Page 142 of The Wrong Brother
“You were what?”
“I already had three recommendations.”
A laugh of astonishment and fear slips out before I can stop it. If she’d actually contacted a PI, I can only imagine that it would’ve gotten back to the FBI, who would’ve wondered where a key witness in a trial that put a crime boss behind bars went missing.
That’snothow I want Ruslan to find out about who I used to be; not when I haven’t even told him I’m planning on keeping the baby.
“Matty...”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. That’s too far.”
“No, you’re clearly not because you disappeared when you were supposed to be back home with Mom and Dad right after vacation.”
I glance toward Frank, who very politely studies a can of tomatoes.
“I appreciate that you’re worried,” I say carefully, “but I promise I’m okay.”
“Then tell me what’s going on.”
The question steals my breath. How do I explain that I’m hiding in a mountain cabin with a Bratva leader because his politician half-brother wants to destroy us?
How do I explain the baby?
Before I can come up with anything, Matty speaks again, her voice quieter now.
“Emma, every grocery checkout in New York has your picture on the cover of a tabloid.”
The world seems to stop. I slowly lift my eyes toward Frank.
His expression changes the instant he sees my face.
Because he knows.
Whatever my sister is about to say next, it’s far worse than any missed phone calls.
I stare down at the shelf in front of me, suddenly unable to remember why I’d picked up a bag of flour.
“Emma?” Matty’s voice cuts through the silence. “Say something.”
I draw a slow breath, knowing there’s no version of this conversation that ends well.
“I met someone.”
The words leave my mouth before I can reconsider them. On the other end of the line, my sister is quiet for all of three seconds.
“You met someone.”
“Yes.”
“On your vacation.”
“It’s why I extended the trip.”
“Emma. Please tell me the magazines are wrong.”
When I don’t say anything, she growls out, “You don’t even know him; you can’t. It’s been?—”
