Page 37 of Never Say Yes To Your Fake Husband

Mom goes back to whipping up the batter with a little bit extra whipping, which tells me this was actually all her idea. Dad musthave done the research, and Bryan is here for moral support. We stick together in this family. Good or bad ideas, we talk about them and do them together.

I grasp those eggs a little bit tighter without even realizing I’m doing it. Crackage is imminent whether I want it to be or not, so it's a good thing I have the bowl ready.

“It was your mother’s idea,” Dad says, confirming my suspicions. The waffle mix gets a little bit mixier. “From what Weland has told us—” He’s referencing the quick conversation I had with my family after meeting the trio of cousins to the power of awful the other day. “We understand your cousins want your company, and you want to protect it and everyone there. I know this is going to be an oversimplification, but we both took the day off work because we know it’s important, and we think this could be something that could actually have a chance at succeeding.”

Right, work. I’m losing track of the days. My parents don’t just take time off work. I feel beyond honored that they’re here right now. They don’t just have my back anymore. They have Sterling’s too. As I said earlier, it makes me feel like we’re a team.

“Alright,” I say cautiously. “Tell us.”

“Just make a different company,” Bryan blurts, clearly ruining the surprise and careful planning my dad has put into explaining this. “As in keep it the same company, but just move everyone over. All your artists, all your employees. Make the old one with those shares not worth anything. That way, your cousins can have it, and you’ll have something brand new that they can’t touch.”

I have never gaped so hard in my life, and my jaw has never creaked up so creakily. This is beyond the pale. It’s beyond all the colors. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever known. It’s all the colors. All the pales. All the things that should and shouldn’t be.

I whip my gaze back and forth between my mom and dad, then to my brother and Sterling. Everyone has a different expression on their face, ranging from hope to skepticism. I can tell Sterling doesn’t know what to think. He’s not used to family meetings, and it’s still early in the morning. His cousins showed up out of nowhere, and we just did things last night. There’s a lot going on, and now this. But he looks cautiously optimistic. The lights are working their way on in his dark eyes, which are back to being that lovely dark roast coffee with just the right amount of cream hue.

I crack the eggs in my hands and go for two more before anyone can notice how my body is lighting up just looking at this man. I don’t know if I’m large enough to contain emotions like this. I might be one of those containers that say, “Do Not Tip Over” and “Handle with Care.” Do not shake, stir, and for the love of all things holy, do not get close to fire. And he’s fire. We’re not supposed to mix, but here we are. Flirting with the most dangerous of dangers.

We’re also thinking about flirting with disaster because that’s what this plan feels like. It feels like fucking over three people who very much aren’t going to stand for tricks like this.

“Make a different company,” Sterling muses thoughtfully. I crack two more eggs and reach for another two. I’m all about the double cracking. Two eggs. Smack together. Then, into the bowl. That’s how I’ve always done it. “Gosh darn it, I think it could work.”

“Oh, it could work,” Bryan says with all the confidence of youth. “I’ve never been a glass half full type of person, but even I think it could work. It beats them at their own game because they’re definitely playing it. Plus, it untangles my sister from all this.”

At those words, my world wrenches to a grinding halt. I drop one egg onto the counter, and it splats there noisily. Everyoneis looking at me now. “Is…this what this is really about? You all getting me away from Sterling?” I suddenly feel betrayed by my family. And it’s not a feeling I’m used to. I don’t like this pain. It’s like a hot knife slicing through my body, which is suddenly made of butter. As in whip me up and spread me onto bread, make toast of me, and dip garlic sticks in me kind of butter.

I guess there only is that kind of butter.

No, wait, there’s body butter, but I think it’s a similar concept.

“That’s not it.” Mom is quick with the paper towel, wiping up the broken egg mess. “I mean, it’s part of it. We just want you to be free to make your own decisions. We’ll support whatever it is, but no one should be forced to get married.” She looks to Sterling right after me. “That goes for you too. Neither of you should have had to enter into an agreement like that. This will free you both. If you want to pursue something together after that, then we’re not going to stop you. You’re an adult, and you know your own feelings.”

That’s legit. My mom doesn’t lie to me. I’m the one who kept this from my family, but they’re not mad at me. They’re not mad at Sterling. They’re not trying to separate us. I let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. I don’t usually do that—not realize I’m not breathing.

This offer isn’t conditional. My family’s love isn’t conditional. Their idea to help us isn’t conditional on me never seeing Sterling again. There are always conditions on everything, but not on the hand that my mom puts on my shoulder. Not on the way she squeezes, assuring me with a single look that she loves me and always will love me, even if I’ve hidden a marriage for the past four years.

“I’d prefer if you left and never saw my sister again,” Bryan says. He yelps a second later and jumps up, and no, it’s not because Sterling has booted him under the table. Sterling’s noteven sitting at the table. He hasn’t even moved. He also doesn’t have bionic eye skills. “Your dog just rubbed his anus on me!”

Bryan is wearing shorts and a T-shirt. I crouch down, and Beans wags his tail. He’s under the table, just standing there.

“He backed up and leaned his hot anus on me!” Bryan grumbles.

“Hmm, sounds like he was trying to give you a hug.” My mom is trying very hard not to laugh.

But my dad does it for her. He bellows his signature dad laugh that sounds a little bit like a donkey’s mating call. Heee-hawwwwww. Heeeeeeeee-haw. He-he-heeeeee.

“Dad!” Bryan huffs, his face turning red. “I fail to see how that’s a hug. And it’s not funny.” He’s embarrassed. My little brother, who hardly ever gets embarrassed about anything, is totally turning red. This coming from a guy who can let one rip in a totally silent room, and everyone knows it’s him, and he won’t even deny it, or he’ll just straight up confess to it.

“He could have been giving you a dog CPR. We were getting awfully excited in here,” Mom goes on. She’s getting on a roll now. She gets like this when we play those board games with words. You will never, ever beat my mom at one of those. Peeing your pants is also a high risk when undergoing those kinds of activities with her. “Anyway, these waffles are ready to be made.” She reaches for the waffle maker and, within a minute, has it plugged in and greased with the cooking spray from the cupboard. “Sit back down, Bryan. The dog just loves you, that’s all. Give him some nice pets and we’ll talk about how to outsmart these cousins from you know where.”

“The moon?” Dad suggests, genuinely confused.

I bite back my own laughter. Imayhave inherited a little bit of that braying call from him, and I don’t dare let it loose.

“I think she was talking abouthell,” Bryan states dryly. He reluctantly starts scratching Beans’ head. I can see the movement from above the table.

I finish cracking eggs, and once I have the whole pack in the bowl, I get a whisk, add some milk, and start scrambling. Everyone thinks it’s for the pan, and it is, but it’s also for the bowl. That’s the secret to good scrambled eggs. Well, that, along with cheese and tons of hot sauce.

“I did some research,” Dad goes back to saying while I heat up the frying pan and Mom gets her waffle-making game face on. “It would take a lot of work and probably some good lawyers and some time. I’m not saying it would be cheap, but I think you can pull the rug right out from under them, clichéically speaking.”

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