Stepbrother Billionaire(26)
Author: Colleen Masters

“Deb,” my dad says through a forced smile, “These are my parents.”

“Oh. My. God,” Deb breathes, splaying her hands out over her heart. “You are just about the fanciest people I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

“Yes. Well,” Grandma says, unable to form any additional words.

“That is…some dress you’ve got there,” Grandpa attempts.

“Dad,” my own father hisses warningly.

“Oh, you like it?” Deb chirps, giving us all a little spin. “I got in at forty percent off. Still a rip off, if you ask me, but heck—it’s a special occasion, right? And it’s not like Bob here is hurting for money.” My grandparents’ eyebrows shoot up, disappearing into their hair lines. Deb falters, looking back and forth between them. “I’m sorry. Was that tacky?”

“Ah, so you are familiar with the word, then,” Grandma says coolly.

I glance at Emerson, embarrassed by my grandparents’ icy behavior. But his face is totally unreadable—I have no idea if he’s even listening. Deb, not knowing what to do with my grandparents’ disdain, turns to Emerson and me with a tight grin.

“Now you two look so darling,” she sighs tearfully. “Our big happy family, at last.”

I catch grandpa rolling his eyes as the justice of the peace claps his hands.

“So!” the jolly official says, “Shall we head to the backyard for the ceremony?”

Deb grabs hold of my dad’s hand and yanks him out the back door. They’ve set up a flimsy white altar in front of the pool, which is filled with floating flower blossoms. Emerson walks out ahead of me, keeping his eyes straight ahead, and my grandparents bring up the rear. Deb’s heels sink into the grass as she teeters toward the altar on my dad’s arm. Emerson stands beside her, and I take my place next to Dad. The justice of the peace stands between them, and my grandparents move front and center, all but wrinkling their noses.

The wedding of the century, indeed.

I can’t make myself focus as the justice of the peace starts rattling through the motions. Emerson and I stand facing each other, looking over our parents’ shoulders. I’ve never seen him look so miserable. More than being upset for my own heartbreak, I hate our parents in this moment for causing Emerson so much pain. He’s been through so much already, and now this fiasco? It’s more than anyone should have to bear.

“OK then,” the justice of the peace goes on. “If we could have the rings…”

Emerson thrusts them into my dad’s hand. Our parents slip the gaudy trinkets onto each other’s hands, grinning like two teenagers. The words of their vows and even their “I do’s” fade into white noise as Emerson finally lifts his eyes to mine. We stare at each other, laid bare in this anguished moment. Our gazes say what we never got a chance to: “I care about you more than anything in this world. I’m so sorry you’re in pain.” And as our parents share their first kiss as man and wife, I try my best to tell Emerson one more thing with my silent, pleading eyes:

“I love you.”

And as I look on, my heart breaking, I could swear his blue eyes tell me, “I love you too.”

Chapter Ten

By midnight¸ the house is all but silent once more. Leftover food and cake clutters every surface of the kitchen, crushed petals stain the floors, and the plastic flowers on the rickety altar out back have started dropping off, one by one. Dad and Deb have flown the coop, off on the first leg of their honeymoon in New York City. Grandma and Grandpa beat a quick retreat after a bite of cake and three brandies each. The house, my home, feels like a crypt now. But I suppose that’s appropriate—I’m certainly in mourning.

Emerson and I, still dressed up in our wedding day best, sit side-by-side at the kitchen island. There’s an open bottle of vodka and a gigantic round of wedding cake sitting between us, and we’re helping ourselves to an abundance of both. Neither of us can think of anything productive to say, but are loathe to be alone tonight. We sit there in silence, being careful not to brush elbows or even look at each other for too long. As of this afternoon, when the ink dried on our parents’ marriage license, our relationship can only be strictly platonic.

I haven’t been this miserable since my mom passed away. This feeling of running up against devastating injustice is something I’m all too familiar with by now.

Without a word, Emerson refills our glasses of straight vodka. He snatches up his glass and downs his booze in one swallow. Tearing off his necktie, he staggers to his feet. I stare at him as he turns to leave.

“Where are you going?” I murmur, the room spinning as I stand up after him.

“Bed,” he growls, not looking at me.

“That’s it?” I ask around the sudden lump in my throat, “It’s just gonna be one word answers from now on?”

“What did you expect?” he replies, keeping his back to me.

“I expected you to…to be…”

“Your friend?” he scoffs, shoving a hand through his hair. “That was never going to happen, Abby. You know that as well as I do.”

“We have to at least try,” I say softly, reaching out to touch him. At the slightest brush of my fingers, he rips his arm away from me, spinning around with fire in his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” he rages. “No fucking way can I just be your friend.”

“Don’t yell at me,” I say, steadying myself against the counter. “You’re drunk. You’re upset. This isn’t you talking—”

“As if you know the first thing about me,” he fires back, shaking his head. “One fuck, and you think we’re soul mates or something?”

“Stop it,” I tell him fiercely. “I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to hurt me. Trying to drive me away so that you don’t have to deal with what’s happening. Well too fucking bad. I’m not going anywhere, Emerson. You can’t scare me away.”

“No?” he demands, stepping toward me. He plants one hand on either side of me, caging me in against the counter. “You really think so?”

“Yes. I do,” I whisper, keeping my hazel eyes trained on his face.

Our lips are mere inches from each other, our bodies all but pressed together. The sudden proximity of him sets me to trembling. I can’t be strong enough for both of us. I need his help.

“Please, Emerson,” I say, blinking away the tears that blur my vision. “Could you just…hold me? Just for a second.”