his own money. And I’m sorry, but have you met guys my age?”

  * * *

  College-age guys often appear to be exactly the kind of people my father and I despise: horny, faithless, thoughtless, and often, seemingly brainless. Maybe I just have incredibly bad luck, but I keep running into guys my age who seem bent on fucking the ministry student like it’s a personal challenge—with no other interest in me at all.

  * * *

  He lets out a soft laugh. “Sadly yes. I was one. You have a point. I just...worry. I admit I’d prefer you settle down with someone who lives here rather than someone over in Buffalo. There...isn’t someone else in Buffalo, is there?”

  * * *

  I roll my eyes. “Dad! We wouldn’t be having this conversation if there were someone in Buffalo!”

  * * *

  He relaxes more, and even lets out a little laugh. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you making any decisions you might end up regretting.”

  * * *

  “But Dad,” I say patiently, “everyone has regrets sometimes. I know life’s full of trials and disappoint
ments, and I need you to trust me to be tough enough to handle it. Okay?”

  * * *

  He smiles faintly. “Okay.” But then he frowns, half-theatrically. “But don’t let me catch you kissing that biker!”

  * * *

  “Dad, if you catch me kissing that biker, there will be mistletoe involved.” Because from now on, we’re doing our kissing in private.

  * * *

  He folds his arms. “All the more reason for me to pull down every sprig of the stuff I see.”

  * * *

  “Humph,” my only response. But at least he’s satisfied enough by my answers to say prayers and let us eat.

  * * *

  We both go down for a nap after our very early dinner. Dad has to take some of his sinus meds and ends up conked out for good. I feel bad for him...except that it means he won’t wake up for at least eight hours.

  * * *

  I can do a lot in eight hours.

  * * *

  I dress very carefully—I don’t want to look too obvious, with too much makeup or fancy hair. I don’t want there to be any chance of gossip when I’m seen around Aaron.

  * * *

  The warm, sheepskin lining of my coat rubs softly against my skin, teasing me as I think about his hands on me. The thermal bottoms are a little scratchy, especially where they tuck into my snow boots, and so is the simple blue wool scarf I tuck into my collar at my throat.

  * * *

  They do the job, though. When I finally walk outside, the cold doesn’t get through, despite my...modified...outfit. If Dad knew what I was doing he would flip. But the thing that would make him flip the most is that I’m the one on a mission.

  * * *

  I leave the lights on and bring my phone, pretending that I’m going out on an errand. If Dad wakes up unexpectedly, that’s what I’ll tell him. We’re out of eggnog anyway.

  * * *

  The snow has stopped again, leaving a thin icy crust on the sidewalks. It’s such a short walk to the gas station convenience store and the bar across from it that I can excuse going out without my truck and being in the area. From there, it’s a short walk up the hill to Aaron’s land.

  * * *

  And his trailer. And his bed.

  * * *

  I’ve never felt like this before in my life. I know it’s because of him. That first kiss was off-the-scales awesome—definitely worth the wait. But now that I’ve had a taste of him, I don’t want to wait any more.

  Chapter 5

  Aaron

  * * *

  I know I’m in for a really shitty shift when I come in and hear a familiar voice yell, “Hey, Lucky!” from the corner of the bar.

  I stop dead, squeezing my eyes shut, the euphoria from that kiss with Julia vanishing like smoke. There’s only one guy around anymore who calls me that, and I never wanted to hear from him again.

  I open my eyes and look over to the voice, and see my big brother Daniel leaning toward me from his seat at a corner table. Older by almost twenty years, with gray in his hair, but with the same dress and manner that I remember. He’s grinning wide enough for the scar on his cheek to crease like a bad seam in his leathery skin. Not again.

  “Give me a sec.” I send a beer over to him to mollify his alcoholic ass, then check in with my boss, Eddy, who nods at me and twitches a small smile as I approach. “Hey, I’m in for the night. Any problems? Like with him?”

  We both look over at Daniel, who is still grinning—obviously drunk—his face red beneath the road tan and his overlong curls sticking wetly to his forehead. He looks like me if I was a foot shorter, ate nothing but cheeseburgers and booze, and got beat a few times with the ugly stick.

  He’s also an asshole. But he’s family, and he knows I make sacrifices for my loved ones. So the first thing I wonder is what he’s here to ask me for, and how much trouble he plans to cause until he gets it.

  “That guy? No problem, except he should probably be cut off about now. He’s kind of a jackass, but I saw the resemblance, so we didn’t throw him out.” My boss offers a lopsided smile.

  “I wouldn’t have taken it personally if you had thrown him out,” I admit. “I’ll go deal with him. Yell if you need me.”

  He nods, likely knowing it wouldn’t be necessary. Being in prison has left me with an instinct for trouble. Even if Daniel wasn’t my brother, I would still be keeping a closer eye on him than on anyone else in here, for just that reason.

  He’s smirking as I walk over. It’s all I can do not to grab him by the collar and haul him off his feet—and as he sees the look in my eyes, the smirk fades. “Hey,” he says in that used-car salesman tone that he uses when he wants to talk me into something. I’d hoped never to hear it again.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Daniel?” I demand in a low, hard tone as I walk up to him.

  In response, he pushes out the chair across the table from him with his foot. “Just a little talk.”

  I take a deep breath. Eddy’s watching us like a hawk between serving drinks, in case I need backup. I need to keep this job. I smile tightly, settle into the seat and then say, “We shouldn’t be having a conversation at all.”

  He chuckles. “I’m hurt. Yeah, yeah, I know, you said after everything you did for me, you wanted out of the business and me out of your life. I get it, I do, and I know you’re a stand-up guy. Not every guy will do a dime and change for his brother.”

  I stare at him. “The deal was, I do that for you, and then you walk out of my life and take the gang and all your crazy baggage with it. The drugs, the guns, everything you dragged me into when I was fifteen and too dumb to know better.”

  “Oh yeah, I get it, I do. And you got a pretty raw deal in prison, or so I hear. Only got one working kidney left, isn’t that right?” His voice has a wheedling tone of mock sympathy to it.

  “Yeah, that’s right.” I lean forward, knowing three things: I’m bigger, fitter, and tougher than him; he’s on my turf and drunk as hell; and he owes me way, way too much to be coming back for another favor now. “Now, once again, why the fuck are you bothering me? Are you dying? Is Dad dying?”

  “I don’t know. Old bastard doesn’t talk to me anymore.” He shrugs nonchalantly and takes a deep swallow of his beer. “And I know he hangs up every time you try to call. Doesn’t he?”

  My mouth works and I look away. He’s right on the nose. Dad married his high school sweetheart, went to church every Sunday and broke his back at a construction job. He taught me joinery, how to carve a chain from a stick of wood, and how to frame a shed.

  He’s career military, retired now. A patriot. A good man. He doesn’t deserve two trouble-making sons, both of whom are convicted felons now.

  He used to think I was a good man. But when I went down for Daniel after he beat the hell out of that banker, Dad didn’t care that they had the wrong brother. After all, I didn’t fight it.

  He never once called me when I was in jail or on probation, and after enough hang-ups, I gave up on calling him.

  “Wow, that really did hit a nerve, didn’t it?” Daniel tugs on his pointed chin, his eyes full of sly mockery. “So I was right.”

  “I don’t know if he’d talk to me if I called him now. I haven’t tried in years.” I keep my voice neutral, ignoring the gutted feeling that thinking about Dad always leaves me with.

  That seems to surprise him. “Thought you planned to go legit after we parted ways, get back in his good graces.”

  “There’s no getting back in Dad’s good graces after all the trouble you dragged me into.” I blame Daniel for about eighty percent of it anyway. I could have said no. I could have run, could’ve let Daniel and the Laughing Boys hunt me. I could even have fought back and gotten my ass beat.

  “No, probably not,” he replies thoughtfully. “But that cat’s been out of the bag for a while, hasn’t it?”

  “Just fucking spit it out, Daniel. Why are you here?” It occurs to me that if I grab the son of a bitch, bash his h
ead against the table a few times, drag him across the floor by one leg and pitch him out into the snow, everyone else here would simply ask me what he did. But I don’t. I’m just not that guy any more.

  “I’m here to take you back with me,” he replies simply.

  I stare at him. Balls. But that’s Daniel—all balls, no sense, and absolutely no honor. I thought he had disappointed me for the last time when he left me to rot in jail without paying my bail and fines. It seems I was wrong. “No.”

  He cocks his head. “Wait, did you just tell me no? Do you have any fucking idea who you’re dealing with here, baby brother?”

  I push my chair back and stand, stepping around the table, looming over him. He hasn’t seen me since I was that scared kid headed into jail. He has no idea what the past eighteen years have done to me—I was thrown into the pit and I climbed back out with my fingernails. That changes a man. “Do you?” I ask him softly.