“I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me,” he said. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the floor. “I’m your Irish twin. I thought we didn’t have secrets.”
“It happened really fast,” I repeated.
The words sounded hollow to me. I longed to tell him the truth. It made me ill to keep such a huge secret from Weston. But he was also a notorious blabbermouth, especially to women he was with. He was one of the biggest purveyors of office gossip. Being friendly and agreeable and treating everyone like they were his new best friend served him well in some areas, like business development and sales, but it was horrible if one was trying to pull off the biggest lie of the decade that was the lynchpin in an elaborate plan to win a huge contract and simultaneously grind the family’s enemies into the dust.
“You know now,” I told him.
My brother stared at me a moment. We were close and could usually tell when the other was lying. But Weston finally grinned and clapped me on the shoulder.
“I’m glad you’re happy. My little brother is getting married!”
“We’ll see about that,” Garrett said from behind me. “I don’t trust any of this. You’re up to something. If you think you’re marrying that gold digger, you have another thing coming. She’s just like our mother.”
“Avery is nothing like our mother,” I growled at Garrett.
He sneered at me. “And to think I used to believe you were one of the rational ones.”
* * *
“That didn’t go too terribly,”Avery said to me later that evening when I escorted her upstairs.
“You can have this room,” I said, showing her to a guest room with anen suitebathroom and a Turkish rug on the floor. “I’m sorry my brothers were so ill behaved,” I apologized.
She shrugged. “My family is going to be worse tomorrow. But hey, no one came after me with a shotgun for stealing their precious baby boy,” she teased. “I guess it’s good you don’t have any sisters. They would probably be all in my shit.”
“I do have them,” I said curtly.
“Am I going to meet them?” Avery asked.
I scowled, turning away from her. “They’re still in Wyoming.”
“Oh, I—Oh. I’m so sorry.” She looked down at her hands.
“Good night,” I said. “I have something to take care of, but I’ll be back later. Josie and Sadie, my brothers’ girlfriends, are around. I’m sure they’ll be glad to help you if you need anything.”
I grabbed the bottle of scotch from my bag then got into my car and roared up the drive.
As I drove back into town, I stewed over the problem of my sisters. As much as I complained about my brothers, family was everything to me. All that I did was for them.
That was the paradox, though, wasn’t it? We had all of this money, all of this, dare I say, power, and my little sisters were still trapped in Wyoming in the compound. Garrett was supposed to be rescuing them.You could too.
I should. I had always assumed Hunter and Garrett would save our sisters, but Hunter was in the throes of the myopia of unrequited love, and Garrett was fixating on my fake relationship.
There weren’t that many Svensson sisters. It was the great irony in my father’s life: he could only produce sons. In a polygamist cult, daughters were preferred for obvious reasons. They were still young, my sisters, but they needed rescuing soon. I wasn’t sure my brothers were up to the task.
I wondered how Avery felt about family. Was she like me when she complained about her family, or did she really mean it? Regardless, a big part of becoming engaged then married was asking the father for permission, or at least a blessing, to marry his daughter. If I ever had a daughter, I would want to be asked first by her future fiancé. Not for permission—I did not approve of women being treated like property, which was one of the reasons I hated my father—but asking for approval was a nice formality, a thoughtful gesture.
Avery’s father, Chad Broughton, was waiting in a dimly lit wood-paneled bar. The drinks were expensive: fifty-year-old cognacs and rare whiskeys. He stood up when he saw me. He had a greasy look about him that made me dislike him instantly.
He’s going to be your father-in-law.
“Never thought I’d be talking to a Svensson brother,” he said in fake joviality. “I thought you all didn’t want anything to do with the Holbrooks and people who worked with them.”
“We try,” I said after ordering two glasses of rare Japanese scotches from a hovering server. “No, I thought I’d do you the courtesy of meeting in person, since she is your daughter.”
Chad’s head jerked back in confusion. “Wait a minute, I thought this was about the Harris & Schultz contract.”
“No,” I said simply. “I have every confidence my company will win that contract. Grant Holbrook isn’t even personally involved. I came here to ask you for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
