Page 115 of Unhinged

I blink my watery eyes that I try to hide from him. “She sounds cool.”

Greg grins. “Yeah. I looked up to her even though I had to stoop. She would’ve loved you.” His gaze falls to the table. “I mean, as unique as she was, Eden never held it against anyone for being different from her, except for me. She embraced all and was a genuine person and wanted to help others without a thank you in return.” He shrugs. “Eden was a lot like you in that regard.”

“Oh. Really? Then, we would’ve been friends for sure.”

Dropping his smile, he looks sincere. “Not a doubt in my damn mind. Partners in crime ganging up on me. Eden would’ve gotten a kick out of every single thing about you.”

I grin. “No. I would’ve defended her brother. He’s cute.”

He clears his throat, looking nervous again. “Did you tell your dad about…?”

I nod. “It was a five-minute convo. He asked for the why, the what, and where’s the proof? He didn’t offer congratulations or ask for any other details. Not even my groom’s first name.” Now feeling awkward, I search my purse for my phone.

“I know that’s your father, but what a dick.”

I glance at him while checking my phone for any other messages from Marc Garrison. “A mega dick.”

“You said you had wanted to change your last name to your stepdad’s. What is it?”

“Simpson.”

Greg laughs, and it echoes in our area. “Simone Simpson? Simmy Sim. Like a rapper or DJ.”

“Hilarious. Or Sim Rod to go with Rod. We’d be a matching set.”

“I’ll pass.” We both snort and then laugh because of that.

I say, “No. I’m not crazy about Simpson, but I’d still take it over Garrison any damn day.”

His smirk is almost proud and so engaging. “Now, you don’t have to.”

A chipper red head delivers our French toast, and she gives Greg an extra big smile, which annoys the fuck out of me. He’s on a date.

Pushing that aside, I say, “I’ll change it after our year is over. I’m never going back.”

He inspects his plate while I pile on more syrup. “You can keep my name, Simone.”

“Our marriage will be invalid, so no.”

He looks up at me with noticeable confusion. “You wanted to change it to your mom’s, Simpson, or Wilder. I give you permission to keep Rodwell. You’re making it hard.” He crooks an eyebrow at me, probably for the innuendo. I shake my head and then pick up my fork and stare at my toast. “Why? We’d still be friends.” I hear him chugging his orange juice, but I don’t veer from dragging my fork through the syrup and powdered sugar.

My need for French toast fades by the second. “I just couldn’t. Whomever you marry for real can have the honor.”

“Simone—”

“Did you and Hadley ever hook up?” That should divert him.

He looks around the restaurant, which isn’t very crowded, before he spits, “What the fuck?”

“Well, did you?” The thought of that is shocking, stomach-turning, and infuriating for both my brother and me.

“You know my history.” His anger is understandable, and I feel horrible.

“You’re right. I meant, did you and Hadley ever want to?”

“Hell, that’s just as bad of a question.” He picks up his fork, sets it down, and then takes another long drink. Oh, my God. He’s stalling.

“That’s not an answer.”

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