Faking Forever (First Wives #4)(20)

They both laughed.

The waiter brought him a menu and he ordered coffee. His head still had a band playing inside, but his stomach didn’t seem any worse for the night. “Thanks for keeping me from following my shoes into the ocean.”

“I’m not sure what thought bubble prompted that rebellion. It isn’t like Corrie left because of your footwear.”

He didn’t know where that came from either.

“You made us crazy, taking off like you did last night,” Justin said, taking a drink from his coffee.

“I took off?”

“Yeah. One minute you said you were going to take a leak, the next thing we know, you were gone.”

The image of the moon hitting the water the night before surfaced in his head. He remembered being pissed the view was perfect. A perfect view on an imperfect night. Then he remembered sitting at the bar with her.

Singing.

“Please tell me that photographer wasn’t part of last night.”

Justin sat in silence.

“Hell, no.”

“Sorry, Vic. But you’re lucky she stumbled upon you. Or you on her, however that may have been.”

“We were drinking at the bar.” And singing.

“That you were.”

Victor shook his head. “She told Corrie to leave. I know it.” Her conviction on the plane, the words she told him when she didn’t know who he was. The strength and confidence in her couldn’t understand how a woman would want a man like him.

Justin sat forward. “You said that constantly last night . . . sober, drunk. What if she did, Vic? No one put a gun to Corrie’s head and told her to flake. In the end, she did that all on her own.”

“Still . . .”

“Do you remember what you were saying seconds before you realized Corrie wasn’t walking down that aisle?”

His back teeth met and didn’t let go. “That was nerves.”

Justin fixed him with a look. “That was second thoughts. We both know it. So what if Shannon nudged Corrie to walk away? What if her best friends drug her away? It doesn’t matter. Her second thoughts stopped her. Why didn’t yours?”

“Nerves, not second thoughts.”

Justin shook his head. “I call bullshit. If Corrie was the end all, be all, you would have run after her and begged her to come back. But you didn’t do that. Did you?”

Victor swallowed. The thought had never occurred to him.

“You’re getting a do-over, Vic . . . a new start without going through all the crap that happens when you marry the wrong person for the wrong reasons and end up giving up half your shit for the effort. Trust me on this. Count your blessings.” Justin had married in his late twenties and was divorced by thirty-four. No kids, thankfully. His ex did take half.

Victor turned his gaze to the beach outside the open doors of the restaurant. Maybe his brother had a point. “I should just go back to work and forget all this happened.”

Justin blew out a frustrated breath. “Or maybe you should take the two weeks you were supposed to be on your honeymoon and figure out why your priorities are all messed up.”

He snapped his eyes to his brother. “My priorities are just fine, thank you.”

“The hell. You didn’t fly in with Corrie like you planned. Why?”

“I had a meeting.”

“Did anyone die at this meeting?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being anything. You blew off your fiancée the day before your wedding for a meeting. I don’t care what was going on . . . a gazillion-dollar deal, a peace offering between the Israelis and the—”

“It was important.” Tensions in China were messing with his future.

Justin sat back. “I don’t get it. I just don’t. You’re so damn smart when it comes to finance and futures. You saw Dad working his ass off day and night at the shop, always struggling. When we were old enough to jump in and learn the trade, you were like, ‘Hell, no. There’s a way to make money on the scraps.’ But you’re so damn ignorant when it comes to personal relationships.”

Their father was a machinist. A master at twisting raw pieces of metal into something that ended up in airplanes flying at thirty thousand feet or rocketing into outer space. With every part he created, there were shavings all over the shop floor.

Shavings of valuable metal that needed to be recycled.

His father had a company come in to pick up the shavings for a price. Only Victor wanted the cut for himself. By the time he graduated from high school, he’d laughingly started Vic Corp. His father and several of his friends gave Vic their shavings . . . for a price, and Victor negotiated contracts with recycling companies to turn a significant profit. Where Justin joined his father at Brooks Incorporated, making parts and working long hours, Victor took a different direction.

He accepted his two-year associate’s degree in business from his local community college and went into business for himself full-time. Taking two more years out of his life to accomplish what he was already doing didn’t fit his schedule. Vic Corp started with him in his childhood bedroom, he moved to an apartment before he was old enough to drink a beer legally, and by the time he was thirty, he’d stretched his shavings into recycling boats full of garbage to countries that needed the resources.