Stepbrother Billionaire(30)

I’ve changed into my maid of honor dress, a lavender sheath, and tried my best to apply fancy makeup. We have to head right to the church this morning, just like we promised, and we’re already getting kind of a late start. I lock eyes with myself in the mirror, see the tears shining there.

“Stop it,” I whisper, “You can’t cry now. You always knew this was coming.”

But even though Emerson and I had our one night together knowing full well that it would be our last, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Stepping out into the hotel bedroom, I feel my heart clench painfully as Emerson turns to face me across the space. He’s wearing a simple gray suit, but it might as well be a tux for how good it looks on him. His hair is pushed away from his face, though the signature stubble I love so much is still in place. His blue eyes are shining with remorse for what’s about to happen and elation at what passed between us last night.

“You look beautiful,” he says, his voice ragged with conflicting emotion.

“Thank you,” I say softly, “You look amazing, too.”

“Here,” he says, moving to the motel mini-fridge. He opens it up and takes out a corsage in its little container. It’s a small sprig of lilac tied with an ivory ribbon.

“What is this, prom?” I laugh tearfully, as Emerson eases the band of the corsage up over my wrist.

“Just as miserable as prom, probably,” he grins wistfully, lacing my fingers through his.

“Well, don’t go overboard,” I joke, stepping toward him.

Without preamble, he pulls me into a tight embrace, pressing his lips ardently to mine. I take his face in my hands, kissing him hard. We both know that this is the last kiss we’ll ever share. It’s closed-lipped, almost sacred. And I’ll never forget it.

“I don’t know how just yet,” Emerson murmurs, running his hands down my arms, “But it’s going to be OK, Abby. We’re gonna make it through this.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I say, shaking my head, “Because right now, I can’t see how I’m ever going to feel alright again.”

“At least we’ll still be in each others’ lives,” Emerson says, searching for a silver lining. “Even if it won’t be...how we’d prefer.”

“I hope you know that I’ll never stop wondering what might have happened between us,” I whisper, “You know. If only...”

“I know,” he says softly, kissing me on the forehead, “Me too, Abby.”

Knowing that we won’t be able to utter another word without breaking into tears, we silently gather our things. We stand in the threshold together, looking back at the motel room. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be as happy again as I have been here. As Emerson closes the door behind us, it feels like something is being entombed here—some part of me that is lost forever.

I sink into the passenger seat of the Chevy and stare out the window as we set off on the long drive back to our home town. Hopefully, by the time we get there, I’ll find it in my heart to fake a smile or two for my father’s wedding day.





Things are already well underway at our home by the time we pull up. My dad is waiting on the front steps, looking tense. I recognize my grandparents’ car, and another that must belong to the justice of the peace, in the driveway.

“There you two are!” my dad cries, beckoning us forward. “Come in, come in. Frank and Gillian are waiting to see you.”

That’s why he looks tense. He and my grandparents are already sure to be butting heads. I give Dad a quick kiss on the cheek as I pass.

“You look nice, Daddy,” I tell him, trying to be chipper.

“You too, sweetie,” he replies distractedly.

A pang of sadness twists my core at our clipped address. He’s taking so much away from me today, more than he could ever know, and for what? A shadow of the relationship we used to have? I force myself not to think of it as I hurry toward the kitchen with Emerson in tow. Stepping inside, I spot my grandparents huddled over the counter. They’re dressed to the nines—Grandpa Frank in an Italian wool suit, Grandma Jillian in her favorite fur stole. They’ve always looked to me like first class passengers on some old-timey luxury cruise line. The only things unappealing about their appearances today are the twin scowls they try to cover up as I approach.

“Abigail,” Grandma Jillian smiles, air-kissing both of my cheeks. A soft wash of her signature Chanel perfume brings back a million memories of tense family gatherings and etiquette lessons. I love my grandparents, but there’s definitely a lot of pressure that goes along with trying to meet their expectations.

“You look gorgeous, dear,” Grandpa Frank says, giving me a swift kiss on the hand. They’re a beautiful couple, and look much younger than they actually are. Grandma’s perfect crown of platinum blonde curls, Grandpa’s swoosh of silver hair, and their bright white smiles make them look like an advertisement for the swankiest retirement community around.

“Grandpa, Grandma, this is Emerson—Deb’s son,” I say, glancing Emerson’s way. He’s got both hands shoved into his pockets, and his mouth is a hard, solemn line.

“Ah,” Grandpa says, without warmth. “Well. Hello, Emerson.”

“Hey,” Emerson nods.