Page 9 of Contingently Yours

Lucas

“What do you think?” Jolissa asks, angling her phone’s camera until a gaudy vase comes into view. It’s wide and clear, adorned with tiny white seashells around the lip and sapphire-blue stones adhered to the body. It’s hideous.

Shifting in place as I wait for the baggage claim conveyor belt to start, I hold back a cringe.

I’ve done what I can to be optimistic about all the wedding plans, but it’s getting more difficult to act invested in the remaining fine details.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m footing the bill or if it’s because I’m their big brother and the closest thing to a father figure they have, but the girls have insisted on including me in the decision-making since day one.

“How much are they?” I ask, glancing up when I hear the loud slap of flip-flops approaching.

Andrew saunters toward the baggage claim with a Christmas ornament inside a clear gift shop bag, seemingly oblivious to the fact that it’s June.

He empties a packet of mixed nuts into his pie hole with his other hand like he hasn’t a care in the world.

I didn’t have to see much of him on the flight since his precious self booked a first-class seat and he showed up at the very last minute when it was time to board the plane.

Nice to see he’s back to his frat-boy, beach-party image in shorts and a tank top.

I guess he only had it in him for one day to impress the Hepperlys.

“Sixty-five dollars…” Jolissa’s wary reply comes over the phone.

My eyes nearly bug out of my head. Once she sees my expression, her sheepish look grows even more sheepish.

“And you have how many tables again?”

“Fifty-two,” Julia pipes in, appearing at her shoulder.

I run the math and assume my eyes bug out even further, given their twin expressions. Holy shit.

“That’s like over three thousand dollars just for ugly centerpieces that you’re only going to use once!”

“You think they’re ugly?” Jolissa’s voice rises. “Why didn’t you say so when I asked?”

Ugh. Now I’ve crushed her bridal dreams and look like a tight ass.

Julia hums, inspecting one of them. “They’re not my favorite either, JoJo.”

“Well, we’ve been in here for like thirty minutes already. We have to find something. Go find Mom. See what she thinks.”

Oh God. Not Kelly. I love my mother, but that woman adores anything that sparkles.

These hideous vases are…extra sparkly. Also, while she’s as frugal as I am, she’s had a much more difficult time saying no to the girls for anything regarding their big day.

It also doesn’t help that she thinks I’m a big-time real estate agent now.

“No! Wait, just…can’t you find something similar back home?” I bargain, knowing they’re on some day trip to North Charleston, where everything costs a pretty penny more than back in our rural town of Bolton.

“What, like Buck’s Emporium?” Julia snickers. “He’ll probably sell us Mason jars with cow bells on them.”

Damn. That’s brilliant, actually. I hadn’t even considered Buck’s place. Granted, he sells livestock feed too and the only apparel he stocks is western-themed that no one in our town buys or wears, but I’m sure we could find some country decor there that won’t make my bank account sweat.

“What’s wrong with Mason jars? You are getting married in a barn, after all.”

“Wow. This is disappointing,” comes an unexpected voice. “I’m gone for two minutes to grab my bag, and he’s already cheating on me with two women.”

I flinch as Andrew leans over my shoulder from behind me, grinning at my baby sisters. Grinning is being kind—it’s more like leering. Turning, I don’t care if my elbow just bashed into his stomach. “They’re my sisters.”

“What?” comes his shocked reply. He angles around me and cups his hand over mine so I can’t jerk my phone away from him. “Ladies…how on Earth do you two share the same DNA as this silverback?”

What the fuck? Is that a gorilla reference? And why are the girls giggling?

“Half-sisters,” they say in unison.

“Ah…that explains it.”

I shouldn’t be salty about it. The girls have blonde hair and blue eyes like Clark did, God rest his soul. However, this is coming from Andrew; if there’s an opportunity to belittle me, he’ll find it.

“I’ll message you when I get a signal where we’re going. Think about the Mason jar idea.”

I end the call so Andrew can’t further fawn over my siblings or out my compliance with his despicable plan to my family. They don’t need to know I’m impersonating as his boyfriend after a lifetime of trying to instill good morals, like honesty and integrity, in them.

“How old are they?” he asks.

“Way too young for you, and they’re both getting married next month, so don’t waste your time tormenting me with questions about them.”

Scoffing, he readjusts the bag on his shoulder. “Easy killer. That’s not where I was going. I prefer people born in the same decade as me. They just look like babies compared to you.”

“They’re twenty-five. They are still babies.”

“And they’re trusting their grumpy old half-brother to be their wedding planner?”

“Thirty-seven isn’t old,” I grumble, even though my stiff back doesn’t believe it.

“And I’m paying for the wedding since their father died when they were little, if you must know.

So, it’d be nice if you could drop the harassment long enough for us to make sure we handle these sales professionally. Their happiness depends on it.”

Frowning, he slaps me on the shoulder, but keeps his hand there. “Listen, Sticks . I know math might not be big where you come from, but we will land this sale, and that means you can afford way better than Mason jars for the babies. Okay? Women want Tiffany’s and shit like that.”

Shaking his hand off, I notice the conveyor is running and that he already has his bag. “Having money doesn’t mean you need to waste it on overpriced crap.”

Groaning, he rolls his eyes. “Whatever, just go grab your tighty-whities and emotional-support beard oil so we can hit it. We’ve got to go prep the puddle jumper in about two hours, and I need a snack first.” Shaking the last few crumbs from his snack packet, he adds, “These free nuts aren’t doing it for me. ”

Jackass. I don’t doubt that was another dig at me. My nuts aren’t free. They have to be earned.

Ugh. Listen to me. Never in my life did I imagine I’d have a boyfriend, pretend or not. It’s just my luck that the one I get is high-maintenance and bossy as shit.

…

Two hours later, after Andrew has bought enough snacks to fill his backpack, I can feel my lip curl as I watch him eat his weight in local British Virgin Islands cuisine at a café near the dock.

At least I have enough phone reception that I was able to call the girls and go over the seating chart to help pass the time after prepping the seaplane.

I take another bite of my granola bar and sigh, gazing out at the crystal blue water.

It’s one thing I love about this job—the scenery is always breathtaking.

“You’re seriously going to eat a protein bar at a restaurant?

Are you one of those people who think they’ll get dysentery if you eat local food or drink the water?

” Andrew interrupts my moment of serenity around a mouthful of food, a lack of etiquette I wouldn’t expect from a man who comes from wealth.

“They’re heart-healthy and filling,” I inform him without looking at him.

“When we get to the cay and your stomach starts growling halfway through the showing, tell me how filling they are then.”

A taxi pulls up and stops in front of us, bringing me relief over the end of our forced bonding time.

That relief is replaced with anxiety, though.

It’s showtime. I jump up when the Hepperlys pile out of the cab.

Andrew takes a sip from his beer and waves.

Classy. I still don’t understand how he manages to sell so many properties.

He’s as charming as a Hawaiian shirt with plaid pants.

Rushing over to the trunk, I help the driver remove their luggage. They all flew in yesterday and spent the night at a hotel on the island. I wish I’d done the same, but I can’t afford that luxury when I’m pinching every penny I can until this sale goes through.

“What a gentleman,” comes Mason’s British accent to my left as I heft one of the suitcases to the pavement. “Are you taking notes, Dario?” He smirks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Pack lighter and I’ll show you a gent,” his husband quips. “Wait’ll we get to my neck of the woods. Those hair products are getting tossed in the reef.”

Running his fingers through his well-styled blond locks, Mason answers cheekily, “You love my hair. You wouldn’t.”

Sighing, Keenan rounds Dario’s side and extends the handle on the suitcase, rolling it out of the way to make room for the others. “Don’t start you two, or this is going to be a long trip.”

Mason throws an arm around his neck, pulling him closer and planting a kiss on his close-shaved hair. “It was your idea, love. And it’s not my fault that my fans would riot if I buzzed my head like you do.”