Trillion(66)

And he’s right.

My mother …

My sister …

Trey …

He comes closer, and with every step, like faded daydreams, all the visions of marriage and children with him evaporate.





Forty-Eight





Trey



Present



“How badly do you want this deal?” Sophie asks when we retreat to the cottage Saturday night. Her skin is warm and sunbaked beneath her dress, and she smells of coconut sunscreen, ocean, and sunshine.

We spent the day boating on Nolan’s yacht, which he named The Always Anabelle, and when we got to the alcove with the private beach, we disembarked for a couple hours relaxing in the sand. I’ve never been a beach person, but I took pleasure in watching Sophie with the children from behind dark sunglasses as Nolan yakked my ear off about business merger rumors and the history of his steel and oil company—as if I hadn’t already done my research.

I’m convinced the man simply loves to hear his own voice.

“More than anything,” I tell her as I strip out of my shirt. “Why do you ask?”

“You don’t talk about it much,” she says, unbuttoning the front of her dress. The straps of her bikini have created fresh tan lines, and I kiss the bronzed skin of her shoulders before working my way up her neck.

“I don’t want to bore you.” I press my lips into the spot behind her ear, fingers laced in her wind-blown hair.

“And what if you don’t get it?” she asks. “What if he doesn’t believe … us?”

I sniff. She should know me better than this by now. “I’ll get it. And he will. He already does.”

She bites her lip, forcing a breath through her nose. Her nipples perk from beneath her bikini top and her heated skin is covered in goose bumps.

“I loved watching you with those kids today.” I trail my fingers down her arms, where tiny grains of sand remain. “You’re going to be an incredible mother. So patient. So gentle. Willing to get down to their level. And the light in your eyes …”

She’s quiet, perhaps thinking about the future child we’ll create someday.

“You really bonded with Sasha,” I add, lips grazing hers. “Kind of makes me hope we have a girl …”

“One thing at a time, Casanova,” she’s kidding around now, which historically has never been a good sign. Something’s bothering her and she’s trying to lighten the mood to avoid discussing it.

“I’ve never mentioned this before. Not even to Broderick.” I cup her face and meet her intense blue gaze. “But the Ameses sold my parents the plane they died on. Taking over their company and rearranging their business model would be a way of sticking it to them. Their family will be furious with me by the time I’m through, and while this makes me sound petty, I’ll take great pleasure in every fucking minute of it.”

Sophie’s expression suspends in time for a moment, and just when I think perhaps she’s judging my little confession, she says, “Good for you.”

We stumble backward, to the bed, and I run my fingers down her stomach. It caves in response and her breathing heavies. Working my way down, I slide my hand into her bikini bottoms—until she stops me.

“It’s been a long day,” she says, growing stiff beneath my touch. “You mind if we just relax tonight?”

Disappointed, I remove my hand from between her thighs and pull her into my arms. My cock pulsates before growing limp. I’ve been waiting all day to have her to myself again, but if she’s not in the mood, she’s not in the mood. If I pressed, I’m sure she’d relent, but I’d never do that to her.

“Everything okay?”

Her eyes light and she swats at my chest. “Of course.”

I don’t believe her—but I know better than to pry when she’s like this.

The sun sets outside our window, coloring the guest room in variations of orange-pink. I could lie like this forever with her in this dream-like trance.

“My mom broke her leg once. Don’t ask me how because I can’t remember. I was quite young at the time.” I breathe her in. “But I remember that for weeks, my father refused to leave her side. He stayed by her side in bed. He helped her around when she needed anything. He cut fresh roses from the garden every day so she had something beautiful to look at when she woke, something to lift her spirits. He loved her to the point of obsession sometimes. And I never understood how someone could be so fixated on anyone else … but I get it now. That level of devotion makes sense, and it’s all because of you, Sophie, that I finally understand it.”

A wince covers her pretty face. Or maybe it doesn’t. It happens so fast.

I think about saying the words that’ve been on my tongue all weekend.

I love you.

But for some reason, I stop. And I take the euphoria that floods me as a consolation prize.

My gut tells me to wait, that she’s not in the right frame of mind to hear it.

Nuzzling into the bend of my arm, she sighs. And a moment later, her breath steadies as she succumbs to the exhaustion of the day.

“I love you,” I say as I watch her sleep, but only in my mind.

I’ll tell her soon enough.