But I’m not wired that way. I hate surprises, and not in a quirky,aww, you shouldn’t haveway. It’s hard not to dislike them when most of life’s surprises have been bad.
It started when I was a kid. My grandmother died unexpectedly, and before we’d even sold her home, my parents announced we were opening a coffee shop and moving closer to Sully’s Beach. New house. New school. And all the anxiety for me.
On my second day, someone decided to call meScarlett the Witchafter my face turned red when I was told I couldn’t sit with their group at lunch. I ate alone at a nearby table, listening to them make hurtful comments, until my brother spotted me and sat down without a word. He did that every day until I made friends, completely ignoring the kids who teased him for sitting with his little sister.
Eli might have given my parents a few gray hairs in his teenage years (okay,a lotof gray hairs), but he’s always had a good heart. Which is more than I can say for how I was treated the nightCarmen had her accident. I showed up at that hospital because I cared. Brendan wasn’t just a friend anymore, and I was worried about him and his sister. He’d kissed me on that beach less than two hours earlier, and I’d walked into that hospital thinking everything had changed.
Instead, Rafael Marco looked at me like I was a stranger and told me this was for family only.Go home.His nephew didn’t want me there.
I never told Brendan what happened. Partly because I assumed he’d asked his uncle to send me away. But even if he hadn’t—even if it was Rafael acting alone—I’d gotten the message loud and clear. Girls like me don’t belong in the Marco family.
And yet, here I am.
Sweating through a red dress that cost more than I make in a week, taking in the Marco estate as we pull in, trying to talk myself out of a panic attack. As Brendan parks, the mansion looms in front of us like a European palace—all limestone and manicured gardens that probably have their own full-time staff.
I glance over at Brendan, who is the absolute picture of male perfection in his navy suit. The fabric stretches over his broad shoulders, with one button of his white dress shirt open at the neck, then tapering to his waist where I’m certain there are abs that could double as an old-fashioned washboard.
Meanwhile, I’m trying not to twist my ankle as I climb out of his SUV in black Jimmy Choo stilettos that Jaz lent me. I’m pretty sure these were designed as medieval torture devices.
“You look nice, boyfriend.” I circle the vehicle, meeting him at the trunk with a smile that I hope looks more innocent than the thoughts I’m having about his abs.
I smooth the front of my dress as Brendan’s eyes track the movement. “I was going to say the same, girlfriend. You look ready to impress my uncle.” He takes my enormous suitcase from the trunk.
“You don’t have to do that,” I scold, trying to grab it from him. Thanks to my new hockey WAG friends who loaned me theclothes, I now have five new-to-me dresses, two semi-formals and a capsule wardrobe of expensive pieces. No more hoodies and ripped jeans like I wore the day Brendan walked into the coffee shop and asked me to be his plus-one.
He pulls the suitcase away before I can reach it. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of you?”
My heart flutters at his words before I can stop it. He’s very good at this boyfriend thing.Toogood.
Before we make our way up the massive entry steps, Brendan stops. “Look, tonight’s pretty significant. My family is going to make a big deal out of you being here.”
“That’s the point, isn’t it?”
He pauses, his hand on my suitcase. “What I mean is, I’ve never brought anyone home before. So when they see you, they’re not going to hold back.”
He says it like a warning.
His sister told me as much at the wedding boutique, but I thought she’d been exaggerating.
I glance at the massive double doors, unsure what’s waiting on the other side. “So, this is a really big deal.”
“You could say that.”
“Well, as long as they don’t start setting dates for our wedding, I’ll be okay,” I kid, trying to lighten the moment.
“You’ve met the Marco women,” he fires back. “Anything is possible.”
I feel guilty that I’m giving his family so much hope when I know it’s all pretend. “Maybe I’ll be the one who breaks the ice for you,” I justify. “Then, at the next family event, you can bring a real date.”
“There won’t be another date.” He picks up my suitcase again, avoiding eye contact.
“Why wouldn’t you?” I ask. “I’m practically setting your next girlfriend up for the future by paving the way.”
“Because I don’t want to bring anyone else.” Then he turns and starts up the stairs.
I stand there for a second, trying to decide if that meant what I think it meant. Then I decide it’s safer not to find out.
“You remember our story, right?” Brendan asks, changing the subject.