Page 5 of The Price of a Promise

Panic snaked through me as I realized what that meant.If Vince, my father’s driver, intersected me at the private jet side of the airport, my chances at escaping to meet with Axel fell to zero.The private jets we used to ferry ourselves back and forth between CA and NY were always available within a few days’ notice.But not so much at the last minute.

“Actually, wait,” I blurted.“That won’t work.Let me check my schedule and I’ll figure out the flight plan.I might want to come sooner.”

“Won’t you miss class?”

“It’s group stuff this week, so I have some flexibility.”My heart hammered in my chest.I needed to figure out a way to weasel my way into a commercial first-class ticket.That was Plan B, when the private jet schedule didn’t jive with our own.My father hated sending me commercial, but I didn’t mind.I think he hated the loss of control more than anything.But that was precisely why I needed it for this trip.

“If you wait until Friday, you can attend classandmake it in time for the meeting,” my father said.

But that wouldn’t work either.I needed Friday with Axel.No matter what.“I just want to get to New York with time to prepare for the meeting.This is a big deal.A big opportunity.”My tongue met dry lips.I prayed he bought the bullshit I fed him.“I’ll consult my schedule and figure out some things with my group, and then I can handle the flight plan.Don’t worry about it.”

I snapped my mouth shut before I could say anything else.Because my father didn’t need to hear what rattled around inside my head.

Nothing will prevent me from seeing Axel.

CHAPTER THREE

AXEL

“Are you ever gonna put that thing down?”

Trace paired his words with the condescending eyebrow arch he knew irked me.I squeezed the ring box harder into my palm and sent him the deadliest glare I could muster.

“Are you ever gonna stop being annoying?”

“Are you two ever gonna stop being ridiculous?”Damian intoned from the kitchen, which was barely a separate area in our too-tight-to-breathe Manhattan closet we called a home.Even between three of us, rent was still so expensive that selling an organ wasn’t entirely off the table.

“Are you two ever gonna stop asking questions?”I shot back.Silence stretched through the apartment while we all smirked at one another in turn.

“I bet you’ll sleep with it under your pillow tonight,” Trace finally said.

“Fuck you,” I offered, pointing in his direction where he lay on the loveseat, an open textbook on his legs.“I will.”

“We should call him the Ring Bearer,” Damian muttered as he made a lazy path toward the recliner in our living room.Again, not so much aroomas ageneral area in which all activities occurred.This place was a step up from our apartment in during our undergrad years at Columbia, though.Back then, we had a bona fide studio apartment, with imaginary walls and a sheet for a bathroom door.Now, we had a two bedroom and took turns sharing the second bedroom every few months.Luxury, only sharing a bedroom with your brothers for half the year.

“Funny,” I retorted.“Though I plan to be the groom.Maybe one of you could be the ring bearer?”

My brothers had been giving me shit for approximately a year about this ring purchase.They knew how much it meant to me—but of course no opportunity for ribbing could be ignored between brothers.

“I vote Damian, with his insatiable appetite for human interaction,” Trace cracked as Damian settled into the worn brown recliner facing the kitchen.Damian lifted the corner of his lip, his round, wire-rimmed glasses making him look like an early Bill Gates-style nineties computer geek.But with much better hair.

“I’d rather be coding, thanks.”When both Trace’s and my gazes fell on Damian, he added, “But obviously I’d take a break to go to the wedding.”

“You better,” I warned him.“But as soon as you start to have a good time, you need to leave.Because no recluse nerd brother of mine can be caught having a good time.”

Damian tried to send me a withering look, but a smile ghosted his lips, breaking the façade.

“Depends on where you have it,” Damian said, raking a hand through his honey brown tresses.“If you’re gunning for a church wedding, I think we can count on nobody having a good time.”

Trace kicked Damian in the knee, which elicited a scowl.

“I think the right answer is, ‘Brother, I’ll have a good time at your wedding no matter where it is,’” Trace corrected.

“I’d fucking hope so,” I said, peeking into the box one last time.A constellation of incredibly expensive diamonds winked up at me, sending another jolt of excitement through me.I still didn’t have a plan, much less a timeline.Hell, I didn’t know if we’d end up having a church wedding.I just knew I was going to ask Cora to marry me the next time I saw her, which probably wouldn’t be for a few months.

I had time to plan.And because of that, the proposal would be perfect.I’d settle for nothing less.

My phone buzzed in the deep pocket of my black sweatpants.I knew it was Cora before I even looked at it.My body had a way of alerting me when she called or texted.It was a little weird, but I was never wrong.

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