Next to me, I can see Jayme’s eyes tighten, making me suspect she’s going to be running an FBI level background check on Topper by the end of the night. Her protectiveness and thoroughness make me feel better about the situation . . . a little bit.

  “You two look amazing,” Jayme exclaims after we let go, purposefully warming the mood up instantly. “Your dress is gorge! And your jeans and tux jacket combo is very fashion-forward.”

  “Uh, thank you?” Topper says uncertainly.

  “How did you two meet again?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t sound like an interrogation and probably failing.

  “School,” Toni answers. “Topper has Art History across the hall from my World History class. We had lunch on campus and talked about the importance of art in documenting historical time periods.”

  “Art History, huh?” That tracks, given Topper’s shaggy hair, smudged eyeliner-rimmed eyes, and chunky rings and bracelets. He seems like an artist. “Do you paint?”

  “Sculpture,” he says quietly. “Clay, mostly.”

  Toni snuggles into Topper’s side. “He’s really good with his hands.”

  Dad chokes on the sip of wine he just swallowed. “Excuse me?”

  Toni rolls her eyes, even though I know she did it on purpose to give Dad a jolt. “Dad, don’t be gross. I meant that Topper’s talented. He even did a sculpture inspired by me that was included in a gallery show. Didn’t you, babe?”

  Topper is staring at Dad as though afraid he might attack over Toni’s slipped phrasing. But he does respond politely. “The Moderne Gallery. The piece is called Journey to the Core.”

  Dad smiles tightly, and I give Toni a look of ‘seriously?’ This poor kid is not doing himself any favors because it absolutely sounds like he made an art sculpture of Toni’s vagina and put it on display downtown. Silently, I pray that it was at least sculpted by memory and not an actual mold.

  “It sold for one thousand dollars,” Toni adds proudly.

  Completely oblivious to what Dad and I are thinking, Topper gushes . . . or what I judge to be his level of exuberant gushing, which borders somewhere around that of a faucet on slightly more than dripping. “I custom mixed the clay and water composition to get the right consistency and then used all-natural pigments to hand-paint the dye onto the completed piece. It was important to get accurate color representation and placement of the various shades of red.”

  “I think I’d like to see this piece,” Dad bites out. I don’t think he actually does, but he does need to make sure that his daughter isn’t posing for anything risqué or full-blown explicit.

  Before I can say a word, Jayme takes Toni’s available arm, clearly ready to save the situation. “Let’s leave these two to prepare their speeches. Come on.”

  Jayme begins walking away with Toni in tow and Topper holding on to Toni’s other side for dear life. I can hear Jayme smoothly making small talk with the two of them. Alone again, Dad looks at me. “She’s something else. Jayme, I mean. Though Toni, too.” He closes his eyes, muttering almost silently. “She might kill me, but I love that little girl.”

  I don’t have the heart to remind Dad that his ‘little girl’ is nearly a grown woman now. It definitely doesn’t seem like the time either.

  “Jayme might even be able to save you from yourself, Archer from us both, or me from . . . anything.” His grin is kind, showing the compliment to be sincere, and I laugh lightly. What else am I going to do when Archer shows up uninvited to cause drama, Toni’s new boyfriend might be selling replicas of her womanhood, and Jayme somehow smoothly mitigates it all?

  “Hopefully, she won’t have to,” I answer, searching the garden for where Jayme’s disappeared to with Toni and Topper. When I find her, she’s working the ‘room’ easily and comfortably, which is definitely more than I can say for the shy, awkward Topper who’s now standing on the dance floor unmoving as Toni dances around him. He looks quite a bit like a sculpture himself, but at least he’s smiling happily as he lets Toni do her thing. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Dad makes a sound of agreeability, but I’m already moving toward my target.

  Now that there’s no impending crisis, I take the time to get my fill of looking at Jayme. She’s absolutely breathtaking, her smile sexy and her poise intriguing. Her dress has a tiny ruffle along the bodice that I want to trace with my tongue, but first, I want to tell her how amazed I am with her intelligence and ability to dance her way in and out of uncomfortable situations.

  She’s everything I’ve ever wanted, and I realize that Dad was right about something else. When you know, you know. Lightning hits me right in the chest, taking my breath away as it all comes into clear focus.

  I’m in love with her.

  Jayme worried that her seeing me at my absolute worst would make me want to distance myself from her after the incident resolved. Instead, I find that her acceptance of every part of me, even the ugly things I try to hide, makes me feel that much closer to her. She’s in my heart, my soul.

  And though this is not the time, nor the place, I need to tell her now. Right now.

  “Can I have a word with you?” I rumble in her ear, taking Jayme’s elbow and steering her somewhere slightly less in the middle of everything.

  CHAPTER 25

  JAYME

  I’m in the middle of talking with the Fergusons, a couple who’ve attended the Americana Land charity event for ten years straight, when Carson grabs my arm. His growled request to talk to me privately doesn’t bode well for me.

  I thought we were okay when I shooed Toni and Topper away, but perhaps not? Maybe I should’ve left well enough alone with Archer, but he was beginning to make a scene. I might’ve completed my contract with Americana Land, but I’m not going to stand by and let that absentee asshole waltz in and undo all my hard work. Ben and Carson deserve better than that.

  Carson pulls me off to the side of the Great Garden, opposite the bar, which gives us a small degree of privacy since that’s where people tend to flock at these events.

  “Carson, I’m . . .” I start to say, but he interrupts me.

  “Be quiet. I need to say this and I want to say it right,” he says in a harsh whisper. That stops my mouth and my brain, and I look up at Carson questioningly. His jaw is tight, his eyes tortured.

  Did I fuck up that badly? Have I ruined everything between us?

  I can feel the burn behind my eyes, but I blink away any thought of tears and press my lips together to keep from saying anything else. I’m falling apart inside, but I stand straight, throwing my shoulders back in defiance of the weakness I’m feeling.

  You knew this was coming, Jayme. You saw him at his worst, and he’s seen you jump in every time something goes the least bit awry. The balance is off exactly how you knew it would be. You should’ve let him handle his brother.

  But Carson doesn’t say anything. He stares into my eyes deeply, searching as if there’s an answer to the meaning of life hiding there. Fuck knows, I don’t have any answers. If I did, we wouldn’t be in this situation where he’s about to ditch me and I want to crawl into his arms and confess that I’ve developed big, deep feelings for him.

  A situation where I still have some important things I need to tell Carson. But not if I’ve already messed up this badly. I let my gaze drop, my shoulders droop.

  “Ah, fuck it,” he mumbles. His hands cup my jaw confidently, tilting my face back up, and then he kisses me firmly. His lips claim mine, his tongue demands entrance, and I submit to his every desire.

  I want this kiss. Even if it’s a kiss goodbye. I match him move for move, our mouths working together to communicate things with this kiss that we won’t otherwise say. I can taste the wine he was sipping earlier, but beneath that sweetness, it’s passion, raw and powerful. I fall into every second of it, memorizing him as he sears his name into my soul.

  I knew better. But I fell for him anyway. I don’t regret it. It was a risk I willingly took, thinking I understood the cost. But I was wrong—the loss is so much greater than I ever expected.

  Carson pulls back and whispers softly, “Do you understand?”

  I understand everything about him, maybe even more than he understands himself. And I know exactly what he said with that kiss.

  Goodbye.

  Suddenly, I’m airborne. Not figuratively, like Carson’s kiss has somehow killed me and turned me into a ghost of my former self. But literally airborne, as arms wrap around my waist from behind and lift me until my feet leave the ground.

  Carson’s face contorts in murderous rage, and I consider that it might be Archer coming back for another round. And then I realize what my surprise picker-upper is saying. “Hey, Jaybird! Think you can fly?”

  No! No, no, no . . .

  I can feel my face pale as all the blood rushes to my feet, turning them to lead as I try to kick free. This isn’t how this is supposed to happen. Hell, it doesn’t need to happen at all if Carson’s telling me goodbye.

  “Put her down,” Carson snaps, moving in closer. He’s on the verge of punching my assailant, his hands curled into fists and his rapid breathing causing his chest to rise and fall. The light in his eyes is completely gone. I think if he had a clear shot, he’d have already taken it.

  My feet find the grass, though there’s no solid ground here now. Not with my brother Joel here now.

  “You must be the guy. Carson, right?” My brother holds out his hand, grinning easily and seemingly oblivious to Carson’s anger.

  I whirl around, pushing at Joel’s chest. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  Joel answers my hard glare with a laugh, and annoyingly, doesn’t move an inch from my push. He’s as strong as ever, and pushing him is like pushing a tank.

  “Jayme.” The single word is laced with enough warning to draw my attention back to Carson. His voice is tight, and he’s telling me that I need to step aside or risk being caught in the crossfire when he goes after the guy who just picked me up out of nowhere.

  It’s almost . . . sweet, in a way? I’m not some damsel in distress who wants to be rescued. Hell, I am the rescuer. But the fact that Carson would risk everything we’ve worked for with his image over me is . . . sweet.

  I sigh, not quite understanding what’s going on here, but if I’m one thing, it’s adaptable. “Carson, this is my brother, Joel. Joel, this is Carson.”

  “Your brother?” Carson echoes, the defensiveness beginning to dissipate ever so slowly.

  “Her brother, Joel.” He’s still holding his hand out, but adds a congenial grin to entice Carson. “You passed that test with flying colors too, man.”

  Reluctantly, Carson shakes Joel’s hand. “You test everyone Jayme dates that way to see how they react?” He’s still mad, but at least mostly non-violent now.

  “Not always me,” Joel says easily with a shrug. “There’s four of us, so we take turns. I got lucky because it’s technically John’s turn, but I saw her first. Lucky me.” He pats his chest, proud of himself for nearly prompting Carson to beat the shit out of him.

  But Carson’s not the biggest threat here. I am.

  “What are you doing here?” I snap. I dig my nail into the lapel of Joel’s tuxedo, forcing him to take a step back, and give him the scowl I patented early in my life as the youngest and only girl in a family of boys.

  Joel grins, tempting his fate.

  “Speak, or I will wrap your ball sack around your neck and hang you from it like a noose.”

  My mouthiness is another blessing I received as the youngest child, and my skillful use of threats to the most sensitive of parts is an easy option with brothers. It still comes in handy with clients, though I tend to stick with targeting their pride, ego, and financial solvency over their actual body parts. But this is Joel.

  He laughs. “Good one, Jaybird.” When I don’t laugh back, his brow furrows. “Wait. You didn’t know we were coming?”

  “Who’s we, Joel? Who’s here?”

  But a sickening feeling is beginning to churn in my belly.

  “Jayme, we’re all here,” he says grimly. “I thought you knew. Mom said—”

  “What?” I screech, looking around as though wild, rabid wolves are going to attack us at any second from any side.

  “Shit. I should’ve known, but how could I?” Joel rambles, more to himself than to me. His eyes clearing, he apologizes. “I’m sorry, Sis. Mom said you were raving all about this guy, Carson” —he pauses to look over my shoulder and give Carson a guy-friendly chin lift— “and that it’s serious. She mentioned a charity event, and you know how it is, when Mom says get dressed, we put on the penguin suits.”

  I quit listening somewhere after ‘we’re all here’, even though Joel is still talking.

  “You’re here. You’re all here?” I mutter, hoping . . . wishing . . . praying I misheard.

  Joel looks at me as though concerned I might collapse. “Jayme? You okay?”

  Eyes wide with horror, I pin Joel in place. “He doesn’t know.” Joel blinks, but I don’t. “Joel, he doesn’t know.”

  Realization dawns on Joel’s face, and he looks over my shoulder again, this time giving Carson a pitying look. “Shit.”

  “Fuck. Motherfucking shit biscuit fart fucks.”

  “Go. I’ll hold them off,” Joel vows, spinning me in place and pushing me toward Carson. From behind me, I hear him say, “Nice to meet you. Hope to see you again.” He doesn’t sound sure that’s going to happen, though.

  Neither am I.

  “Carson, I need to tell you something.” I grab his hand, dragging him away from Joel. I need to find someplace private where we can talk. But everywhere we go, people are waving and calling out.

  “Carson, the place looks fantastic!”

  “Did you hear who’s here? Good job, Steen!”

  “Heard about that scuffle you had . . . good for you for saving Grandma Barbara.”

  “Oh! Carson, come meet the Lieutenant Governor.”

  Nope, nope, nope. We’re not stopping. Not even for one of the most powerful men in the state. Because I haven’t told Carson my one, biggest secret, and he’s about to find out in the worst way.

  Publicly.

  I need to talk to him, control the narrative of how he finds out. Even if that kiss earlier was a goodbye kiss, he deserves to know the truth.

  But Carson pulls on my hand, stopping me. We’re near a small bench on the edge of the Great Garden, but I can’t sit down. My nerves are too jittery, and my feet need to move as I search for the right words.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Carson asks, concern etched in the tiny lines around his eyes as he looks at me carefully. “I don’t mind meeting your brothers. I thought you said you were okay with them?”

  I nod absently. “I am. We are.”

  “Then why did we ditch him and run away? What’s going on, Jayme?”

  If I’m a wild, raging tempest of a sea during a storm, Carson is a still, serene pond. I’m on the edge, about to jump, and he’s calmly waiting for me to explain myself and my reaction to seeing my brother here.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” I confess.

  “Okay, you can tell me anything,” he answers easily.

  If only it were that easy! “Remember when I said my parents are kinda like Fight Club? We don’t talk about them?” He nods, humming in agreement. “Well, we need to talk about them right now because they’re here.”

  I stop, freezing in place to see his reaction. But he doesn’t get it. He couldn’t, because he still doesn’t know what I’m trying to tell him.

  “I’d love to meet them. Unless you’re not ready for me to meet them?” He sounds hurt by the very thought, as though he wasn’t kissing me goodbye earlier.

  Well, you were being a meddling meddler, I remind myself, knowing that Carson has every right to need to step away from me and stand on his own. And this informational nugget is only going to add to that likelihood.

  I snort ungraciously, not quite a laugh, though, because this is anything but funny. “If only that were the issue. I’m ready, they’re ready, and they already know about you, which is probably why they came. My mom’s sort of impatient when it comes to us kids. She wants to see us happy.” I say as if that’s a bad thing. It’s not, at all, but right this minute, I can’t even begrudgingly cut Mom slack when she’s forcing my hand. “But you’re not ready. They’re . . . they’re . . .”

  “Jayme! There you are, honey!” Mom’s voice rings out from behind me.

  My time is up. My chance to tell Carson, my opportunity to prepare him, and most likely, my relationship with him . . . are all gone.

  I take a deep breath, apologizing to Carson with my eyes. I spin, putting him behind me as though that’ll protect him. Or maybe protect me if he can’t see Mom and Dad.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I say flatly.

  Mom smiles big, her shoulders doing a little shimmy shake of happiness. She leans in, kissing my cheek in greeting. “And you must be Carson,” she says to him. “Wow, you are even more handsome than Jayme said!”

  “Mom, Dad . . . this is Carson. Carson, these are my parents.” Manners and politeness take over automatically, though I have no idea what I’m saying.

  Dad looks at me with worry, his mouth turned down into a heavy frown. “Honey?”

  Carson takes a big breath, the inhale audible to us all, and then swallows heavily. “You’re Jayme’s parents?”

  Mom doesn’t seem to notice the awkwardness and grabs Carson’s hand, giving it a friendly shake. Dad extends his, but Carson doesn’t take it.

  He seems . . . gobsmacked. His eyes are flicking from Mom to Dad and back again, and I can virtually see his brain whirling between his ears. It’s not the first time I’ve seen this reaction to my parents, but it’s the first time it hurts like this.

  “But you’re . . .”

  Dad helps as much as he can. “I’m Jameson Brooks, and this is my wife, Leah Brooks. I know Jayme uses her mother’s maiden name professionally, so it’s sometimes a bit of a shock that she’s related to us.”