Page 31 of Marrying His Brother

When I get home, only Bear and Bruno greet me. Emily’s not here. I grit my teeth, realizing she’s setting boundaries—letting me know that she has no intention of acting like my wife. I need to work out this anger. Changing quickly, I head to the house gym.

An hour of lifting weights brings some relief. My muscles burn, but my head feels clearer, more grounded, more focused.

Later, when I’m sitting in the kitchen with a drink, reading market news on my iPad, I hear the front door creak open. Emily finally walks in.

Her eyes dart around the room before they land on me. “Hey.”

Hey?After being a no show for lunch. I set my iPad down and wait for an explanation. Not that there’s a good enough reason for not communicating.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze shifting from the floor to the dogs, anywhere but directly at me. “Sorry about earlier. Something came up with my mom.”

My chest tightens. It was just as I thought. A complete lack of respect.

“Look, I’m really sorry but we can reschedu—”

“Is my office ready?” I say, cutting her short.

Her eyes widen for a second, then she recovers. “Yes, it was ready a week ago.”

“Good.” I keep my voice cool, not giving away the hurt I feel inside. Hurt that I shouldn’t be feeling. I brought this on myself. “The sooner we start, the sooner we achieve the reason for this marriage.”

I turn back to my iPad, my tone signaling the end of the conversation. She stands in the same position for a moment or two longer, then turns and leaves the kitchen.

Chapter 14: Emily

I sit at my desk, phone pressed to my ear, my eyes darting to the clock every few seconds. My mother’s voice is on the other end and she sounds exhausted. Guilt floods me. I slept soundly last night, while I’m sure she barely got any rest.

“How is he?” I ask, my fingers tapping restlessly on the surface of the desk.

“The doctor is with him now,” my mother says, sounding worn out. “They’re running more tests this morning.”

I let out a slow breath, nodding even though she can’t see me. “What kind of tests?”

“They’re checking for any signs of infection. The fever’s worrying them,” she says, her voice cracking slightly.

I picture her sitting beside my father’s bed, hands wringing together, eyes watching every breath he takes. I hate that I wasn’t there last night.

The day had been just as grueling with Dad’s fever spiking and then coming back down. We had come close to rushing him to the ER. He’d been sweating buckets and so pale.

“Did the doctor say anything else?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Not much. Just that the test results will determine the next steps.”

My stomach knots. It would be difficult to keep up this secrecy if my father is admitted to hospital. My father’s wishes to keep everything quiet is really pushing us into a corner. Every flare-up feels like the edge of a cliff, and every time, we hope he pulls back just enough to keep going.

“Okay,” I say softly. “Let me know what the results say.”

“I will,” my mother says, but, there’s a strain in her voice that wasn’t there before. She’s trying to hold it together, trying to be the rock, but the cracks are starting to show.

“How are you holding up, Mom?”

There’s a pause. “I’m alright. Just tired.”

I want to be there day and night but I have to be here, running the business and keeping my Dad a secret from Andrew, which means I can’t disappear any time I want to.

“Why don’t you try to get some rest?” I suggest, even though I know the answer. It’s impossible to rest when Dad is in this state.

“I’ll rest when he’s better,” she says. “But don’t worry about us. You focus on work today, okay? I’ll keep you posted.”

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