Page 93 of Made for Wilde

“Thank you,” I say, meeting Dana’s gaze. “For tonight. For how you’ve been with her.”

Dana tilts her head.

“What were you expecting? That I’d be awful to the mother of my future niece?”

“No, but...” I pause, searching for the right words. “You could have judged. The age difference, the circumstances, the fact that she’s Jason’s daughter. But you didn’t.”

“Because none of that matters.” Dana’s voice is firm despite its softness. “What matters is that I haven’t seen you this happy in years. Maybe ever.”

The simple observation cuts straight through me.

Dana has always seen through my defenses, even when we were kids. While everyone else saw the tough exterior, she always recognized the vulnerability beneath.

“Speaking of happiness,” I venture, watching her face closely. “What about yours?”

Dana rolls her eyes, immediately on guard.

“I’m perfectly happy with my life.”

“Are you?” I press gently. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’ve got the career, the house, the money. But you come home to an empty bed every night.”

“Wow.” Dana takes a long sip of her whiskey. “Tell me how you really feel, brother.”

“I’m serious.” I lean forward, lowering my voice further as Charlotte shifts slightly in her sleep. “When’s the last time you went on a date that wasn’t a business dinner in disguise?”

Dana’s carefully constructed CEO façade cracks slightly.

“Dating at my age and position is complicated,” she finally admits, swirling the whiskey in her glass. “Most men in this town either want to use me for connections or run in the opposite direction the moment they realize I’m more successful than they are.”

I wait, sensing there’s more.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch a man’s face fall when I answer the ‘what do you do’ question?” Dana continues, her voice taking on a bitter edge. “To see that initial attraction turn to insecurity right before my eyes?”

“Their loss,” I offer, but she shakes her head.

“Most guys want someone they can take care of, not someone who runs a multi-million dollar business.” Her fingers trace the rim of her glass. “Someone soft and nurturing, not someone who makes tough decisions all day and fires people when necessary.”

The vulnerability in her admission surprises me. Dana rarely shows this side of herself, even to me.

“You haven’t found the right guy yet,” I say firmly. “Someone secure enough in himself to appreciate your strength instead of feeling threatened by it.”

Something flickers in Dana’s eyes.

“When did my big brother get so wise about relationships?”

“Probably around the time I knocked up my best friend’s daughter.”

I grin, and Dana laughs, the tension broken.

“Ugh, Jason is going to murder you.” She shakes her head, still smiling. “Have you thought about wearing body armor when you tell him?”

“I’m considering it.” I take another sip of whiskey, feeling the pleasant burn down my throat.

Dana refills her own glass then settles back into her chair, and we both watch Charlotte sleep for a moment. The peaceful quiet stretches between us, the kind that exists only between siblings who’ve weathered life’s storms together.

“She’s good for you,” Dana says finally, her voice softer now. “I can see it.”

I nod, not trusting myself to say more without revealing how much this means to me.