Page 1 of Betrothed

CHAPTER1

ZEKE

“You’ve done this. You’ve made it this far. And we want to congratulate all of you for your strength and determination to… fight for yourselves.” I lifted my glass, extending it toward the room of women in front of me, my gaze making sure it connected with each of theirs as I listed the names of the newest graduates from the Blooms House. “Ten years ago, Addy and I opened this house for these moments. For you. To provide a safe place for you to take a chance on yourselves and a new, better life, just like my sister did.”

My twin sister, Addison, stuck out like a beacon in the corner of my eye, her blue hair gleaming under the light. But it was the swipe of her finger across her cheek that caught my attention; instantly, I knew she was pregnant again.

No, it wasn’t a twin thing. I’d never really bought into that psychic connection claim. I knew things about my twin sister—and our younger sister, Eve—because I paid attention. Because I loved them. Because to truly support someone, you had to be able to hear all the things they didn’t say out loud.

And unlike Eve, who would cry for a sad TV commercial, Addy never cried unless a funeral or pregnancy hormones were involved; in the ten years that we’d run the Blooms house together—a shelter for women recovering from abuse and addiction—nothing made my twin sister cry, not even the countless times she’d stood up and shared her own story of abuse by her ex-fiancé that almost ended with her death. If her now-husband, Ace Covington, and I hadn’t gotten there in time, she would’ve perished in the car fire; instead, we’d faked her death until Ace and his private security team had finally brought the criminal and would-be murderer to justice.

I cleared my throat and returned my attention back to the table, searching for the first two women on my mental list.

“Daisy. Kendra.”

The two women smiled and stood up from the far end of the makeshift table that extended from the dining room into the living room. We hardly had enough room at the regular table for all eight new graduates, let alone for the rest of the Blooms family. There were women who continued into our one-year program. Women who volunteered part time at the house. Previous graduates who still lived in the area. Sometimes, even some of the residents of our newer safe houses in San Francisco made the trip down with Addy to celebrate their Carmel counterparts.

“Monica. Jasmine.” I paused briefly for a small burst of hoots. “Michelle.”

There was a shuffle and some laughter as the three of them worked to stand in a particularly crowded corner of the room. No matter how many times we did this, they all kept coming back to support each other. For that reason, we tried to hold this ceremony outside when we could. Just a few short blocks away, the beach stretched along the Pacific Ocean with better views and no capacity concerns. However, if it was raining—or thunderstorming like it was tonight, the beach was out of the question.

So, myself and roughly thirty other women were crammed into the two communal rooms of the old Victorian home that had once belonged to my and Addy’s grandparents.

“Christina. Holly. And Kenzie.” My voice cracked on the last, and I gritted my teeth hoping no one noticed.

Only the first two women filtered out from the crowd, giving my eyes an excuse to search for her.Mackenzie Barrett.Blonde hair that looked made of silken sunlight. Warm lavender eyes that changed with her mood. Lips that looked as soft as she was soft-spoken. I’d been stunned by her beauty from the moment we’d interviewed her a little over six months ago, and that never happened. I was all business all the time. Except in that brief moment where I wasn’t quick enough to stop myself from wanting her.

A woman looking for a safe place to heal after recovering from an opioid addiction and almost-overdose.

It was wholly unacceptable. So, I’d immediately recused myself and left the question of her acceptance into our program up to Addy. Of course, I didn’t tell my sister about my attraction; I didn’t want that to affect her decision either.

The only thing more striking than Kenzie’s beauty had been her determination. Addy had been floored by it, while I’d had to pretend I hadn’t noticed. Fear, worry, hope—those were the emotions we commonly saw from women during their interviews; Kenzie had them, too, but there had been this unshakable determination that was impossible to miss. A look in her eyes—in her gaze that never broke from ours—that she was willing to do anything to get into our program.

I’ll never forget the way Addy gaped at my hesitation before immediately accepting Kenzie’s application. She was a recovering opioid addict with no immediate family and no place to go.Of course, my sister accepted her application.

“Kenz—”

“She’s working,” Holly chimed in. “She said she left a note on your desk.”

Working.

If there was one person who rivaled my work ethic, it was Kenzie. She signed up for every volunteer position at the house, helped with others’ daily tasks, and had been the first to knock on my door when three months rolled around with her job request form to clean some of the local businesses nearby.

Determined.

And too goddamn beautiful.

No one was supposed to be working tonight. It was the reason we held the ceremony on a Friday night, so everyone—but especially the graduates themselves—could be here.

Part of the Blooms program involved getting a job at one of the approved businesses in Carmel. We didn’t handle the medical side of addiction recovery; all of our residents had completed some degree of rehab before coming here. The goal of Blooms was to provide continued rehabilitation and resources for those who lacked a safe place to live and a good support system. And part of that involved stepping back into society and contributing to the greater good.

“Right. Of course.” I exhaled a chuckle.Shit.Kenzie shouldn’t be working tonight—which was probably why she’d left the note on my desk, knowing I’d miss it. “Well, we all know the condition of my desk by Friday.” A ripple of laughter worked its way through the room.

By Friday evening, my desk looked worse than the blast zone of a nuclear bomb, and everyone knew it. They also knew that come six o’clock tomorrow morning, I’d be in my office in the back of the house, hunched over that blast zone to bring back a semblance of organization for the coming week. And somehow, by the following Friday, it would be a disaster again.

I used to be so organized, but over the years, with the growth of Blooms…no, that was bullshit. The organization had grown, but I was the one who’d let myself get swept up in the waves. I put everything I had—my time, my money, my legal expertise—into our program and let my purpose consume me. And it was a sacrifice I was happy to make.

A sacrifice I owed.

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