Page 135 of Perfect Satisfaction

In the center, there’s a picture of Sula with Brendan Blake taken the day she graduated from MIT. After the exchange we just had, I gravitate toward it as if being pulled by an invisible string.

“How did I not see this online?”

“Because it was taken backstage with a million members of Brendan’s security team surrounding us,” Sula informs me.

“Right. Makes sense.” I resume studying the photo in detail.

Brendan has his arms wrapped around Sula, his head pressed to her temple. Her mortarboard is skewed. She’s clasping it with one hand. Her other is wrapped around his waist.

They’re both dressed in robes of similar color, though Sula has enough ropes around her neck to hang Jesse James and his gang should they suddenly appear from the Wild West. I step closer to study their hair—the same color. Sula’s is flipping up next to Brendan’s shorter locks, but the shades match. They’re both grinning at the camera.

They have the exact same smile. The same cheekbones.

Absentmindedly, I place the alcohol on Sula’s dressing table and feel myself enveloped by the enormous love in the photo.

Because there is love.

Brendan loves Sula, but not in the way I once grossly accused them of.

Now, it makes sense—why Brendan Blake changed his attorney of record to Carys. How she knew one of the beneficiaries of the will. The ease of Sula’s relationship with the Blake/Madison family.

I murmur, “He’s your brother.”

“Technically half brother, but we don’t use terms like that,” she replies quietly from behind me.

“That’s why he’s wanted to rip my head off on the few occasions I’ve met him since we married.” Flashes of my interactions with the megastar come to mind, particularly the one when he brought her home after Liza had been in the penthouse. He’s barely been cordial, almost ready to pounce on me like a tiger with fresh meat.

“He’s protective.” The loving frustration in her voice is something I find adorable because I get it. I want to wrap her up and cart her off to a deserted island myself just so we can be alone.

Then another thought hits. “Danielle Madison is your sister-in-law. She called you sister that day in the gym.”

“I think of her the same way. We’re all very close.”

“You were supposed to go on vacation with them.”Then something monumental slams into my mind. “Their new baby!”

Her shoulders rise and fall. “I was on FaceTime for the birth, but it wasn’t the same as being there. I miss them. They’re a part of me.”

I whirl back to the photo observing the naked love on her face. “I can tell.” I reach for my glass to throw back a hit of the liquor and welcome the burn. “Why did you never tell me before?”

“At first, time. Then, well, West,” she explains.

“Excuse me? What the hell does your father have to do with it.” Then it hits me in between the eyes. “The estate? That fucking estate?”

“Nailed it in one.”

“Want my opinion? You’d all be better off without it.”

“If it was up to Brendan and me, we’d renounce it tomorrow.” Sula’s lip curls into a sneer.

“But it’s not.”

“No.”

“Joshua Basset won’t let you?” Even though Sula’s assured me there’s nothing romantic between them, there’s still something he holds over her. Fucker.

“Partially his needs. Plus whatever other special surprises my father included.” Somberly she reminds me, “Remember, he was dead for a while and none of us expected you as a beneficiary.”

“What did the estate say?” I demand.