Page 49 of Marrying His Brother

As I’m lost in thought, I hear the soft murmur of Catherine’s voice outside my office. She knocks on the door and enters, followed my two men from maintenance.

In no time at all, the flowers are out and hopefully, soon that nauseating smell will be too.

I check the time, realizing an hour has passed. It’s time to head over to the Army Base Riviera and meet with the design team. I need to see how the samples will look in the actual space, make sure everything feels cohesive.

Gathering my things, I step out of my office and nearly bump into Andrew as he exits his. He’s got that same focused expression he always wears, but there’s a tightness around his eyes.

“Ready to head out?” he asks, glancing at me briefly before looking away.

“Yeah, let’s go,” I say, trying to sound upbeat even though I’m well aware that Daniel’s flowers pissed him off. That makes two of us.

“We can take my car,” he says, already moving toward the elevator.

I follow him, my heart beating a little faster. We don’t talk on the way down or as we get into his car.

The silence feels heavy, and I know it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed him to see a therapist. I was only trying to help, but maybe I overstepped.

His curt dismissal this morning hurt more than I’d like to admit, but there’s no point in dwelling on it now.

We pull out of the parking garage, and I stare out the window, watching the city blur past. I want to say something, break the ice, but the words don’t come.

Instead, I force myself to focus on what matters—work.

If the doctor is right, and my father is close to coming out of his coma, I want him to wake up to find everything in order, the company thriving.

I want him to see that I’ve been taking care of things, that I’m capable, even if everything feels like it’s balancing on a knife’s edge.

But then there’s the matter of my marriage. What will he think when he learns I married Andrew? The thought fills me with apprehension, and I clench my hands in my lap, trying to suppress the anxiety.

One thing I’m sure of is that he’ll like Andrew. They’re so alike in many ways—serious, driven, but with a playfulness beneath the surface.

My dad always had a soft spot for people who could surprise him, who could match his wit and push back when needed.

God, I miss him.I miss our conversations, his advice, the way he’d make everything seem manageable no matter how overwhelming it was.

I need him so much right now.

As we pull up to the Army Base Riviera, the driver slows to a stop, and Andrew and I step out into the crisp afternoon air.

The design team is already gathered near the entrance, a mix of familiar faces and a few new ones.

Andrew and I exchange quick, polite nods with the team before we head inside, making our way to the boardroom. It’s a stark contrast from the bustling noise of the construction going on outside.

The room is quiet, spacious, with large windows that offer a view of the base in the distance. I catch Andrew’s eyes flicker toward it, and his jaw tightens slightly.

The head designer, Mila, is already setting up her materials—color swatches, fabric samples, and floor plans spread out across the long table. “Good afternoon, everyone,” she says, her tone bright and professional. “We have a lot to get through, so let’s jump right in.”

I sit down, trying to focus, but as soon as the discussion starts, Andrew and I are already clashing.

He leans forward, his expression serious. “I still think we should lean into a more modern, minimalist design for the guest rooms. Something sleek and clean.”

I shake my head, my frustration bubbling up. “I disagree. The guests at this location are mostly here for long-term stays, visiting family at the base. They want comfort, warmth, something that feels like home—not a sterile, modern space.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow slightly. “Emily, we can’t just do the same thing over and over because it’s safe. We need to set a new standard. We’re trying to elevate the brand.”

“And we can elevate the brand without alienating the people who actually stay here,” I argue, refusing to back down. “The design needs to reflect that. We’re not just building showrooms, we’re creating spaces where people will live, sometimes for weeks or even months.”

The room goes silent for a moment. I don’t want to fight with Andrew, but I’m not going to let him bulldoze over what I know works for our guests.

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