Stepbrother Billionaire(32)

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 f*cking 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 f*ck, 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 f*cking 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.”

He stares at me, his blue eyes frozen over. But as the first tear rolls down my cheek, I watch the ice crack. The fight goes out of him, making way for the despair he’s been trying to cover up with aggression.

“Come here,” he murmurs, opening his arms to me.

I rush to him, throwing myself into his embrace. He enfolds me in a fierce hug as the tears come hard and fast. He kisses the top of my head, pulling me tightly against him.

“You can’t disappear on me like that,” I cry, burying my face in the front of his suit. “I can’t get through this without you, Emerson.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he says, his voice rasping. “This is just...It’s so hard, Abby. What am I supposed to do without you in my life? The way I want you to be, I mean...?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” I say miserably.

We hold each other, each unwilling to be the first to break the embrace. As the sky begins to lighten, we finally trudge upstairs, entirely spent. I walk ahead of Emerson, my body tired and aching. The prospect of sleeping alone tonight is too much to bear. It’s hard to believe that it was just last night that I fell asleep next to Emerson, my cheek resting against his bare chest. It feels like years ago that our bodies met, collided, moved as one. It was, without question, the best night of my life. And would you look at that? It’s being followed up by the worst.

Emerson and I reach the top of the stairs and pause, each glancing at our bedrooms at opposite ends of the hall. Turning away from each other now seems like the final step, the last nail in the coffin sealing up our barely-formed relationship. After the wrenching, brutal escapade that was our parents’ wedding ceremony this afternoon, I don’t know if I can take it.

“You know,” I say softly. “Today was sort of like a nightmare.”

“That’s for f*cking sure,” he murmurs, glancing my way.

“And after a nightmare...isn’t is usually OK for a little sister to crawl into her big brother’s bed?” I ask tearfully.

A slow, sad smile spreads across his gorgeous face. “Nice justification, weirdo,” he teases softly, offering me his hand.

I lace my fingers through his. Silently, we walk down the hallway toward his room. We don’t even have the energy to change out of our clothes. With vodka-clouded heads and heavy hearts, we collapse onto his bed. Emerson wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. There’s no question of things going any further between us now, but this simple comforting embrace is a balm for my battered soul. In an instant we’ve fallen into a deep, mercifully dreamless sleep.