Page 42 of Total Abandon

I nibble on my lip, my one-track mind flitting away to the feel of his firm lips on mine. How I'd come alive for him. “So given his outstanding attributes, I can only surmise one thing to be the problem.” She continues to brush my hair softly as the seconds bleed into one another. “Sweeney.” Her voice is gentle, as though she’s addressing a bull that might buck her off at any moment.

My teeth grit and hell, Iwantto buck. I want to scream and rage and break things because I swore that man would never have power over me again, and yet here I am being haunted by his words and actions.

“I don’t trust my judgement when it comes to men, Till. I thought he was a good guy.” The words feel like lead on my tongue, and I don’t think I would have the courage to speak them to anyone but my sister, standing here brushing my hair like I’m the most precious thing in the world.

She nods, considering. “He was very good at concealing his true nature. We were all fooled, not just you.”

I cast my eyes away, blinking rapidly. I will not fucking cry over Anthony Asshole Sweeney. “He said fucking Zeke and taking his money is no different than what he did.”

“He WHAT?” Tilly rears back, her eyes hardening to cool steel in the filtered light seeping through the white linen curtains.

“Shh!” My eyes bounce to the door, ever conscious that just along the hall is my boss/fake fiancé/sometimes co-masturbator.

“That slimy fuckingasshole!” She snaps her mouth shut with an audible click, tossing the brush in her hands roughly back down onto the dressing table. “It’s not the same thing. Not in a million years! Don’t let him get into your head.”

“I do see the logic.”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” she fumes, making me blink in surprise. “The exchange is not sex for money. It’s a public pretense of marriage. If anything else develops on the side, it’s inconsequential.”

“Big word for”—I glance at the clock above the door—“eight A.M.”

“Don’t do the deflecting bullshit with me, missy. I can see what you’re doing. Burying your head in the sand because you’re scared shitless of getting hurt or…being humiliated.” I wince, her words landing like little arrows of searing hot truth. “But you can’t live like that. Life fucking hurts sometimes. We get proven wrong. But if we don’t put ourselves in a position for that to happen, we won’t weed out the opportunities that aremeantfor us. The ones that bring joy and happiness and love.”

My brows are nearly buried in my damn hairline while she rattles off her rant, her hands flapping animatedly in front of her chest. I don’t think I’ve ever seen laid back, happy-go-lucky Tilly spout anything so serious or so passionately. “I’m more of a ‘what is meant for me won’t pass me by’ kind of gal.” I try to insert some humor and lighten the scowl dragging down her brows.

“Bullshit. What’s meant for us will disappear into the horizon if we don’t grab it by the horns. Now go.” She drags me up, hustling me across the room to the door. “Grab your bull by the fucking horns.”

I’m pushed through onto the landing with only a brief second of surprise while I stare at her determined scowl before the door slams in my face.

***

“Have you thought about a date for the wedding?” Mom asks brightly as she spoons buttered corn onto Dad’s plate at the other end of the table. The sip of water I just took decides to take a nosedive into my windpipe. Zeke’s broad hand swipes my back comfortingly as I cough. I fight the urge to shrug off the hand that is sending white hot zaps of electricity across my skin. I’ve avoided looking at him all day. Thankfully, dad has decided that the best wayto initiate him into the family is to square him away in his den and watch football reruns.

“Nothing specific yet, but we both agreed that the end of next year would be good for our schedules.” Zeke handles the question with all the poised suaveness of a man used to putting on a seamless front.

“So far away?” Mom’s brows crease and her gaze jumps to mine.

“There is no rush, Mom. We want to enjoy the engagement first.” The word “engagement”comes out a little hoarse.

“Smart to take your time. I mean, how well can you really know each other after a few months?” Cade chimes in.

He’s been suspiciously quiet today, even by his standards. None of us truly knows what his work is like, but since he joined the service, something changed in him. It’s like nothing gets by him these days. He can sit at the back of a room in silence and pretend he’s not interested, but I’m not fooled. He’s soaking it all in. Assessing. Weighing. Calculating.

“Cade!” Mom snaps, fixing him with a glare. My brother winces, because no matter how big and tough you are, a reprimand from your mom will always bite. Tilly and I catch eyes and smirk.

“No, it’s okay.” Zeke laughs, trailing his hand up my spine to the back of my neck. He squeezes lightly and I swallow a moan, forcing myself to look his way. Dark, chocolate eyes sparkle with a muted mischief that I’m sure only I catch. He’s watching me intently, a lazy smile playing on his decadent mouth. “I know this woman well enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

A shiver runs through me as the deeply spoken words wrap like silk around my body.Acting. He. Is. Acting, I remind myself as color pools in my cheeks. It takes a colossal effort to paint a demure smile across my face before turning back to my food. Suddenly, it all looks unappealing.

“So, how’s retirement treating you, Dad?” I ask as I spear a green bean and pop it into my mouth. Duck and weave. Duck and weave.

“Good actually, I’ve been given a few hand jobs on the side, which is enough to keep me happy.”

Everyone at the table goes still as I choke on the green bean, thumping my chest with my fist. “Sorry?” I croak. Tilly’s eyes are wide as she stares at Dad like all of her Christmases just came at once.

“Hand jobs. You know, manual jobs with hands.” Dad waggles the fingers on one hand at me likeI’mthe mad one. I stare at him as Cade lifts a fist to his mouth to hide his smile.

“Are we talking, like, long, messy hand jobs? Or quick, efficient hand jobs?” Tilly asks evenly. The tension around the table amps up, but my father seems none the wiser as he carves apart his chicken thigh.