I snort because she’s not wrong. My brother had been a complete idiot, trying to resist what was obviously written in the stars. Everyone else could see that universe kept forcing them together in the most unlikely situations, but Cain? No, he had to make it complicated.
By the time he finally pulled his head out of his ass, Rhiannon had almost convinced herself it wasn’t worth it. Until Cain sat her down and proved there wasn’t anyone else for him but her.
“Yes, but this startedworse. My dad basicallyfocusedus get married. He’d never have chosen Boone for me to really marry.”
Rhiannon shrugs, completely unfazed. “And that's a problem why? Why does it matter what your dad thinks? You’re not letting him pick your prom date, so why give him that kind of power now?”
“I... I…” My words falter because the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Not really.
I’m almost thirty years old. I shouldn’t care if my dad likes who I’m dating. I guess I just don’t want him tohatethe guy. And I don’t want the guy to thrive off that hate either. My dad’s not a bad father. He isn’t cruel. I know deep down he just wants what’s best for me and Cain.
“It’s the promotion,” I blurt out, though I’m not even sure that’s my real concern anymore.
“And Boone knows about the promotion now?”
I nod. “He said he wouldn’t do anything to mess it up.”
“Well, putting his cock inside you might complicate things.”
I bite back a groan. “I know.”But it was so, so good.
“So, get the promotion. Let Cain and Boone handle his case next week. There’s only a week left for the promotion and casecomplication to be behind you. Then ask todate him and fuck him again while you're at it. You’re glowing. I can tell you needed that.”
“You say all that like it’s so easy.”
She smirks and shrugs, hoisting one of the chairs over her shoulder. “Take the other two chairs. You’re buying these. They’re perfect for your house.”
I grab the other two chairs, one in each arm. She’s right. They'll look great in my kitchen. Together, we drag them to the counter. Rhiannon tucks the chairs behind it, then turns back to me, crossing her arms with that familiar, no-nonsense look.
“I’m saying it’s simple because itissimple, Rosie. Youlikehim. And in the two years that I’ve known you, you’ve never liked anyone. You’ve kept yourself in this neat little box, like a pretty butterfly who doesn’t know how to break free. You’re so comfortable pretending that you’re happy all the time but inside you’re miserable. At work, with your clients, in public, in front of your dad. But here? With us in Brookhaven? You’reyou. You’re softer, playful, loving. And I’ve never seen you like that with anyone but us. Until Boone. With him, you’re not pretending. I don’t think you’ve ever been pretending for the cameras. So why start now?”
Her words sink in heavy.
She’s right. It really is that simple. I just need to figure out how to move forward when we have a glaring timeline, a PR team set to divorce us, and a father who's bent on not having his daughter date a professional hockey player and client.
I need to talk to Boone. And I need to find a way to make this work without hurting anyone or myself in the process.
Chapter 33: Rosie
Boone doesn’t get home until well after dark later that night.
A part of me can’t help but wonder if Cain planned it that way—keeping him out late on purpose, like he’s suspicious of Boone staying the night with me again. Suspicious of the fact that he’d willingly subject himself to my guest bedroom, fully knowing it’s about as comfortable as a bed of nails.?
I have a strong sense that Cain has already figured out my feelings for Boone. That this isn’t all a complete façade to me. And then there’s the lawyer part of me, the one trained to ignore inconvenient evidence, clinging to the hope that he’s choosing to look the other way. For both of our sakes but mostly for the case and my promotion.
Cain texted me earlier in the afternoon, letting me know they were still working and not to wait up for dinner. Why Boone couldn’t text me himself, I didn’t know. I tried not to overthink why he hasn’t reached out.
I tried not to check my phone while I cleaned up my weekend home and caught up on emails. It didn’t work. I typed and then deleted a message to him about a thousand times.
Hi.
How are you?
This morning was fun.
Thanks for dragging me out of the lake.
What are we doing?
