Alistair’s green eyes lit, shining like emeralds in the light. “Vera Kathryn Richland?”
“Yes?” I lifted his hands to my lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckles.
“I’m marrying you.”
“In due time,” I teased softly. “But first, there’s one thing I need from you.”
He leaned closer, eyes widening with curiosity. “And what’s that?”
“Always remember, I love you as you are. Don’t change for me.”
He nodded slowly. “My parents were right about you.”
“Oh?” I tilted my head, a smile tugging at my lips.
“They said I found a good woman.”
BROTHERS IN ARMS
Alistair
Two weeks later
Vera closed the door behind her as she stepped into my home office.
“Julian and Sapphire are here.”
“Send Julian in first,” I said, leaning back in the swivel chair. “I want a word with him alone.”
Her brows flicked up. “He and Saph are here to talk about?—”
“Vera.” My tone cut clean. “This comes first. I’ll speak to both of them after.”
She lingered, clearly itching to argue, until I pointed at the door.
A low laugh slipped from her throat as she shook her head. “Fine. I’ll keep Saph busy. We’ll talk about what to do with Saira.”
“Good.” I nodded, snapping my laptop shut.
I drew in a long breath and tipped my head to the ceiling as the latch clicked behind her. Some truths could rot in silence.Others demanded daylight. This one couldn’t stay buried any longer.
My gaze locked on Julian as he stepped in. He’d long forgiven me for hitting on his little sister back in Manhattan, and over time, he’d become more of a brother than Oliver, who barely looked at me these days. On the surface, Julian looked steady enough. Deep chestnut hair, combed neat. Casual but spotless clothes.
But his stride betrayed him. A stuttered step at the threshold. Not his usual effortless swagger. His dark eyes caught mine, and what lived there made my chest tighten. They carried the kind of pain that lingers, the kind that doesn’t let you breathe.
“Julian, good to see you,” I said, pulling him in for a quick hug, a solid back pat.
“Likewise,” he murmured, giving me a squeeze in return. He wasn’t big on affection, but with him and me, it was different. There was trust. A connection.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
“My struggle to sleep has affected my mornings, but I’m getting help,” he said. “A good therapist helps.”
I let a grin tug at my mouth. “Therapy saves more than people admit.”
The professor nodded, taking a seat on my sofa.
“Drink?” I asked, swinging open the minifridge by my desk.
