Page 120 of Luck of the Draw

“Well, I love you, honey. And lovebelieves.” Brennan squeezed her before slipping his arm away to hold the wheel again, turning the car around a corner. “Love believes all things, and love hopes all things, and because I love you, I believe in you to do everything you want to do. I have hope that everything you do will make you as happy as you deserve to be.”

She cast an incredulous glance at him before shaking her head and facing forward. It was almost comical how fucking perfect this man was. “Isn’t that from the Bible?”

“It is indeed. My favorite part of the whole thing.”

Skye studied his face, crinkling up her nose for a second. “I didn’t think you were religious.”

“I’m not.” Brennan lifted his fingers off the steering wheel for a second in a dismissive flit. “I don’t even really believe in God. I believe inlove.” He turned to look at her over the top of his shades and flashed her a movie star grin. “Love is patient. Love is kind.” He held out his hand in front of her and started counting off on his fingers. “Love isn’t arrogant. Love isn’t self-centered. Love isn’t easily angered. Love rejoices in truth. Love always protects. Love always trusts. Love always believes. Love always hopes. Love always perseveres. Love never fails. Faith, hope, and love remain, but the greatest of these islove.” He nudged the shades back up over his eyes and hitched a shoulder. “That seems to me like the best thing a person can try to be. So that’s what I believe in, and that’s what I’ve always tried to be.”

Her eyes were locked on his face the whole time he spoke. If that was his defining life principle, everything about Brennan suddenly made perfect sense. It also made him that much more the absolutely perfect man.

“I like your definition of love a lot better than certain other people’s definitions of it,” she remarked, turning her face forward.

“Well, that is theonlydefinition, Skye,” he clipped. He faced straight forward, both hands gripping the wheel. “From God’s lips to your ears, sweetheart. If anyone tried to convince you that there’s a definition that’s notthat, they were lying.”

She stared forward. The sheer volume of what Jesse had really done to her threatened to truly sink in. Ever since the day she’d told Brennan everything, a weightiness had been looming in the back of her mind. It wasn’t until that day that Skye had ever spoken out loud to another human being about what had really happened to her. About what she’d been living in. About what people had done to her. The pure hysteria in the bedroom afterward felt like the tip of the iceberg of what was waiting when she finally truly processed it all.

But right here in Brennan’s car, Skye saw clear as day one facet of the harrowing damage Jesse had done.

The absolutely perfect man next to her was in love with her. He loved her just like all the things he said defined what real love was. And she not only couldn’t figure out how to love him back, she was also chomping at the bit to leave him for a place that was a thousand miles away.

30

LAKESHORE, NEW ORLEANS

Brennan’s parents’ house might as well have been a palace. It stretched twice as tall as the Royal Street house and had looming front doors, flanked on either side by rose bushes and Magnolia trees. Brennan didn’t even knock. He pushed open one of the mammoth wood doors to reveal marble floors and a stunning, wide staircase that curved at an elegant angle, splaying open at the bottom as if welcoming them into the house with arms wide open. The space was bright and white, with dark oak trim, sparkling chandeliers, Victorian-era portraits hanging in antique, gilded frames, and the air was perfumed with the scent of citrus and clove.

“Mama!” Brennan called into the house, a slight southern inflection flavoring the edge of his voice.

“In the dining room, darling,” Constance called from the cavernous left side of the house.

He turned to Skye as he slid off his shades to reveal eyes that held no small amount of insecurity, apprehension, and anxiety. He slipped them in his lapel pocket and clapped his palms together, rubbing them. “Well, honey, I suppose there’s no time like the present. Let’s do this.”

She took his arm and gave it a quick rub. “You’re going to be okay no matter what.”

“Yes, I am.” Brennan held her hand and started walking toward a hall to the left. “I’m going to be just fine, and so are you.”

He led her through a hall that opened to a spacious dining room with dark wood floors that matched the dark wood table, chairs, china cabinet, and side table. Floor to ceiling windows allowed light to pour in over the beautiful spread of scrumptious food that was perfectly centered below another glittering chandelier. The soft strains of old jazz hummed in the atmosphere. Despite the elegance and serenity of the scene, anxiety suddenly flooded Skye’s body, and she squeezed Brennan’s hand at the exact moment he squeezed hers.

She glanced at him. They exchanged a look as if acknowledging they were no different at all, both firmly planted on a level playing field of tangled nerves. She stroked her thumb over the back of his hand and mouthed the words,it’s okay.

He gave the subtlest nod before drawing in a breath, raising his chin, and painting his face with a pleasant, easy expression. He tugged her hand to draw her closer as they stepped all the way into the dining room.

“Mama,” he said casually. “How are you?”

Constance stood with grace and crossed the room to hug and kiss him. “Hello, darling. How are you? I’ve missed you.”

“Just fine, just fine.” Brennan lifted Skye’s hand to present her to his mother. “You remember Skye, I’m sure.”

“I do.” Constance placed her hands on either side of Skye’s face and kissed her cheek. “How are you, sweetheart? You look so well. You appear to be all healed up.”

“I am. I’m doing really well,” Skye said, attempting to mask the timidness in her voice. “It’s so nice to see you again. Your home is beautiful. Thank you for having me.”

“Of course!” Constance wedged herself between Brennan and Skye and led her to the table. “Come, sit, eat. We’ve got plenty to choose from.”

Brennan’s father stood from the far end of the table and approached them. The resemblance was uncanny. It was clear not only where Brennan got his Hollywood leading man good looks, but also that he would probably continue to age like a fine fucking wine for the rest of his life. Like Brennan, his father was quite tall, as was Constance, and between the three Rileys, Skye was completely dwarfed and wishing for a pair of heels.

“Skye, this is my father, Orson Riley the fourth,” Brennan said, nodding at his father before nodding at Skye. “Dad, this is Isabel Cochran. She goes by Skye.”

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