Page 87 of Marrying His Brother

Catherine glances at the words, nodding slowly. “Thank you, sir. It’s such a shock for everyone in the company.” She looks up, her expression one of genuine concern. “I can only imagine what it must be like for you.”

If only she knew. This is just as big a shock for me as it is for everyone else, maybe more. I nod, dismissing her as she leaves with the statement.

Sitting back, confliction whirls in my mind. Emily’s voice haunts me. She sounded so broken. All my instincts are screaming that I should go to her.

But in doing do, won’t I also be lying? Best thing is to keep my distance. I’ll attend the funeral service, but not as Emily’s husband. That part of our life is over.

Chapter 37: Emily

“Have you spoken to Andrew at all?” my mother asks gently, her hands folded in her lap.

I sit in the living room, a strange emptiness settling over me. My mother and Lisa are beside me, their concerned gazes fixed on me.

It’s been two weeks since we laid my father to rest, and though the physical exhaustion is slowly fading, an ache lingers that I can’t shake.

The mention of Andrew deepens the ache.

God, I miss him.

I miss him with every fiber of my being. I miss his steady presence. His practical nature. His loving, sweet side that I got the rare opportunity to see. I miss his gorgeous face. I miss his arms around me.

I shake myself out of my thoughts and force myself to focus on the present.

“I only saw him briefly at the funeral service,” I reply quietly. “We barely spoke.” The words feel hollow, a reminder of how distant he feels from me now.

Despite everything, I know Andrew has already started work on the Lakeside Riviera. Amy has been updating me. Not that I have much interest.

The one thing I was obsessed about has faded into the background. My father isn’t here to see any of it. Andrew can renovate it any way he wants; none of it matters the way it once did.

“What happens now?” Lisa asks softly, her voice careful. “Will you stay married?”

A painful twist forms in my heart as I recall that last conversation with Andrew, his voice echoing in my mind when I asked him if he would come see me.

I can’t.

I had known immediately what he meant, had felt it settle inside me. The lies had fractured something irrevocable between us.

“No,” I murmur, barely able to say it aloud. “I know Andrew. He won’t forgive this.”

My mother’s hand comes to rest on mine. “It was out of your hands, Emily. You were keeping your father’s promise.”

I shake my head, looking down at her hand on mine. “Andrew is my husband, Mom. I lied to him, again and again. There’s no excuse for that.”

Lisa lets out a quiet sigh, her eyes filled with empathy. “So, you’ll move out?”

“Yeah,” I reply, forcing a small, empty smile. “That’s the plan. Thankfully, my apartment hasn’t been sold yet. I’ll move back in while I figure out what comes next.”

“Or you could come back home,” my mother suggests, her voice filled with a quiet hope that tugs at me.

I glance around the familiar walls of my childhood home. Being here these past two weeks has reminded me how much I need space—time alone to fully process, to grieve, to heal from losing both my father and my marriage.

I squeeze my mother’s hand. “I’ll come often, Mom,” I say. Then, drawing a deep breath, I stand. “No point in putting it off any longer.”

Lisa stands with me, a hesitant look in her eyes. “I’ll come with you,” she offers.

I give her a grateful smile but shake my head. “Thanks, but Andrew might be home. We’ll probably need to talk.”

She nods, understanding. “Okay. But call me if you need me.”

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