Page 36 of Size Doesn't Matter

Jack forced a smile and nodded, but his brother knew him better than that.

“Are you okay?”

Pushing to his feet again, he directed his brother to the sitting area on the other side of the office. “I’m fine. I’m just glad it’s finally over and done with.” He nodded at the cup tray. “That milkshake better have whipped cream and cherries on top.”

Ethan chuckled as he laid out their lunch on the coffee table.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” his brother said, grinning like a loon. “For a moment there you sounded exactly like a very sexy model we both know and love.”

Jack’s gaze snapped to his brother’s. “Love?”

Ethan shrugged and handed him a pair of chopsticks. “You know what I mean.”

“I don’t know that I do,” he said cautiously. “Do you…loveSophie?”

His brother laughed. “Yes, but not the way you do. I love her, sure, but I’m notinlove with her. And before you try denying it, yes, you are. Not that I blame you,” he said. “Sophie Bennett is a beautiful woman, inside and out. She’s got a big heart and a lot of love to give.” He sighed. “And if I were a better man, I never would have let her go. But I’m not, so I did.”

Now it was Jack’s turn to grin. He wasn’t the only Martin with a secret crush. “And you not committing to any one woman in particular has absolutelynothingto do with you and a certain family friend we both know andlove,” he said, throwing his brother’s words back at him, “turning forty this year, right?”

Ethan’s eyes snapped to his. “No,” he answered, a little too quickly, then lifted his chin. “Layla and I made that pact as a joke. When we were twelve.” He resumed eating. “It means nothing. Besides, we were talking about your fucked-up relationship issues, not mine.”

Turning his focus to his own lunch, Jack said, “Considering how we were raised, you’d think we’d be better at this.”

“Not really. Our parents have set an impossible standard when it comes to love and marriage.” Ethan shook his head. “How the fuck do you find a soulmate?”

“The better question is what the fuck are we supposed to do once we’ve found them?”

“That one is easy,” his brother said, his expression suddenly fierce. “You fight for them.”

13

Melville’s Cross, The Forge, three weeks later

Sophie stood in front of the mirror and blinked slowly as she stared at her haggard expression. “What the hell did I eat last night?”

She’d been feeling unwell for a few days, but the night before, her stomach had decided to up the ante from unwell to “please, God, I want to die,” and she’d been throwing up ever since, which was not an ideal situation to find herself in on the day of her uncle’s wedding.

“Sophie, are you all right? Do you want me to call the doctor?” Her father’s concerned voice filtered through the bathroom door.

“I’m all right,” she called back, splashing water on her face. “Just food poisoning, I think.” From eating the exact same food as everybody else in the house, food that had made exactly no one else sick. She swallowed thickly against the need to vomit again, then rushed to the toilet and fell to her knees.

The bathroom door flew open behind her, and suddenly there was a strong hand rubbing circles on her back and her father’s voice telling her to breathe through her mouth. “You arenotall right,” he growled, helping her to her feet after she was sure she wouldn’t vomit again. “And no one else is sick. This is not food related.”

“Well, then maybe it’s a tummy bug. I don’t know.” She returned her father’s scowl. “I’m sure I’ll feel better after I have a shower and wash my hair. Anyway, there’s nothing left in my stomach to throw up.”

Her dad continued glowering at her, his lips pinched together. The man never spoke unless he had something worth saying, and it was obvious he had something to say. But he also knew his daughter was as stubborn as he was and that whatever he wanted to say would fall on deaf ears, so he simply nodded and said, “Yell if you need anything.”

Sophie locked the door behind her father, then let down her hair, stripped out of her pyjamas, and got in the shower. The hot water streamed over her as she just stood there and stared at the wall. She’d barely had the energy to get out of bed that morning, let alone lift her arms over her head and wash her hair, but eventually she did it. She made the effort and completed her morning routine. She had to. She was supposed to do everybody’s make-up for the wedding, and she refused to let them down.

But by the time she’d gotten dressed and made her way to the kitchen, make-up seemed to be the last thing on anyone’s minds.

All hell had broken loose.

Her father, Paul, was the second eldest of nine children, eight boys and one girl, and every single one of them was crammed inside the large kitchen, along with her three cousins, her uncle’s bride, her aunt’s fiancé, her grandfather, and the bride’s next-door neighbour, a surprisingly feisty seventy-something-year-old woman with lavender-coloured hair.

And everyone was talking over top of each other.

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