Page 48 of Marrying His Brother

I stop in my tracks, staring at the mess of petals and colors, and then I look at Emily, who’s sitting at her desk with a sort of resigned expression. “What the hell?” I say, unable to hide my confusion. “Where did all this come from?”

She looks up, and there’s a flicker of something—embarrassment, maybe—before she schools her expression. “Daniel,” she says simply, her tone flat.

Chapter 21: Emily

As soon as I tell Andrew the flowers are from Daniel, he doesn’t say a word. He just nods, his jaw clenched tight, and stalks out of my office without looking back.

Daniel’s antics are starting to wear me down too.What does he want now?First, he calls off our wedding, then picks a fight with Andrew at my new one, and now this—flowers, like some twisted form of an apology. It’s exhausting.

I turn back to my desk, trying to focus on the design samples I need to review, but my phone buzzes, lighting up with a new message. I glance at the screen and my stomach flips when I see Daniel’s name.

Morning, beautiful. I’m in town and thought you’d like to have dinner with me.

I stare at the text, my mind reeling. What the hell? He broke off our wedding, for crying out loud. And now he wants to have dinner? I’m married to his brother, for heaven’s sake. What is he playing at?

I pick up my phone and, without thinking, call Catherine. She answers almost immediately, her voice cheerful as always. “Hey, Emily. Need something?”

“Get rid of all the flowers,” I say. “Every single one.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “All of them? What do you want me to do with them?”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I don’t know or care. Give them away. Take them to a hospital, drop them at a charity—just get them out of here.”

“Got it,” Catherine says in a professional tone. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you,” I say, and hang up, breathing a little easier knowing that soon my office will be free of the sickening scent of the flowers.

I glance back at Daniel’s text, my thumb hovering over the screen. I should just tell him off, send him a curt reply telling him to back off. But no matter how much I try to craft the perfect message, it doesn’t feel right. This isn’t a conversation I want to have over text.

If he’s going to keep pushing, then fine. We’ll have it out face to face. I quickly type a response:Sure. Let’s have dinner.I hit send before I can change my mind.

Barely a minute later, my phone rings. I seeMomflashing on the screen and take a deep breath before answering. “Hi, Mom.”

“Emily,” she says, sounding more excited than she has in weeks. “Your father is looking so much better today. His color is back, and he was moving a little this morning. Emily, I think he might be coming around. The doctor said so, too.”

Excitement courses through me. My father might be waking up. Oh God. Emotions come over me.Please let it be true.I’ve missed him so much. Missed his leadership. Missed our conversations.

“I really hope so,” I say, my voice breaking a little.

“Will you come by this evening?” she asks.

I feel bad that I have to say no but I have to deal with Daniel as swiftly as I can. “I can’t tonight, Mom. I have a dinner invitation.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” she says. “You and Andrew should go out and have some fun. I’m so pleased that things are working out between you two.”

My stomach twists at her words, but I don’t correct her. Telling her the truth—that I’m having dinner with Daniel, not Andrew—would lead to a barrage of questions and explanations that I don’t have the energy for.

“Yeah,” I say instead, forcing a smile she can’t see. “I’ll come by tomorrow, okay?”

“Of course, darling. Have a lovely evening,” she says, her voice warm and full of hope. “And don’t worry about your father. I think we’re finally turning a corner.”

I hang up the phone, feeling a mixture of hope and anxiety twisting in my chest. My father might be waking up. It’s the best news I’ve had in weeks, and yet I can’t shake the nerves.

I push those thoughts aside and turn my attention back to the design samples scattered across my desk.

I scan through the color palettes, fabric swatches, and layout sketches, trying to visualize the final look. I don’t want to make drastic changes; just a refresh that will bring the place up to date without losing the character that keeps guests coming back.

Warm tones, clean lines, a touch of modernity—it’s not groundbreaking, but it doesn’t need to be.

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