“Dad,” I begin, straightening my spine and stepping out of his grasp as a wave of almost crippling anxiety courses through my veins. “This…isn’t Bobby.”
My father’s head snaps to me like I’ve lost my mind, but he doesn’t say anything.
My mother doesn’t either.
Thelastthing I want to do is ruin this reunion and Bronte’s family’s beautiful dinner they have planned tonight.
However, I didn’t know they were going to be here, so I didn’t plan this out yet.
“This is Bobby’s brother…Bronte.”
I can’t explain the looks on my parents’ faces, but I’ll settle for puzzled and pending a full-blown explanation.
“Um…” I press my lips together because this is more than a two-sentence explanation. It’s a crazyoops just kiddingkind of thing. “Well, you see, ImetBronte first. And—um, well…I accidentally messaged Bobby, instead.”
Dead silence.
Hesitating, I add, “And I realized my mistake…recently. So—um, we got married. Bobby…wasn’t the man I thought he was.”
More silence.
Exhaling because my lungs demand new oxygen, I’m about to break under the pressure when I feel Bronte’s palm resting on the middle of my spine for strength.
“I think if you don’t tell her,” I hear him say. “She’s going to stroke out.”
Both my parents balk out in laughter and, obviously, I’m the butt of the joke here.
“Bronte explained everything, sweetheart,” she coos, seemingly okay with it—ifshe knows all of it. “What your husband did was more than heroic and chivalrous. We couldn’t ask for anything better for you, hun.”
How would you know that?
You don’t know anything about him.
I eye my own mother suspiciously because I know he left out the kidnapping, not-telling-me-until-we-were-on-the-plane thing about who he was and what was happening beforehe married me.
I’ll give him that.
Because I don’t want to explain it either.
“He’s great,” I blurt out because, well, he is. “I’m so happy you guys are here.”
“I’m starving,” Dad says because, I mean, being hungry all the time doesn’t fall far from the tree. “Can I have some water, Bronte?”
“Of course,” he says, striding for the kitchen without another second to spare.
Then my parents immediately jump me.
“You good?” Dad quickly asks in a low, muttered tone. “He said he didn’t tell you untilafteryou got married.”
Bronte…he’s dead.
Dead.
Deader than dead.
I hope he doesn’t have plans for a long life because he is so dead!
“I—yeah, I’m…fine.”
