If he had to be accused of something, at least nice wasn’t so bad. “Because I love you?”
“See, that’s what makes me furious. You act like you do things because I need them and I don’t know what’s good for me.”
“That’s not the way I see it, or why I do it.”
“That’s how it feels.” Thunder cracked again. The rain pelted harder on the roof.
“I’m sorry.”
Her angry eyes studied him, but something had changed behind them. “I just want to figure out what happened with my mom and sisters, and you want to reschedule our wedding.”
He bit back his first response—that women usually loved to multitask—because he didn’t want her to throw a shoe at him. “And if there is any way I can help you find some answers, I’ll do it.”
“As long as I marry you?”
He vehemently shook his head. “No. No strings. You want to skip the wedding, I’ll understand.” The thought made his stomach twist. “For now.” If he had to sacrifice marrying her right away to win back her trust, he would. “But you need to talk to me, tell me what’s changed, and I don’t mean since your sisters showed up. Before.”
By her suddenly determined gaze, he realized she’d taken his bait.
“You’re completely goal oriented. And we’re behind schedule, according to you.” She took a step, then paced around the couch as she spoke. “Become an associate professor, check. Get engaged, check. Get tenure, check.” She wrote imaginary checks in the air as lightning lit up the room. “Get married. Buy house. Have baby number one. Check, check, check.” A clap of thunder emphasized her checks.
“Is that how you see it?”
Another long stare trained at him, his question answered without a word. The earlier queasiness returned, as it sunk into him how he’d come off to her.
“Okay, so I do have a goal of marrying you, because we were supposed to be married in March!” He couldn’t help the frustration.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. We missed our scheduled...” She scrunched her face, thinking. “What’s the word, nuptials?” Obviously under the effect of two glasses of wine, the term amused her. Was it fair to fight now?
“As much as you feel I’m being unreasonable, can you at least try to see my side of things?” Unlike her, he stood in place, wide stance, arms open, palms up. “We were on track, you loved me, your mother loved me, hell, even Rory loves me. Then overnight everything changed, and I completely understood why. But it’s six months now and it keeps changing.”
She’d stopped pacing, stood arms akimbo, and to her credit after two glasses of wine, listening.
“I keep losing more and more of you. Instead of getting closer to our life together, we’re moving farther away.” He seriously hoped the softening in her stare meant she understood.
“A lot is going on in my life, I can’t ignore any of it. And now, I have to deal with this before I can move on.”
“Again, I understand that, but you still haven’t told me what is really holding you back.”
He waited hopefully, but her jaw clamped tight.
“Look,” he said, stepping toward her, feeling bad for putting her through this when her life had just been turned on its head. Again! But he needed her to know his biggest fear. “While you’re digging into your past, I’m just asking you not to forget about your future. Hopefully our future.”
She stood still as her eyes closed, then needing to hold the back of the couch to keep steady. At first he thought she might cry, but she quickly shifted her mood.
“And disappoint my ‘sisters’?” She put air quotes around “sisters.” Her sarcasm proved she was all mixed up about them turning up in her life at this sticky interlude, too. Would there ever be a perfect time for them to get married? She stared at her toes as he moved closer—only then did he realize she’d kicked off her shoes, standing there, toes digging into his fluffy throw rug.
“What do you mean, disappoint your sisters?”
“They talked me into buying a wedding dress tonight!”
Hope shot through him like another bolt of lightning, even as her attitude sunk in.
“I did not put them up to that.”
“I know.”
He let her be for a good minute as he finished his wine. Then he shrugged. “At the risk of ticking you off more, for the record, now that I’ve had two drinks, I can’t drive you home, either.”
She walked around the couch and kicked the nearest box, the third box, with bare toes and hopped around for a few seconds as a result. “This is so frustrating!”
He completely understood that “this” meant “everything!” Plus, they’d come up with nothing, and Brynne looked both frustrated and disappointed after a long, exaggerated sigh.
He needed clarification, though, because he’d meant to be charming, in a teasing kind of way, and she was kicking boxes. “What’s so frustrating?”
“That we can’t figure out what the hell my mom was up to! And we don’t have anyone to ask, because Rory is a waste of time in the answer department.” She lifted her empty glass toward him. “Can you pour me another?” So maybe she’d come to terms with not going home tonight.
He obliged her wish quickly, only wanting to please. And to keep her there.
“So frustrating!” She practically growled from the other room. He heard another foot thud on the box and settled on half a refill, adding water.
She’d painted a picture of who he was, and it had hurt. He could understand how that might come off as unappealing. He’d change, some way, somehow, for her. No pressure. But in his gut, he still wondered what really held her back. Well, besides every little gripe she’d gladly poured out about him. There was no doubt about one thing, though. He knew how they were completely compatible, and he wasn’t going to let her forget it.
He hurried back into the living room, gave her the half glass of wine, helped her sit down, then took her free hand in his. When he had her full attention, he lightly kissed each knuckle before connecting with her tortured blue eyes. Probably against her will, but she still liked him doing that. A lot. “I’ve got an app for that,” he whispered.
“For finding unnamed relatives or friends?” She’d gone from tipsy box kicking to acerbic in record time. She also took a generous drink from the glass in her free hand. Fortunately she didn’t notice it was mostly water.
“An app for how to fix your frustration.”
One of her perfectly shaped brows lifted in interest, so he kissed his way up the fine skin of her arm to the inside of her elbow. There, he planted a whisper of a kiss, making her flesh break out in chill bumps. He enjoyed watching every single one.
Her head tilted, and from beneath her mascara, she gave him a perceptive gaze. At this rate, he predicted he’d soon be kissing his way to the back of her knees, and from there...?
“A temporary fix,” she stated, taking some of the air from his sails. He continued to kiss the inside of her elbow while rain pelted the windows until the next sigh escaping her lips sounded in an entirely different class.
After her blissful moan, signaling his kisses were on the perfect path, he still needed to make sure. “Would you like to join me in bed?”
She swallowed and watched him closely for several moments. “Sleep with my ex-fiancé? How daring.”
“Then I dare you.”
Chapter Seven
Monday night at the huge rental, Eva proved to be the perfect hostess. Her idea of casual was evidently chic. Wearing off-white wide-leg cotton gauze lounge pants, a light brown loose crocheted sweater with one centrally located button over a white tank top, and a larger-than-life seashell assortment necklace, she looked ready for a photo shoot rather than a takeout dinner with her sisters. Especially since her hair was in an updo.
Brynne, with her usual braid, was impressed, though
worried about being a little dowdy in her jeans and three-quarter-sleeved cotton top combo, even though she’d left home feeling daring—a feeling that had started last night at Paul’s condo—wearing her favorite shade of deep purple to complement her hair. At least she’d bypassed her usual sneakers for a sporty pair of Skechers, admittedly only doing so to dress up a bit. Wow, had she undershot the mark.
Obviously caring less about what Brynne had worn, Eva was thrilled to see her. She further proved it by rushing in for a hug and a peck on the cheek. Brynne usually shied away from big shows of affection, something she only let her mom do, and less often, Rory, and she inwardly tensed while pretending to welcome it. Sisters or not, Eva was still a stranger.
“Am I being pushy?” Eva asked close to her ear.
“No,” Brynne fibbed.
Joe—with Noah, the black-haired toddler, slung over the side of his jeans-clad hip, squiggling and acting like he wasn’t really enjoying every part of the awkward position—glad-handed Paul and obviously made him feel at home. But Paul felt at home anywhere, for which Brynne envied him.
Zack casually looked on, waiting his turn to say hi, with a longneck in hand. “Hey, can I get you one?” he said after a double tap to Paul’s deltoid in greeting.
Paul nodded his thanks—“Sounds good”—and as usual, he fit right in. Big family versus loner mom—yeah, the dynamic made a difference. Not that a big family automatically created an extrovert and vice versa, but it certainly had in Paul and Brynne’s case, and she’d noticed the difference right from the start.
Lacy, just coming off a nursing session with John, looked especially excited about the food. Wearing a colorful patterned tunic and black leggings, she looked right at home as she grabbed a chicken leg and chomped on it. “Excuse me, but I’m starving. Like, all the time.” After a quick chew and swallow, she was ready to go again. “It’s so good to be out of the hospital. No offense, Brynne, but the food was awful.”
Now this was a topic she was an expert on.
“It’s supposed to be.” Paul spoke up, beating her to the punch. “It’s all part of the subversive plan to get people to want to go home quicker.”
Paul’s good mood had everything to do with the surroundings. He was in his element—the man loved being around people. Though the fact they’d been hitting the sheets significantly more than usual probably had a lot deal to do with his relaxed and perpetual smile. Was that a normal consequence of breaking an engagement? Miffed he’d stolen her thunder on hospital-cafeteria knowledge, she forced a grin while grinding her molars.
Eva had found the best caterers in town in less than twenty-four hours, evidently another effortless knack of the wealthy, and the spread of food laid out on the extralong dining table looked delicious. Like Lacy, Brynne was ready to grab a sample.
In the background, the state-of-the-art kitchen was big enough to comfortably accommodate all the adults, plus little Emma, Noah and both the babies, thanks to the supersize island. Still, Eva had chosen the dining table, making Brynne feel like the guest of honor.
Emma knelt on the floor across the room and watched Estrella as she sat on a blanket and rattled and shook everything she could get her pudgy little fingers on, though only after tasting it first. The rental must have come stocked with family items. Once again, Brynne was impressed that a house in her hometown was perfectly suited for a Modern Home and Design magazine cover.
“Let’s do this buffet-style and then we can all go out on the deck to eat,” Eva said. “You won’t believe the view.” She handed Brynne the first plate, continuing to make her feel special. Then it quickly occurred that she probably was, being the newest twin and all. They’d both been through it before, but Brynne hadn’t.
She stepped outside, and the mountainous views from her city were anything but a surprise, never taken for granted and always appreciated. Still, they looked extra beautiful tonight. Was it the company?
“Ooh, Paul,” Lacy said, once everyone was outside enjoying their meal. “You should see the sexy dress we picked out for Brynne last night.”
“I can’t wait,” Paul said a tad overenthusiastic.
He carried on, making easy conversation. He’d been trained well by his clan. And she’d been raised by a private woman who enjoyed the sound of silence and reading books. This was all foreign territory, and that kept her from completely relaxing. They were all still practically strangers, she reminded herself again and again. Though, one odd thing—she’d never gotten this close to strangers so quickly. Lacy and Eva were the pretend sisters she used to have imaginary conversations with. The thought sent a chill over her spine.
Still, she made a mental note to ask them later if they’d ever done that, too.
Paul sat beside her, his plate already half-empty. “Hey, guys,” Paul said, voice raised, as natural as could be, having only met everyone in the last two days. “My dad is making lasagna in your honor, so I just wanted to remind you that dinner will be at the Capriati house tomorrow.”
His announcement was met with cheers—“Yay, Italian food”—and quickly the men hashed out the time.
Tension ran a lap around Brynne’s entire body at the thought of all this plus Paul’s family in one house. Would it be more than she could handle?
She glanced around at everyone, all in good spirits. She, on the other hand, fighting her discomfort. This unknown family had found her, and if she was honest, it was exciting. Why not enjoy them?
Lacy and Eva migrated toward Brynne, and as things settled down while everyone ate, they spoke quietly and happily, making small talk, working hard on their crash course task of getting to know each other.
“What was your favorite movie when you were a kid?” Lacy asked, chomping on a dinner roll.
Her out-of-the-blue question sent Brynne on a quick trip down memory lane. “Hands down, The Princess Bride,” she said. Her mom had been choosy over what she’d let Brynne watch, and this one had passed the test.
“Loved that one,” Lacy replied, enthusiasm as obvious as her hand gestures. “I think Westley was my first crush.”
“Mine was the kid from The Neverending Story,” Eva said. “Atreyu was so hot.”
Silly as it was, this harmless conversation felt safer than others, and Brynne easily shared. “I loved that one, too,” she chimed in as memories of being a lonely little girl watching rental fantasy movies on Friday nights rushed back. Bittersweet memories that, if she were honest, might’ve been nicer if she’d had friends—or sisters—to share them with. Even as an adult, her “friends” tended to be people she worked with.
“Have you seen him as an adult?” Lacy said. “The looks didn’t transfer.”
The comment caught Brynne off guard and made her laugh. Lacy was a character, and, ready or not, she was growing on Brynne.
To back up her story, Lacy googled it and shared the results. They all agreed and laughed—and wow, how natural did it feel to be having this immature discussion? Then it occurred to her that the many other conversations they’d missed could never be made up, but right here, right now, they just went for it.
Even though it was against her nature, Brynne had come prepared, thanks in no small part to rummaging through those old boxes.
“Oh hey, I brought pictures,” Brynne said, leading them inside then grabbing from her purse the old-school photo prints she’d snagged last night. At least she had them to offer.
Eva and Lacy were eager to finally see their birth mother, as Brynne shared the lot of them. Jessica Taylor had been of average height, with thick light brown, full-bodied hair that she’d preferred to keep short. She was naturally on the scrawny side, her eyes were hazel green, her smile stellar.
“Wow. So that’s our mom,” Lacy said while they all stopped to think about it.
With near reverence, she passed the pictures to Eva, and Brynne looked on, wondering how it must fe
el for them. She’d had something they’d both missed out on. Lacy had her dad—their dad—and though Brynne wasn’t sure how she felt about it, there was still curiosity about what he must have been like. Eva didn’t have either birth parent in her life, but she’d been raised never wanting for a material thing. Brynne wondered what she would’ve given to know them. As she considered these things, a small part of her bulletproof glass barrier started to come down.
“I think we all have her nose,” Eva said, as matter-of-fact as could be.
“We definitely do.” Brynne had known that her entire life—for them it was a revelation. Again, what must they be thinking? Feeling?
“She has really kind eyes,” Lacy commented, smiling as hers went misty.
“Mom was patient and gentle, but she had a temper.”
“Like throw-things-across-the-room temper?” Lacy’s immediate curiosity put a stop to her near tears.
“More like the look of death, and I never wanted to cross her to find out if she was bluffing or not.”
They laughed, and the sound touched Brynne’s heart, being the expert on Jessica Taylor, professional surrogate. The thought bumped into Brynne and momentarily knocked her off balance. All the things she’d never known about Mom.
“Wow, the mystery woman, our birth mother,” Eva said, staring at one picture in particular and growing serious just as quickly as they’d laughed the moment before. For the next few seconds, she sat quietly inspecting each picture, as though hunting for a clue on why Jessica had separated her daughters.
“The woman from the bookstore seems to be in a lot of these pictures,” Lacy said, scrunching up her eyes to look closer.
“Rory. Yes, she was Mom’s best friend, like a second mom to me. We were kind of like this little misfit family. They looked out for each other,” Brynne said, not even blinking at how involved Rory had been in her life since the day she’d moved here. Because that was just the way it always had been. “Now, please, please, please, show me some pictures of our dad.”
The Reluctant Fiancée (The Taylor Triplets Book 3) Page 10