She doesn’t get a chance to reply because we’re already too far away.
Once the tension and awkwardness wear off, I find myself sitting at one of the tables on the terrace overlooking Manhattan. The charity event takes place every year on the top floor of the Marriott, which opens up to a gorgeous, glass-covered garden with fairy lights and plenty of seating, which is perfect even for a cool, late November night like this.
Inside, the music and the liquor flow as New York’s richest sign checks and rub elbows while making a difference for hundreds of aspiring designers supported by the William James Morgan Foundation. And I catch glimpses of Jamie meeting and greeting some of them, clinking glasses and handing out business cards.
My three unexpected companions have my full, undivided attention.
“You’re nervous,” Cole remarks, leaning back into his seat.
We’re sharing a bottle of champagne, and we’re almost finished with it. The fizzy potion works its way through my body, taking the edge off. It’s not enough to wash away tonight’s troubles, though.
“I’m feeling a little bit of many things right now,” I tell him and smile weakly. “I can’t thank you enough for getting me away from Terrence.”
“It was our pleasure,” Toby says. A devilish grin slits across his handsome, bearded face, and I notice black tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. They reach over his large, strong hands with intricate, fine-line details. “I love pissing Sheila off every chance I get.”
“I take it that you have a contentious relationship with yourstepmother.”
The brothers exchange glances, and I observe the details I hadn’t noticed before. Asher and Toby are the eldest, in their mid-forties. Born at the same time, yet fascinatingly different. Asher is the clean-cut, automotive business-mogul type, while Toby chose rebelliousness and makes custom motorcycles for high-end clients. Cole is the youngest, in his early forties, and heir apparent to the William J. Morgan financial empire—a role I know, for sure, Terrence desperately wants.
“She’s not our mother,” Cole says. “Step or otherwise. She’s been trying to cut us out of the family and the business ever since she married our father.”
“Oh. Terrence never mentioned?—”
“Of course, he didn’t,” Cole replies, shaking his head. “Why would he? Sheila got it into his head that he should be included in our father’s will.”
“Love makes people do foolish things,” Asher adds, equally dismayed. “Our father is no exception.”
“Either way, you guys didn’t have to do that,” I say.
“Do what?” Toby gives me a confused look. I like the way the shadows deepen around his greenish-blue eyes when his brow furrows.
“Intervene,” I say. “It’s greatly appreciated.”
“We meant it,” Cole says.
And as soon as his gaze meets mine again, I feel the words coiling in the pit of my stomach as heat spreads through my limbs—the intensity of his attention is enough to make my skin tingle all over. It’s just that my brain needs to do a little catch-up.
“Meant what?” I foolishly ask.
“Terrence doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, Miss Willow Bennett,” Cole says.
I laugh lightly, if only to divert attention from my reddening cheeks. “You don’t even know me all that well.”
“I know everything there is to know about you,” he says. “Which only serves to reinforce my statement. You were always too good for him.”
My mind bounces back to Terrence and Sheila’s words, my gaze dropping as I look at myself. Full-figured, with thick thighs and full hips, wrapped in a floral-patterned evening gown, pink and yellow orchids stretching over my shoulders. I feel big.
“Our family is complicated,” Asher says, pouring himself another drink after he refills my glass. “When our mother died almost twenty years ago, we were sure Dad wouldn’t marry again. Plenty of women tried, most of them from within our Hamptons and Manhattan circles.”
Toby scoffs, shaking his head. “But Sheila Madison got her claws into him, eventually. The Hoboken pretender.”
“Hoboken?” I ask, somewhat confused. “She’s a Madison.”
“By marriage,” Toby says. “Sheila married into wealth.”
“Her husband died, right?”
“When Terrence was just a kid,” Asher replies. “She squandered the little fortune he left her. By the time she met our father, she was pretty much broke.”
