Page 12 of Reckless Vow

“You’ve decided to stay,” Paris says cheerfully.

Brook blinks a few times. “Yes, yes, I’m staying.”

It feels like she’s just made that decision on the spot. To avoid marrying me. Smart girl. Certainly smarter than me.

“I’m opening a club in Manhattan,” I announce, “so I guess I’ll be here more often.” What the fuck is coming out of my mouth?

“A club?” Sydney asks. “There is so much we need to catch up on, but I’m so glad we’ll see more of you.”

I curve up my lips, hoping I seem as excited as she is. I would be. I didn’t expect this reunion to happen, let alone for it to affect me this much.

But there are more pressing issues to tackle right now.

My eyes find Brook again and then continue scanning the room. Mom is gone. Sometime after my proposal she left.

What’s up with that? I’d expect her to be the first one to protest.

What does her retreating mean?

“So does the will allow for a long-distance marriage?” London asks. “Or are you planning to stay around more?” She looks at me.

I have no plan. But my no-plan certainly didn’t include staying in New York.

“I think that’s something that can be arranged, but my business is in Europe and Asia. I’ll need to travel.”

“Brook can travel with you.” Paris slides off the tall chair, holding her belly.

A glance at Brook confirms she’s less than thrilled about all the meddling. Why is everyone talking about her like she isn’t here? Has it always been like that?

London stands up as well and rubs her hands together. “It makes perfect sense. You were always close, so you’ll get along, and you’re family, so we don’t have to let a stranger in for this fucked-up situation. It’s make-believe, anyway.”

I guess this is happening. I’m fucking getting married.

My mind immediately starts planning how I’ll make a year of marriage in the US work with all my other responsibilities across the world.

And for a brief moment, I get excited. I’m a restless bastard. A nomad of a sort, and this new challenge excites me.

There is only one problem. Brook would be a part of that life.

And then I stop myself. I’m being the same asshole as the rest of the family, ignoring her opinion on the matter.

Turning my head, I catch her biting her cuticle. She looks even more desperate and lost than before, and I grab the edge of the counter to keep from wrapping my arms around her.

Why is everyone getting ready to leave as if the matter is settled? Fuck.

“It was just an idea, Brook,” I say, and she snaps her eyes to me. “We don’t have to do it. I’m sure there is another solution.”

“This one would be an easy one,” Dom offers.

Shut up, fucker. Let her decide.

Her eyes dart around, meeting the expectant looks of her sisters, who seem to want to be done with this. Who, despite all odds, believe this is the perfect solution.

How many times has she stood under this metaphorical firing squad? Crushed under our family’s expectations. She only ever wanted to fit in. To be one of them.

From her non-cosmopolitan name to being always the baby of the family, she never felt like she had a voice.

And yet, in the end, when it came to us, she chose them. That’s how strong her need for acceptance used to be. And still is, I guess.

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