I laugh to myself, rolling over and rubbing my eyes. I squint, trying to get the clock into focus. I can’t see well enough to tell what time it is, but I can see that there’s one too many numbers . . . four, instead of three, which means . . .

  “I’m late!”

  I grab my glasses off the nightstand and shove them onto my face crookedly. I glare at the clock accusingly, wondering why my alarm didn’t wake me at eight like it always does. Now, it’s after ten, the museum is already open, and I’m supposed to be on duty.

  I roll out of bed, sprinting for the bathroom. There’s no time for a shower, so a quick brush of my hair, a quicker brush of my teeth, and a fresh layer of deodorant are all I can do. For once, I’m thankful for the ugly uniform I’m required to wear because it limits my choices, so I get dressed in record time.

  “Bag, protein bar, and ooh, phone.” I retrace my steps to grab my phone from the nightstand too, giving the clock one more glare.

  One step into the living room and I stop in my tracks. “Carter?”

  He’s here. In my kitchen. Sipping on—I inhale and catch the scent that should’ve been an automatic tell—fresh coffee from the mug Samantha gave me. The one that says Hos before Bros.

  “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he croons. “Coffee?”

  But other than his being here, drinking coffee, the other really weird thing is . . . he’s naked. Like full Monty, sausage and biscuits, dick and balls naked . . . in my kitchen.

  “What’re you doing? Why are you . . .?” I point south, keeping my eyes averted north politely.

  He chuckles and holds his arms out wide. “Didn’t seem like a big deal after last night.”

  Huh? Last night?

  How could he know about my dreams? Oh, duh . . . I’m still asleep.

  I pinch my arm sharply. “Ow!”

  “What the fuck? Why’d you do that?” Dream Carter comes over, setting the coffee down along the way. He takes my arm in his, rubbing the red mark that’s already popping up.

  “To wake up. I’m gonna be late for work.” The explanation makes perfect sense to me, but Dream Carter doesn’t seem to think so.

  With a furrowed brow, he speaks slowly as though I couldn’t possibly understand regular tempo speech. “You’re awake. Your alarm went off, but I didn’t realize it was for work, so I turned it off. Sorry. Do you want some coffee to go?”

  “I’m . . . awake? And you’re naked in my kitchen? With fresh coffee?” I laugh at the ridiculousness.

  He grins, a bright glint in his eyes. “Go to work, Luna. I’ll call you later. We’ll do dinner. And if you’re a good girl, maybe a bit of dessert too.”

  “Oh-kay,” I drawl because Dream Me really has to get to work, but staying here and having an early dinner could be good too.

  Dream Carter swats my butt, telling me he’ll lock up and to have a good day.

  When Maeve yells at me for being late, I realize that none of this is a dream. Carter really was naked in my kitchen this morning, which means last night . . . was real too?

  I can’t examine that too closely without freaking out, so I bury myself in customer service mode. It’s not until the end of the day, when I check my phone, that it truly hits me.

  Carter: Dinner, 7pm. Capitol Chophouse. Wear a dress.

  Bossy and to the point. Infuriating man.

  A few minutes after that, he texted again.

  Carter: Or wear whatever you want.

  A smile steals across my lips at his self-correction. That’s the only reason I consider actually going to this dinner.

  Who do you think you’re kidding? You’re totally going. And you should hurry up because you need a shower before you go.

  Showered, shaved, lotioned, and potioned, I smooth my palms over the skirt of my dress. I considered taking Carter’s option to wear whatever I wanted to heart and show up in overalls or baggy jeans just to be ornery, but ultimately, I decided to play along with whatever this dinner plan is. The dress is the same black one I wore to Carter’s parents’—freshly steamed after what I did in it last time—but it’s the best I could do from my closet on short notice because Samantha borrowed the green dress, not caring that it exposes several more inches of thigh on her long legs than it does on mine.

  The hostess at Capitol Chophouse greets me politely, if not a bit stiffly, when I come in. “I’m meeting a friend here . . . Carter Harrington.” I see the spark of interest in her eyes at Carter’s name, and she looks me up and down more thoroughly. I follow her to the table, expecting to find Carter waiting for me.

  Instead, there are two people sitting there . . . Carter and Zack. “Uh, hi.” Both men stand as I approach, and then there’s a weird moment where they both reach to pull a chair out for me.

  Zack chuckles and sits back down, letting Carter get my seat. “Guess it’s a good thing you’ve got manners, huh? Your brother would have you doing one of his seminars if you didn’t.”

  Carter leans my way. “He’s talking about Chance. He hosts a podcast called Two Men and a Mic that teaches young men how to thrive in our current world, business economy, and beyond. I don’t think he mentioned that at dinner.”

  “Dinner?” Zack echoes, catching that nugget instantly.

  “Yeah, things got a little carried away when the old man caught wind of the whole deal. Called a family dinner,” Carter explains as if the dinner was no big deal, which it most definitely was. It was more like a Family Dinner with capital letters.

  “Glad I missed that.” Zack shakes his head knowingly, and I wonder if he’s ever gone to a dinner at the Harrington home. I never cared before or even gave it a single thought, but now, I’m curious.

  “For sure,” Carter agrees. “About that . . . there’s something I want, I mean . . . we want to talk to you about.” Carter reaches over and takes my hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.

  Zack catches onto that quick too. “You son of a bitch,” he snarls at Carter. He’s at least keeping his voice somewhat reasonable considering the place, and I realize Carter smartly planned for that. “Did you sleep with my sister?”

  Scratch that . . . because the table next to us totally heard that.

  “There wasn’t a lotta sleeping going on,” I murmur accidentally, and Zack’s stony glare shoots to me. “Oops, that was supposed be my inside voice.”

  Carter squeezes my hand and tries to reassure Zack. “It wasn’t some meaningless fuck.” He flashes me a private smile, and I blush furiously as I stare at him in wide-eyed horror. And then it gets so much worse. “It was special. A first.”

  “Could we not?” I whisper angrily, hoping Carter will shut up. The table next to us has given up all pretense of not-listening and is going so far as to lean our way for a better earful.

  Zack looks from me to Carter and seems to realize that not only did we sleep together, but that it was a first for me. Apparently, that technicality counts by some societal standard I don’t agree with, but I’m sure as hell not discussing my sex life with my brother.

  “I’m going to kill you, you motherfucker,” Zack shouts, loud enough to stop dinner and conversations at all the surrounding tables. There’s a chorus of surprised gasps as every eye in the restaurant locks on us.

  Zack’s on his feet in an instant, coming around the table in two strides. Carter stands to meet him with his hands held out wide in a placating stance. “Look, man. Calm down.”

  Why do people say that? It never actually makes the angry person calm down. I don’t think anyone has ever stopped in their tracks, thought to themselves, ‘yeah, I’m overreacting’, and chilled out. But Carter says it anyway.

  Zack grabs his shirt, shaking him a bit, and when that doesn’t change the past, Zack rears back and throws a punch smack into Carter’s nose, which pops red blood that drips to the marble floor.

  “Zack! Carter! Stop it!” I shout, but neither of them pays me any mind.

  There’s a bit of a scuffle, but it’s mostly a one punch-and-done deal because Carter isn’t really fighting back. When he’s released, Carter covers his nose, glaring at Zack. “Feel bedder?”

  I’m sure he means ‘better’, but the bloody nose is giving his voice a bit of a hollow sound.

  Zack doesn’t seem to care. “Not at all.”

  The hostess swishes up with more interest in her eyes than anger and says, “Boys, if this isn’t over, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Out of the side of her mouth, she whispers, “You got them fightin’ over you?”

  I think that’s supposed to be a compliment, not a question.

  I speak up for all three of us. “Go get cleaned up.” I wave Carter off. “And you sit down.” I point at Zack’s vacated chair.

  “I’ll be right back,” Carter vows. “And we’ll handle this.”

  Ugh, I hope that doesn’t mean more fighting! It’s not like it’s going to save my honor or something antiquated like that. Alphena would kick both Carter and Zack’s butts for even thinking something like that, much less acting on it. And the shred of Alphena that resides inside me is considering doing it, too.

  Carter stomps away, not giving any mind to the people he passes who are staring at him in disgust. I guess bloody noses aren’t really dinner entertainment in a place like this. Maybe some of these people should come to the college bars Sam takes me to? There, a plate of nachos, a beer, and a fight are a typical Friday night.

  “What the hell, Zack?” I demand when it’s the two of us. I’ve leaned in close, though we’re sitting next to each other at the table. But we’ve put on enough of a show. This conversation deserves some privacy.

  Zack lays his hands over mine, leaning into me too. “I am so sorry for getting you tied up in this, Moony. This isn’t what I meant to happen. I never thought he’d take advantage of you like this.”

  His eyes are filled with the self-torture he’s subjecting himself to. At one point in our lives, I would’ve let him stew in his own guilt, earned or not. But not now, not this time.

  “I’m not sorry,” I confess, knowing it’s true. “I’m fine, and he didn’t take advantage of me. But I’m not discussing my . . .” I pause, looking around to make sure no one is listening, but there are still side-eyes looking our way. I whisper, “sex life,” and then return to regular volume, “with you. We talk about a lot of things, but that’s off-limits. And that goes both ways. I don’t want to hear about whose ankles you pinned behind her head, either.”

  Zack glances toward the restroom and with a tight jaw asks, “Did he?”

  “Ah-ah-ah, not doing that,” I warn. “You can’t go around punching guys I see, even if I have sex with them.”

  He shrugs. “It’s kinda my job.”

  That stops my argument along with my breath. I know what he’s talking about. For all our age difference, the biggest difference was that Zack took on a lot of responsibility when our parents divorced. In some ways, I think he accepted that he was now ‘man of the house’ and cared for Mom and me. Little things like changing light bulbs, and big things . . . like validating who we dated. I never required much of that ‘parenting’ because of art and my preference to be by myself. But Zack ran off a couple of Mom’s boyfriends he didn’t feel passed muster.

  In that framework, his overreaction makes sense as years of pent-up worry for me mixed with concern that it’s his best friend, with a splash of guilt over his helping to set up the whole fake marriage thing in the first place.

  I press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “Thanks, Zack Attack, though I don’t know if I should call you that now. It might encourage you to pull stunts like that again.” I shoot him a dirty look of disapproval, which he answers with a smirk.

  Carter clears his throat, and I jump. His nose is red-tipped and bulbous. “You look like Rudolph,” I tell him with a giggle. “You’ll go down in his-tor-ryyyy!” I sing, having sung the song in my mind already.

  “Glad you think this is funny.” His challenging, stone-cold stare is locked on Zack as he places a firm, claiming kiss to my forehead.

  Forehead kisses really are the best, I decide, and my feet do a tippy-tap dance of happiness under the table.

  Carter sits down, taking my hand and holding it on the table. It’s a power move and I know it. Hell, we all know it. But his thumb is doing a sweeping motion across my skin that reminds me of a certain other thing he’s done before, and I start to get a little hot.

  Zack sighs heavily. “She says you didn’t take advantage of her. Not sure I believe that. I’ve seen how you are in and out of business.”

  He’s talking about me like I’m not sitting right here.

  “And, no offense.” Zack looks at me. “But you’re young, and though you don’t want to hear it, naïve. Two things this guy is not. Not that there is a big difference, but there are a lot of life lessons in those years.”

  He’s warning me off, and I’ve always listened to my brother before. But this time, I’m conflicted. “Do you remember your twenty-seventh birthday?” I ask my brother.

  Though he looks confused, he answers in the affirmative.

  “I was hiding in a corner, nursing a glass of champagne I wasn’t supposed to have and trying to be invisible, as per usual. I was watching people talk and laugh, and I was happy to see you so happy with your friends. I think you know, I’ve never really liked Carter.” I squeeze his hand, telling him to wait because there’s a point here. “It’s because of that night.”

  I disappear into the memory as I tell the story, it feeling like reality to me.

  “You were dancing, and Carter was talking to a guy. I was listening. I didn’t intend to, but they were close by and I couldn’t help it, especially when I heard your name. Carter was telling this guy how you thought you were a whiz but didn’t have the skills to back it up. This was well after you’d gone into business with him, but he was laughing at you. It pissed me off so badly. I wanted to defend you, tell Carter and the other guy they could stick their arrogance right up their asses. But I . . .”

  Zack frowns. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t. I just walked away.” I blink hard, remembering how disappointed I’d been in myself. I’d told Zack that I was leaving, and he’d asked me to stay a little longer, but I’d left anyway. “And you got deeper and deeper into business with Carter, always talking about how you couldn’t do it without him and saying how much you looked up to him.”

  “This is why you’ve always hated him?” Zack asks, and I nod. “Was the guy he was talking to a redheaded guy with a beard?”

  “Simmons?” Carter asks hotly. “That asshole?”

  Zack grins. “Luna, Carter had my back with that guy. Simmons was, and still is, an opportunistic weasel in a thrift store suit. He was always trying to horn in on my leads, undercut me. Carter was trying to run him off my coattails by telling him I was a crap developer. He wasn’t betraying me.”

  And that’s it . . . betrayal. All these years, I’ve thought Carter betrayed my brother. Even through this whole fake marriage thing, even when he’s been giving me pleasure I’ve never known, I didn’t trust him because I knew what he was capable of. It wasn’t actively in my mind, but a feeling I’ve had of him since. If he could betray my brother, the most loyal person I know, Carter could betray anyone. So despite Zack thinking I’m naïve, I’ve maybe been harsher on Carter than I should’ve been.

  Because if he didn’t betray Zack and was, in fact, helping him . . . what does that mean?

  I’ve felt the changes in Carter. I’ve seen a completely different side of him as he works and deals with his family. I’ve experienced how generous he can be. None of which made sense with my preconceived notions about him. I guess, in a way, I was letting those notions go as I’ve gotten to know Carter better already, but knowing he didn’t betray Zack makes me a little more comfortable in continuing down this path with Carter. If he’s not and never was a two-faced liar, then he really is trying to do something good for Blue Lake and for Elena.

  I’m quiet for a long moment, and Carter gives me the time to process all that. When I look at him with an apology in my eyes, he places a sweet, soft peck to my lips. Apology accepted, his kiss says.

  “Now that we’ve handled all that,” Carter starts, and when he pauses, Zack dips his chin once, apparently over the bro-code drama already. “Will you be my best man?”

  Stupidly, I think he’s asking me at first, and I look up from our connected hands and say, “Huh?” But he’s looking at Zack with the hope of their history in his eyes.

  Carter and I haven’t talked about his whole ‘real proposal’ and my sex-induced answer, but that doesn’t seem to be an issue for him. He’s going full-steam ahead like this is actually happening.

  Is it happening?

  I mean, I know it’s for the Cartwright deal and to save face with his dad, but that doesn’t mean it’s fake. Not like it has been. Does Carter really mean for us to sign a marriage certificate, stand up with a best man and maid of honor, and say vows? Move in together like he suggested last night and keep having sex? Like . . . married-married?

  That's a very different situation than I ever agreed to. Technically.

  And though I always imagined myself getting married, I assumed it would be for love. Not for art or business. Even so, when I see how earnestly Carter is looking at Zack, as though this is an actual moment honoring their friendship, I can’t help but be moved.

  I kick Zack under the table and he flinches. “Oww!” Rubbing his shin, he looks at me angrily. In return, I shoot daggers at him.

  I drop my voice, trying to sound like Zack. “I’d be honored. Say it, numb nuts.”

  Zack and Carter chuckle, both of their heads dropping in disbelief.

  Holding out a hand to Carter across the table, Zack sighs. “Apparently, I’d be honored.” I have to admit, my imitation was close. Most folks wouldn’t have even heard the difference in our two voices. “Though I reserve the right to kick your ass again. One punch hardly seems fair.”