Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 157162 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 786(@200wpm)___ 629(@250wpm)___ 524(@300wpm)
The doctors were careful not to make promises, not to plant seeds of false hope.
But I felt it, that painful, agonizing possibility that we might be past the worst of it, that my niece would finally be able to be a child again. That my brother would be a father who wasn’t waiting to grieve the loss of his daughter, that he’d be more than a shell of a man.
When I entered the kitchen, he was sipping coffee in between cleaning plates. I was about to ask him if he was prepared for tomorrow, if he needed anything, but my brother did something rare and spoke first.
“You just missed her.” He had an interesting expression on his face. Not a smile— brother reserved those for his daughter. But it wasn’t that dreaded, heavy expression I’d grown used to, even though it was always a kick to the stomach.
I looked at the distinctive pink box, putting two and two together.
“Nora?” I settled down on the breakfast bar, pulling the box to me so I could indulge. That woman could bake. I let out a chuckle when I saw the remnants of a bright-pink spider, whose legs had been eaten.
“She’s ready to pop now, so I’m thankful she waited to give birth for this.” I swiped a finger’s length of frosting, resisting the urge to groan at the sugary decadence.
It would’ve been kind of weird to be groaning in pleasure in front of my brother over bright-pink cake.
“Not Nora.” He squeezed soap onto a sponge. “Calliope Derrick.”
I looked up at him, sure I must’ve misheard. Or I was so entrapped by the woman that I was imagining hearing her name everywhere. My brother looked appropriately serious.
I grabbed a napkin to wipe my sticky finger. “Calliope was here?”
He leaned back against the counter, narrowed eyes searching my expression. I hadn’t told him about my night with her, but my father had a big mouth and had told him about the interaction on the boat. My father was perceptive. He was emotionally mature, and because he was quiet, he spent a lot of time watching people, learning them. He knew me. Knew what my reaction to Calliope on the boat meant, and though he hadn’t said a word since, I could tell he’d stored the information for later.
“She delivered the cake then stayed for coffee, hung out with Clara for about an hour while I got some accounting shit done and Clara’s stuff prepared for the hospital.”
My brows might’ve hit the ceiling. Not just at Calliope coming in for a coffee with my brother—although that certainly was not something I expected from her—but because she had hung out with my niece. And at my brother trusting her to do that. He didn’t trust anyone but me or my father to watch her, and even then, she was rarely out of his sight. Which made sense, given that he was facing the real possibility that his time with her was limited.
“You’re shitting me.” The words flew from my mouth, even though I saw the three plates he had washed, the two coffee mugs, one with a distinct shade of red lipstick.
“Not shitting. She’s not what I expected.” He was still eyeing me. “Beautiful too. More than I expected.” Beau rarely commented on women’s appearances. I’d wondered if he’d become a monk in the past two years for all the interest I’d seen him give to the opposite sex.
Rage that came out of nowhere bubbled in me from the simple thought of my brother coveting her. “She’s fucking mine.” The words were out of my mouth before I could control them or register how fucking unhinged they made me sound.
My brother raised his brows, the ghost of a smile emerging underneath his beard.
He wasn’t bothered that I was shouting at him, something I had very rarely done. He was the one with the explosive temper, while I was well-known for being the peacemaker in our family.
I was surprised at myself.
“She’s yours?” My brother hummed. “Let’s put aside the fact that Calliope Derrick doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who can be claimed like a possession… You have never called a woman ‘yours’ in your life. Not even the one who wore your ring.” His eyes darkened. “Thankfully.”
I chewed some cake thoughtfully, thinking of Janine. Beau was right, I’d loved her. She was pretty. Men had looked at her appreciatively, even when I was around. It never enraged me, never to the point of picking any kind of fight or feeling any kind of jealousy. And Calliope was a woman I’d only fucked once, my brother just stating the objective fact that she was beautiful, and I was ready to rip his face off.
“You gonna clue me in here?” my brother asked after I didn’t reply.