Page 11 of Saved By My Buyers

“Yeah, it’s possible she may have done it in spite of it being my birthday,” I mumble. “Look, I just want to get through today, pretend it’s not my birthday, and then slip away during the party to hide in my room.”

“You can’t pretend it’s not your birthday,” Bronwyn says, looking as if I’m breaking her heart. It’s sweet, but living alone for six months was a lot worse than this.

“Watch me,” I grunt like a brat as the wedding coordinator calls us over.

“I have your birthday present, so we’re going to table this, but understand you didn’t win this one, Dahlia,” Jack grumbles.

I really want to stick my tongue out at them both, but hold myself back.

“I should get to win things on my birthday,” I sass instead, walking toward the coordinator.

“My stepsister is a brat,” Bronwyn whispers at Jack, and I pretend not to hear her.

“She really fucking is,” Jack sighs. “Shit, sorry for the cursing, kid.”

“I‘ve heard worse,” she says with a giggle, chasing after me.

Detroit may be a little bit more palatable with the two of them here. My stepsister is sweet, and seems to genuinely care. In my head, I had this twisted vision of a really mean girl who would be angry I was living in her house, but I’ve not seen anything remotely like that.

As she links her arm in mine, I decide I’m going to attempt to think positively.

This will be a good move. It has to be.

Jack

I shouldn’t be this protective over Dahlia, but as she attempts to fade into the background beside her mother, I find that I am. She had a shit hand dealt to her between Alvin’s death and him hiding money so he wouldn’t have to pay taxes.

The fucker didn’t only hide a little, he pretended to have some awful investments he could write off, and then hid the rest. The government could have gone after Lucia for it, but because it wasn’t written into the will, they gave up on it. I don’t know what he was thinking.

Alvin was always a bit greedy, though. It’s the reason he was always networking, working when he said he was supposed to be with Dolly having fun. No wonder she couldn’t think of anything to say when Lucia put her on the spot at the funeral.

Everyone here looks perfect and very rich. I make really good money with a third stake of ownership in my company, but I would never flaunt it like this. I’m just a normal guy.

The ceremony is long winded with an aged pastor marrying Lucia and Gareth. I’m sitting toward the front, carefully watching everything. Not because I give a shit about their wedding, but because Dahlia has flinched three times during it. From where I’m sitting, I can’t tell if she’s being bitten, having a seizure, or someone is fucking pinching her.

Bronwyn’s frowning slightly, which means she’s noticing that something is going on as well. The protective part of me that worries surges forward, and I struggle to keep myself from growling.

I really wish I could steal Dolly away. Give her a normal fucking childhood. Anything would be better than her what parents have given her.

As the ceremony ends, everyone trails up the aisle, and I see Dolly struggling to keep a smile on her face. Her body is stiff and robotic, the hand not around the bouquet of flowers visibly shaking.

The second that everyone starts to move toward the huge tent where the wedding reception is, I start to follow her to see what happened.

“I don’t know what happened,” Bronwyn says, walking quickly up to me. “She kept rubbing her side every time she flinched, but I couldn’t see anything. Could it have been her mom?”

“Better not have fucking been,” I growl. Bronwyn is a smart girl, I appreciate that I don’t have to connect the dots for her. “God, I hate that woman so damn much.”

“What’s her deal?” she asks.

My brows draw down as Dolly drops her bouquet, quickly walking away from the tent toward the covered path and the rest of the garden. I heard vaguely that there was a butterfly garden back there, and I imagine she needs a moment.

The sun is starting to set in an array of gorgeous colors, but all it’s doing is masking another really shitty day in her life.

“Lucia’s deal? She’s a selfish woman,” I grunt, my footsteps soundless as I walk on the sod instead of the pathway. Bronwyn takes careful steps to remain quiet in her heels as she tries to understand why I’d say that.

“I refuse to tell Dolly’s secrets, but I moved to Detroit to make sure she’s taken care of. The best explanation I can give is that she’s negligent.”

“Lucia has been living in Detroit for months,” Bronwyn says slowly. “Where has Dahlia been living?”

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