Page 28 of Late Harvest

“Not going to happen,” Brinder inserted, the steel in his voice matching the glare in his eyes. “I told you to respect my chief of orthopedics, and then you went and did this?”

“Hey,” Bash held up a finger. “Wait just a damn minute. You aren’t her father. Not her brother. Even if you were, you have no right to speak for her.”

“I’m her boss,” Brinder enunciated.

“And that doesn’t give you permission to make decisions for her before she’s even been presented with the opportunity.” Now Bash’s ire was good and stoked.

“You’re fucking serious about this.” Brinder looked over at his wife, clearly nonverbally conveying ‘do something.’

But Honor’s reaction wasn’t anger. It wasn’t shock.

It was understanding.

She got it. His sister fucking got it.

“This part means everything to you.” Not a question. Just Honor seeing his truth.

“It does.” He affirmed, the rightness of it all settling in his bones.

“Then we’ll help you.”

“We will?” Brinder and Lila responded in unison like a Greek chorus.

“Yes.” Honor’s tone brooked no argument. She passed a still sound asleep Jude to Brinder and walked over to Bash, a proud smile on her face. “Bash should have the chance to embrace this opportunity. And I’m going to do everything I can to create a win-win for him and Remy. And listen…the whole fake dating thing worked for Brinder and me, right? Why not dial it up to marriage for the role of a lifetime, eh?”

“Some families have traditions like coordinating T-shirts on vacations or running on Thanksgiving morning,” Ross pondered, tapping her chin. “Apparently this generation of Wheatleys fake dates. Or marries, as the case may be,” she finished with a wink and a nod at Bash.

“This is nuts,” Brinder muttered to himself.

“No. It’s not. We just need the right carrot,” Honor insisted.

“For this what-the-everloving-fuck salad,” Ross added with a smirk, her eyes twinkling. “Ooops, sorry, Leah. Good thing she’s sleeping.” Ross passed the boneless sack of toddler to Xander, who expertly shifted the small child across his chest.

“And what, Stardust, are you suggesting as this golden carrot?” Brinder’s gaze was soft as he looked at his wife before shifting his unreadable gaze back to Bash.

Fuck. Bash hated unreadable gazes.

“The shelter.”

“Holy shit,” Lila gasped. “Honor’s right. St. Dymphna’s. She volunteers there every week.”

“Did you just say saint nympho?” Ross snickered, her eyes goggling dramatically. The joke successfully broke the underpinning tension, laughter lightening the mood.

“Dymphna’s, Ross. She’s the patron saint for victims of domestic abuse.” Honor rolled her eyes and grinned at her. “It’s one of the shelters where we donated the money I received in punitive damages from Crispin’s sex video.” Honor’s eyes saddened at the difficult memory of the nonconsensual video her ex had filmed and released to blackmail her.

Brinder leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “Love you, Stardust.”

“Love you, too, Gomez.”

“Gag me, you two,” Ross trolled with a laugh. “Can we please get back to Bash’s arranged marriage?”

Those two teasing words hit Bash like a double punch to the gut. Marriage as a trading card. Fucking hell. He was just like his grandfather. His entire adult life he’d refused to marry for show. And now? He was officially a hypocrite.

Bash pushed that unwelcome reality to the side to be examined later, tuning back into the banter of couples who were actually together for the right reasons.

“Ha, like you and Xan aren’t the king and queen of PDA,” Tiercy rejoined.

“She’s not wrong, Principessa,” Xan added sotto-voice to his wife.