Sebastian pulled the mug of fresh brewed coffee off the Keurig and gave it to his brother, then set to making one for himself. He debated lacing it with some Irish cream or whiskey to get him through the day, but wagered his brother would frown upon it.
So he used both.
Taking a sip of his own coffee, which tasted milky and sharp against his tongue thanks to the alcohol, he smiled up at his brother.
“You’re right.”
Rhys sighed. “When was the last time you and Daniella were intimate?”
Sebastian choked.
“Trust me,” Rhys said, unprompted, “I don’twantto have this conversation with you.”
“Then don’t.”
“Your wife is pregnant.”
“She’swhat?” Sebastian balked, the coffee mixing with bile in his throat and threatening to eject itself all over the counter… and his brother.
“Your wife is telling everyone she is pregnant.”
“You’ve fucked her more recently than I have,” he spat.
Rhys grimaced, tilting his head to the side with an apologetic smile.
“Besides,” Sebastian continued, “she’s not my wife.”
“She is. Technically. At least for a little while longer.”
“The ribbon cutting,” he answered without thinking. “We haven’t been together since the ribbon cutting.”
It had been a last-ditch attempt to try to salvage what was already broken, and he’d regretted it as soon as it happened. If he’d managed to get her pregnant…
If she was, that would have to be whatever higher power existed playing a cruel trick on him. Tying him to a woman who hated him for the next two decades. The alimony was bad enough, let alone child support, and every other weekend, and school events.
“Oh, God.” Sebastian turned and set down his coffee, leaning over and cradling his head in his hands. “Is she sure it’s mine?”
Rhys patted his back, almost hitting the mark of reassuring and loving older brother, but falling short. “She hasn’t said as much, but it’s implied.”
“So what do people think?” He looked at his brother. “That it could be yours or mine?”
“If she is pregnant,” Rhys said, “it’s not mine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Rhys made a scissor motion in the air and shrugged. “I wanted to leave a body count, Sebastian, not receipts.”
“A body count.”
“That’s what they call it these days,” Rhys said. “An entry in my black book. A notch on my bedpost. You know.”
“A conquest,” Sebastian muttered, picking his coffee up and taking another drink. He should have used more whiskey. He reached for the bottle and took a shot straight from it, frowning as he swallowed.
“Is this about Daniella or Callahan?”
“Or Ashley. You know, the poor girl whose heart you broke most recently.”
“I assure you, her heart wasn’t in it.” Rhys scrunched his nose and rolled his eyes. “She was in my wallet. Just like the rest of them.”
