Page 4 of One Billion Reasons

“Because success is a bad thing.” He raises a brow and looks me over insultingly. My skin heats where his gaze lands, even through my clothes. Asshole.

“See. That right there is why I don’t want to talk to you. You think I should be dissatisfied with my life because it’s not your life. But I like my business. I like my hobbies. I like my life. I don’t want to live like you.”

“How do I live?” His expression is flat.

“Without a care for what others want,” I respond, equally flatly.

His jaw flexes, but he’s saved from responding by Katie coming back down the beach.

“Let’s finish the shoot,” he says shortly. I nod and we spend the rest of the morning in strained silence. Every time he touches his fiancée, my stomach knots.

We finally get to the last shot of the morning. It feels like hours, when in reality, this might be the shortest session I’ve ever done. Miles is smiling down at the woman, and she’s looking adoringly up at him. Except I know that expression well. It’s the one he always wore when he was doing something he didn’t like but was pretending to enjoy. I shake my head and zoom out. It’s not my job to ponder why my twin’s best friend is looking at his fiancée like she’s a stranger. All that matters is he’s getting married, and it’s my job to shoot the wedding. Oh, god. The camera jerks in my hands. I will them to stay steady. I have to shoot the wedding. My stomach sours like I’m going to be sick right there on the cold sand.

Katie makes small talk with them while I put our equipment away, and then Miles ushers his fiancée back to the waiting town car. I kneel in the damp sand until the couple is gone, and the whole time I wonder how I’m going to survive this mess.

2

Lane

The subway ride home is long, even with the ride Katie gives me to the nearest station, so I don’t have to change trains. Mallory and I live on a quiet block deep in Brooklyn. Our neighborhood is a mix of cultures, with taco trucks on one corner and bubble tea on the next. We love it, and our building is nice enough, though our apartment is small.

I push open the apartment door to see Mallory making coffee. She has on pajamas that say “Born to Paint. Forced to Work.” My present to her last year for her birthday. I drop my heavy photography bag and the drone case and sigh. Stepping into our apartment always feels good. There are plants, soft throws, a massive skylight, and lots of art covering the white walls.

She greets me, and I inhale the scent of hazelnut coffee deep into my lungs.

“Are you a popsicle?” Mal asks.

“I may never get feeling back in my hands,” I groan.

“Here.” She hands me a mug of coffee. “I adulterated it for you. It’s more hazelnut creamer than coffee.”

“Yum. Thank you.” I smile as Mal shakes her head and sits at the counter, her braids bobbing in the bun she wears to sleep every night.

“Guess whose engagement photos I was shooting today?”

“Ooh. Whose? I hope it was someone famous.” She shimmies a little in her chair while she sips her coffee.

“Well, kinda. Miles Becker.” I make a face.

“No way.” Mal’s mouth drops open as I nod, satisfied with her shock. “I’m surprised he’s getting married. He’s not really the marrying type.”

“My thoughts exactly. But he was there. In a suit. Though he didn’t really look like he was enjoying himself.”

“Liam didn’t tell you he was engaged?”

I look down at my coffee. “Liam and I don’t talk about Miles. I don’t understand why he’s still friends with him, and he’s tired of me nagging him about it.”

Mal scrunches her nose up. “Can’t say I blame you.” Mal hates Miles too. She and Jonah always got along famously, the two strongest personalities in the room. Jason, she tolerated, and Liam she loves nearly as much as I do. But she never got along with his best friend.

She pulls out her phone. “I want to google this woman, though. I bet you the engagement is all over the society pages.” She taps at the screen and scrolls. “Wow. Look at this. Actually, no, look it up yourself. The New York Star article from a week ago. It’s full of photos of them.”

I pull up the article. The headline reads, “Merciless Miles Brought to His Knees by Love?”

“What a corny title.”

“I know. I love it.” Mal grins, and we keep reading.

Miles has been engaged for a week. Or at least, publicly he has. His fiancée is Amanda Richardson, an heiress who grew up not far from him in Connecticut. A childhood friend. Something ugly twists in my stomach, and I set my phone down.

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