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“Huh. That sounds fucked up,” Reed says. Austen turns to glare at him. “Babe, you need to breathe. You're going to pass out doing that. Have you told him?” he asks me without skipping a beat. I forget he grew used to our drama a long time ago. He must really love my sister to stick around.

“How, Reed?” I snip. “Do I just start calling everyone with the name Rand in California? I can’t even remember which city he said he came from. I’m so screwed.”

“At least once.”

“Reed! You’re not helping,” Austen snaps. She turns so she could see me. “Have you told Mom and Dad?”

“Not yet. You’re the only ones who know. I plan to tell everyone tomorrow night after Founder’s Day. Maybe they’ll be too tired to kill me.”

“Don’t worry,” Austen says, squeezing my hand. “We’ll figure this out.” She turns back around and grabs Reed’s hand. The simple gesture makes me so jealous, I want to cry. Not of Austen and Reed’s relationship, but because I wish I had someone who loved me like that. Someone willing to stand by my side no matter what life throws at us.

“Everything will be fine,” Austen says, looking at Reed.

“She’s right, Brontë. Everything will work out.” Reed gives me one of those dazzling smiles he perfected in high school. The one that made all the girls swoon over him. I don’t answer him. I can’t for the life of me see how this will all work out.

* * *

Founder’s Day turns out to be a lot of fun once I make it to the square. I can’t believe Reed designed all of this. It’s amazing, to say the least. The square was dedicated to his grandfather, whom I only vaguely remember. The few memories I have, though, are good ones. Reed teared up, so I’ll be teasing him about that for years to come. But it is, honestly, a really good day that I never want to end.

Unfortunately it did, and now I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror, dreading going downstairs. I can’t put it off much longer.

This is the first time in a long time that the entire family will be here for dinner. Tonight I have to tell them about the baby. If I don’t, this baby will start making itself known anyway. Taking a fortifying breath, I walk toward the stairs.

“Finally decided to show up at your own party?” Eliot says the moment I take the first step. She’s standing in the foyer, leaning against the railing. She’s smiling by the time I reach the bottom. Then I’m pulled into a bone-crushing hug. I’m in complete shock. Eliot never hugs people if she can prevent it.

“You look good. I’m glad you’re home.” She steps back and takes me in from head to toe. Eliot studies me just long enough to make me squirm. “You look different.” After a minute more of intense sister scrutiny, Eliot finally shakes her head. “I guess it must be the glamorous lifestyle.”

“Yeah, so glamorous.” I smirk, rolling my eyes. “You should see the tiny apartment in New York. My bedroom is better suited for a broom closet.” She doesn’t need to know that I’d give anything to have that ratty apartment back right now. “What have you been up to? Still rocking the ‘early bird special in bed by nine’ lifestyle?”

“Oh good. I was so worried that city life had worked the brat out of you, but I see we still have that to enjoy.”

I laugh. Eliot has the quickest wit I’ve ever been around. I’ve missed her so much. No one in my “glamorous” life was as smart as Eliot. I loop my arm through hers as we head toward the dining room.

four

RAND

“Seriously, you’ve found nothing?” I ask.

“It’s not like you have either,” Peter replies. Okay, he has me there. You would think if she’s really a model, she would have social media posts everywhere. I mean, everyone’s an open book for the masses now, right? “Here’s an idea. Move on.”

“You didn’t see this woman.” Even in my foggy state, I remember liking her very much. I want those long legs wrapped back around my waist again.

Peter rolls his eyes at me. It looks stupid coming from a big, burly, construction worker-looking guy. He sits sprawled on the couch in my office, swirling a bottle of the beer he keeps in my fridge.

“I don’t know what to tell you. Have you thought of hiring a private detective?”

“That would be creepy.”

“Unlike having your best friend calling random modeling agencies in New York,” he answers. “Do you know how many times I’ve been hung up on?”

He’s right, this is getting us nowhere. Still, a private detective seemed like one step too far. Turning my chair, I stare out the window.The crew on the building across from ours work on something they’re hanging on the side.

“Seriously, though. Maybe it’s time for you to move on. I mean, you were never really the king of one-night stands anyway,” Peter says.

“I know. I always left that up to you.”

“We all have to have something we bring to the table. Besides, who has time for relationships?”

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