Page 11 of Billion Dollar Vow

“I’m not irresponsible, either. If anything, I stay home more than you do.”

“I know. I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I have friends here. I’ll be fine. Quit worrying about me.” A small part of me does worry what it’ll be like without him close. But I need to stand on my own, prove to myself that I can build a life that’s entirely mine.

He snorts, and I turn to stir the sauce, adding the pasta to the boiling water. I know where this is coming from… He’s still haunted by not being able to help protect me when we were kids. We were separated and fostered by different families. He’salways felt responsible. It’s written all over his face. I reach out to squeeze his arm. “If I hate it here, I’ll be on the first flight out.”

“I’ll always make room for you,” he says softly.

I smile. “I know, and I love you for that.”

Do I think this is the end of the conversation? Not at all. He’ll keep trying until he leaves for Florida. He wants to erase the past, and while I understand that, those experiences made me who I am. I wouldn’t change that. My hardships gave me strength and independence. Those scars are part of me.

He wipes a hand down his face. “I still don’t like the idea of you struggling on your own.”

My muscles tighten. I hate that he sees me as weak just because I don’t have a fancy job like him. But he encouraged me to work at Tills’, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. I’m not cut out for corporate life. “I’m not going to struggle. I also couldn’t find the art school like I have here.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, and I raise an eyebrow, already disliking where this is going. “But do you want to follow art all your life?”

“Why does it matter to you?” I snap, stirring the sauce even though it doesn’t need it. Art is a part of me, my therapy. I could never give it up. I thought he knew and supported that.

“You’re so smart,” he says, and my nostrils flare as I try to take slow, calming breaths.

“Smart people work in many fields, not just corporate jobs,” I bite back, knuckles whitening around the wooden spoon.

He sighs. “I know, but I didn’t think you’d stay at Tills’ this long.”

“Let’s drop this topic right now.” My voice trembles with a mix of hurt and anger that threatens to spill over.

He tugs at his tie. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m messing this up.”

I move to check on the pasta, steam rising around my face. “I don’t think you are. You’ve mentioned my job more than once. I wish you’d support me.”

“I’m letting you stay here,” he says, and I freeze mid-motion.

“Letting me?” My voice turns to ice. “I pay bills and cook you dinner.”

Armani slides up beside him, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Drop it. She’s right. Let her live her life. She’s happy.”

I exhale shakily, grateful for her support. I’ve never had the urge to slap my brother before, but I’m dangerously close tonight. Armani must’ve sensed the extra tension in the room. “I’m moving, but I’m staying in New York.”

“I’m sorry. I just feel responsible,” he mutters as his eyes drop to the countertop.

“And I keep telling you not to. Now, sit and wait for your dinner.”

“I’m going to miss this,” he says with a smirk.

“Hey, I can cook. You just never give me the chance,” Armani teases, and they stare at each other with hearts in their eyes and a flicker of heat. I turn away, rolling my eyes despite the small pang in my chest.

Once the pasta is done, I assemble my bowl and head to my room. They get too touchy for me to hang around. “Help yourselves. There’s plenty for seconds,” I call out, though I’m not sure they heard me.

As I sit on my unmade bed, peace finally settles in my chest. My room is small, but it’s mine, walls filled with art, colorful pillows and blankets thrown across my sheets and comforter. Art supplies cover every surface. I take a deep breath and dig my fork into the steaming pasta. The first bite melts in my mouth. I close my eyes, shoulders relaxing for the first time today. After this, I’ll just hide here for the rest of the night, sketching or watching something till I fall asleep.

I’m starting to feel like I can breathe again.

Until the doorbell rings.

Who could that be? I’m not expecting anyone, and Armani’s already here. I hope they stop making out to answer it.

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