“Of course, darling. Go ahead,” Mom says.

  The two of them walk back into the garden crowd, and I’m left questioning my sanity. Is it actually, truly, humanly possible that my future brother-in-law is the same man I slept with the other night? It can’t be. I mean, if it had been, he would have had some sort of reaction, right?

  And that’s when I see it.

  He’s clear across the garden, being introduced to a couple of Celine’s college friends. I can see only his profile.

  Then he turns, his eyes lock on me, and I know I’m not imagining things.

  He recognizes me.

  He’s just pretending not to.

  16

  TAYLOR

  I turn to my mother. “I handled that badly, didn’t I?”

  Mom chuckles. “I can’t blame you. He’s a very handsome man.”

  I feel as though I’m about to throw up my breakfast. “Oh, God, Mom! He’s Celine’s fiancé!” I’m reminding myself of that fact way more than I’m reminding her. “I’m not—I wasn’t—ugh.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting you were doing anything of the sort, sweetheart. I was just—”

  “Does he even seem like Celine’s type?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. “She doesn’t usually go for men who are so… put-together. She likes the shy, awkward guys.”

  Mom looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Honey, are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Should you really be asking me that question? I mean, Dad’s the one who’s acting super weird.”

  Throwing shade in Dad’s direction is a little uncalled for, but I don’t want anyone looking at me too closely right this second. It works, though. Mom glances at Dad, and seems to notice for the first time the expression on his face.

  “Archie—”

  “I agree with Taylor,” he says suddenly, looking at us with wild eyes. “He doesn’t seem like he’s Celine’s type.”

  Mom glares at the both of us. “Honestly, I can’t believe the two of you. I thought I made myself perfectly clear: this is not our call; it’s Celine’s. She’s an adult and we need to trust that she knows what she’s doing. Now, I want both of you to get out there and mingle. Smile, make friends, and most important of all, don’t embarrass Celine!”

  Sometimes, I forget that Mom has a fierce side to her. The cancer keeps it under lock and key more often than not. But when it breaks out, it’s best to do as she says.

  Dad nods in defeat. I raise my hands in surrender. “I’m off to mingle and make merry.”

  “Don’t say anything to Celine,” Mom warns.

  That’s a promise I’m more than willing to make. But right now, all I want is a little quiet. Somewhere I can freak the hell out without anyone watching me.

  I retreat into the house and find a quiet nook to hide out in. I would have preferred a bathroom, but I’m not about to snoop all over the house until I find one. I just need a second to breathe and put my game face on.

  I sink to a seat on a chair drenched in sunlight. Closing my eyes, I let the beam warm my face and I let out a long, rattling sigh.

  This can’t be real. There’s just no way this can possibly be real. Fate or God or whoever’s at the wheel isn’t that cruel. Not unless I racked up a bunch of bad karma by, like, clubbing baby seals for a living in a former life.

  And I guess that’s possible, but it still feels cruel and unusual. I’m pregnant—by a stranger—who it turns out is actually not a stranger, but rather my sister’s fiancé—the sister who already thinks I’m a backstabbing bitch, and not without good reason.

  Confirmed: God hates me.

  And as if to double down on that point, a voice shatters whatever semblance of calm I’ve managed to find here in my hiding place.

  “Tay?”

  I glance up and see Bradley Martingale standing at the entrance of the corridor, decked out in a blue suit and an open collar shirt. He’s taken pains to look good today, and I gotta hand it to him: he does look good.

  I mean, not Ilarion-good. But if we start judging all men by that standard, no one will ever procreate again.

  I force a smile and give him a weird, half-assed nod. “Bradley. It’s been a while.”

  “I’ll say. Used to be that I couldn’t take two steps into Crawley Library without running into you.”

  “Pretty sure that’s what happens when you stalk someone.”

  He smirks. “I forgot what a smart little mouth you have. You know, that’s half your charm.”

  I frown, really wishing this conversation would end soon. “Only half?” I ask. “I was hoping for three-fourths at least.”

  He takes three quick little steps towards me and suddenly, I find myself backed up against the corridor wall. He’s actually got his hand up by my face, and he’s leaning in with his whole body.

  “You look really sexy in that dress.”

  Oh, hell no.

  Bradley and I were classmates—are, I guess, although ever since those two blue lines appeared in my life, I’m not sure I’ll ever make it back to school. A friend of mine brought him to a study group one day, and he’s stuck to me like white on rice ever since.

  It was kinda sweet, at first. Then it was neutral. Then it spoiled rotten and it hasn’t looked back. He’d show up everywhere I went: library, gym—you name it, he was there. He’d corner me at parties and he had a knack for finding the darkest, quietest, most isolated spot in the whole place to do it.

  You looked beautiful in class today, he’d murmur with beer on his breath. The guys at this school don’t deserve a girl like you.

  When I finally and firmly told him to leave me alone, I thought that’d be the end of it. Then he showed up at a lunch with my sister. Look who I ran into! he said brightly. Such a lucky coincidence.

  I shudder. The memories alone are enough to make my skin crawl. The man himself does that and then some.

  I duck out from underneath Bradley’s arm. “Thanks. I really should be getting back to the party.”

  “The party will wait for you; don’t worry. I’d rather just catch up for a bit first.”

  “Bradley,” I say with forced patience, “this is my sister’s engagement party. I can’t be M.I.A. for too long.”

  “Celine won’t care,” he says dismissively. “She’s only got eyes for that new boy toy of hers. And as for me… I’ve only got eyes for you.”

  I want to gag. But that’ll have to wait, because what I’m realizing with growing horror is that this is the quietest, most isolated space of any party that Bradley has managed to corner me into yet. His timing couldn’t be worse.

  I must’ve clubbed a lot of baby seals in that former life of mine.

  “I’m sorry, Bradley, but I’m not interested. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to the part—”

  “No!” he roars. He reaches out and snares my wrist in a too-tight grip. Then he blinks and his tone recedes back to that sweet, wheedling whine he thinks will make my clothes fall off. “I mean, why? Come on now. Just stay with me here and we can have a little party of our own.”

  His hand doesn’t leave my forearm, though. And he’s squeezing hard. I wince. “You’re hurting me. Please let go.”

  “I’m not doing a damn thing you haven’t put on the table already,” he growls. He drops his drink and it hits the ground. The glass cracks with a dull thump, amber liquid soaking into the rug at our feet.

  “E-excuse me?” I stutter. “What—”

  “With your fucking jokes and your fucking clothes and your fucking goddamned teasing,” he snarls in my face. He hedges closer and closer until his hips meet mine and my back meets the wall behind me. “I mean, look at you now. Dressed up like a fucking whore. I can practically see your pussy from here. I can smell it.”

  My tongue is dry and I can’t find any words to fight back with. It occurs to me again, just like it did the day I met Ilarion, that ugly things should happen on ugly days. But I’m about to get raped by a creep, and yet the sky outside is sunny and cheerful.

  “I’m done asking. I’m done begging. It’s time for me to take what you keep holding right out of my reach.”

  “Bradley,” I whisper, “please don’t—”

  “You must not have heard her. She said no.”

  A massive shadow falls across both of us. It blots out the sun, and the scent that comes with it—whiskey, leather, musk—takes my breath away. Bradley and I both turn at the same time.

  As Ilarion steps into the mouth of the hallway.

  His eyes are dark. One hand holds a glass of champagne. The other is a white-knuckled fist at his side. As I watch, the muscles in his forearm twitch with rage.

  “Taylor and I were just talking,” Bradley says.

  “And now, you’re finished.”

  His face screws up like he tasted something sour. “Who are you to tell me when I’m done talking?”

  “I’m the man who will hurt you very, very badly if you try to argue otherwise. Say goodbye and walk away, my friend. Before things take a turn for the worse.”

  Bradley lasts one more quivering, fear-filled second before he lets go of me. I gasp and crumble forward when his fingers release my forearm. The skin where he held me burns.

  He takes a final look at me, then purses his lips and storms away, leaving his spilled glass behind.

  For the length of one breath, I’m grateful that I was saved.

  Then I remember who did the saving, and I realize that this might have been the worst of all possible outcomes.

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

  “If you’re expecting a thank you, you can think again.” My words come out raspy but fierce. “I can take care of myself.”

  To my surprise, he nods. “Oh, I know. I heard most of that conversation. Do you want some champagne?”

  “That’s not high on my list of priorities right now, thanks,” I gasp, still gathering myself. Mostly, I just can’t believe that that’s his opening question. We’re alone together for the first time since…well, you know, and he’s asking me if I want a freaking drink.

  “Very well then. If you’ll excuse me, I should be re-joining the—”

  “Stop!” I cry out, dangerously close to tears. “Just stop for a second.”

  He pauses and glances down at me with a detached expression. “Yes?”

  I stare into those hazel-rimmed eyes, and I feel something inside me shiver to life. “Don’t do that,” I say. “Don’t act like you don’t know me.”

  He pivots back to face me slowly. The icy distance fades away just long enough for me to see the recognition there. “What would you have me do about it?”

  It’s a fair question. Fair enough to make me question my own reaction. Shouldn’t I be playing along with this? Isn’t that the best-case scenario considering the circumstances? The very, very fucked-up circumstances?

  “Did you know?” I blurt out.

  “Did I know who you were that night?” he asks. “Fuck no. I met Celine two weeks after you and I…ran into each other.”

  “Did you almost run her over, too?”

  A vein twitches in his jaw. “Celine isn’t in the habit of running chaotically around the world like a chicken with its head cut off. So no, it’s safe to say I did not.”

  I grit my teeth, but it’s mostly to fight back the tears. The pregnancy hormones have chosen a hell of a time to upregulate my emotions. “What is it then? Are you in the habit of trolling suburban neighborhoods, hunting for your next prospect?”

  Great—now, my hands are shaking. Of course he notices.

  “You need to get a grip,” he growls, taking a step closer. “Your sister doesn’t need to know what happened between us. I can keep my mouth shut. Can you?”

  I shouldn’t say it. I really shouldn’t. Things will be so much easier if I keep the last crucial kernel of information to myself. No good can come of telling him I’m pregnant.

  Good. It’s decided. I’m not gonna tell him.

  “Great. And what should I tell my sister in seven and a half months when I give birth to a baby who looks just like you?”

  Whoops.

  17

  ILARION

  She’s lying.

  She has to be.

  There’s no way she can be pregnant.

  Except that I didn’t wear a condom that night. And I came inside her. And it hadn’t occurred to me until right now that both those things had been a colossally stupid fucking mistake.

  But the more I stare at those deep emerald eyes, the harder it gets to cling to the hope that maybe she isn’t telling the truth. She doesn’t look like a woman who’s trying to get back at me.

  She looks like a woman who’s terrified of what’s happening.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, keeping the storm in my head off my face.

  She takes a step back as though my composure is proof that I’m some sort of psychopath. Hell, she might be right.

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she bites out. “I went to a doctor this morning and she confirmed it.”

  “How far along are you?”

  Her eyes narrow into angry slits. “You know exactly how far along I am.”

  “Does anyone know?”

  Her forehead creases. “Are you asking if my sister knows that I’m pregnant with your baby?” she asks. “The answer is no. I never told anyone about that night. It wasn’t one of my finest moments.”

  It’s a shame she feels that way. It was one of mine.

  “You’ve asked me a lot of questions, so I think I deserve to ask one of my own,” she adds.

  I grimace. Out in the garden, I hear the distinctive clink of crystal as someone calls for attention to begin the toasts. Everything is happening too fucking fast. I need the world to freeze in place so I can figure out what the hell I’m going to do about this unforeseen development.

  “You said that you met Celine after me?”

  She thinks I’m lying about that? If I’d known who she was when I almost ran over her that night, it would have saved us both all this damn drama. “That’s right.”

  “How long after?”

  Her posture is all righteous indignation, but the question comes out sounding meek and vulnerable. She seems to realize the same thing almost as soon as she says it, because she shifts her weight back on her strappy black heels and crosses her arms over her chest in an attempt to overcompensate.

  It does me no favors. Her dress is so tight in all the right places.

  Completely wrong for this occasion. Completely wrong for me. Completely tempting nonetheless.

  “Not long after,” I say vaguely.

  “I want a number. Specifics.”

  “Why?” I ask in exasperation. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  “I just need to know, okay?” She glances around to check if we’ve been noticed. “Tell me.”

  “Two weeks, give or take. Does that satisfy you, princess?”

  She bites her lip and pivots to the side so that I can only see her profile. She looks like she’s trying to work through a math problem in her head.

  “I’ve got another question,” she blurts, twisting around so that we’re face to face again. “Why are you marrying my sister?”

  That one catches me off-guard. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be a sideways declaration of her feelings or if she’s trying to suss out my motives. Either way, the answer isn’t easy.

  That is, the true answer isn’t easy.

  Not that I’m about to give her the truth.

  “I love your sister.”

  She stares at my blank face with scrutiny. “You love my sister,” she repeats. “What do you love about her?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’m sorry—I just find it hard to believe that you can go from meeting her, to loving her, and then proposing to her in a matter of weeks. Especially considering you slept with me the week before.”

  “What did you think?” I drawl. “That you had ruined other women for me?”

  She flushes scarlet. “No, that’s not—shit, I just don’t want my sister marrying some rich, pompous playboy who’s going to stop caring about her the moment he finagles a ring on her finger.”

  “And you’ve jumped to that conclusion because…?”

  “Because you don’t strike me as the kind of man who makes hasty decisions.” She blushes and clarifies, “Well, mostly not hasty. Not when it comes to romance, at least. Which means you have an ulterior motive in marrying Celine, and it’s not love.”

  I didn’t expect that. Sherlock Holmes in a little black dress. It’s inconvenient that I know exactly what that body looks and feels like as it comes undone beneath my touch.

  Not exactly the image you need in your head when you’re kissing your future wife.

  “What other reason could I have for marrying her?”

  Taylor’s resolve fractures with uncertainty. It doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to discover that she’s working off nothing but vague, airy suspicions. I can deal with that. Or I could have—if it weren’t for the fact that she’s apparently carrying my child.

  “The baby,” I say, making her flinch. “Are you keeping it?”

  She jerks her face up to mine. “Of course you’d ask that. God, all men are the same. Well, fuck you—I’m not doing that. I decided this morning that I’m keeping the baby.”

  The assumption rankles me. It would have made this easier, of course—but I’m not the man she thinks I am. I’m not the beast she’s painting me out to be.

  At least, not entirely.

  “If you’re keeping the baby, then there are things that need to be figured out,” I rumble.

  “No need. I’ve already figured it all out,” she replies immediately. “You disappear from all our lives, I raise this baby on my own, and my sister gets to meet someone who actually loves her and actually wants to marry her.”

  I nearly laugh before I realize just how unblinkingly serious she is. “That’s your plan?”

  “Sure is. And it’s a good one.”

  “It’s also a fantasy. I’m not breaking up with Celine, and I’m certainly not going to allow you to raise this baby on your own.”