Page 1 of Baby For My Ex's Brother

Chapter one

Prologue

Shiloh

Thanksgiving, Two Years Earlier

I’m meeting my boyfriend’sfamily, and I know it’s important… so why can’t I get this feeling of dread out of the pit of my stomach?

Chris wraps his hand a bit too tightly around my wrist, ushering me through the threshold of his parents' home. "You're going to love them," he says, but it's more of a command than a promise.

"Can't wait," I reply, with a smile that feels stapled on. He doesn’t notice, or maybe he doesn’t care—I can’t tell with the way he’s always so focused on himself.

We step inside, and immediately, I'm hit by the warmth of the house, the smell of sage and roasted turkey mingling in the air. It's comforting, yet I feel like an intruder in this scene of domestic perfection.

"Shiloh, babe, don't just stand there." Chris nudges me forward into the living room.

It isn’t long before Chris’s parents realize we’re here, and his mom comes excitedly out of the living room. Chris's mother, Darla, is the epitome of elegance, her every gesture calculated and smooth—a stark contrast to my own nervous fidgeting. She beams at Chris, her eyes lingering on him with maternal pride that seems to fill the room.

"Christopher, darling," she coos before turning a measured gaze toward me. "And you must be Shiloh."

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Walton," I say, extending a hand that she clasps with a cool firmness.

"Call me Darla, dear." Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she scrutinizes me, taking in my thrift store dress and the blonde hair that tumbles in messy waves down my back.

"Professor Walton and Chris have told me so much about you," I offer, trying to break the ice as I glance over at Chris’s father.

Professor Rick Walton nods, his academic demeanor softening for a moment.

"Shiloh's one of our brightest English majors," he says, but his praise sounds like a verdict waiting to be overturned in this court of familial judgment.

"English major," Darla murmurs, almost to herself, a note in her voice suggesting that perhaps I should have chosen something more lucrative, more impressive.

Before I can dwell on her comment, the front door swings open again, and in strides someone I've never seen before, yet who carries an air of familiarity. He’s taller than Chris, with a presence that seems to command the space.

His hazel eyes hold flecks of gold that catch the light, and there’s a wildness in his curly black hair that suggests he spends far less time in front of a mirror than Chris does.

"Sorry I'm late," he grumbles, his voice deep and somehow both inviting and distant. He’s got the slightest hint of an accent, but I can’t quite place it.

"Ah, that’s just fine, Liam," Darla says, the temperature in the room dropping a few degrees. “Shiloh was running late too.”

"Who is that?" I whisper under my breath, ignoring Darla’s barb toward me.

“My half-brother,” Chris rolls his eyes, and tension slices through the warm air, so thick it could rival the Thanksgiving turkey as a centerpiece.

"Didn't know you had a brother," I murmur to Chris, feeling a bit betrayed by the omission. We’ve been dating for a year; I really thought I knew all there was to know about him.

"Doesn't matter," he mutters back, giving my wrist a squeeze that I'm starting to realize isn't affectionate at all. “Like I said… he’s my half-brother. We only ever see him at Thanksgiving.”

I look up at Liam, who's now shrugging off his jacket, revealing a simple tee that hugs his torso in all the right ways. His sharp jawline is emphasized with a rough five o'clock shadow that speaks of a man unconcerned with first impressions—or any impressions at all.

"Hey," Liam says, his eyes meeting mine for a second too long before he turns to hang his coat.

"Hi," I reply, my voice small in the suddenly crowded room.

Not with other people, I guess… just Liam’s energy.

It’s like I can’t breathe now that he’s here.

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