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EMORY

A iden Prince got hard for me. The thought alters my brain chemistry. It’s a stone dropped in a depthless pond, plunging and plunging, the ripples invisible but changing everything around them.

I can’t stop thinking about those ten seconds at the gym. His rough admission, the press of his erection to my back, the way he left after. I think about it when I should be working. I turn over every stone of our past interactions when I’m in meetings with my brothers.

When I’m alone in the office on Wednesday, I spend at least five minutes wondering if he’s as big as he felt under his pants. Then I look at paparazzi photos of him in his bathing suit to figure it out. I put Leo on the case, and he fires off an entire album of pictures.

That was way too fast , I tell him.

I’ve never pretended to not find him attractive, he responds.

I roll my eyes at his implication, but I comb through those photos like they contain the secret to eternal life. I don’t figure anything out, but I do find a new and unwelcome awareness of Aiden.

Before, he was handsome in an untouchable way. More robot than man. Cold as ice. But now, the thought of him makes something hot and wanting swirl in my stomach.

He doesn’t want me. He wanted me. There’s a difference.

His text messages confirm that attraction remains firmly in the past. I sit in my car after practice with the girls.

I feel pathetic with my phone screen illuminating my face, but I also feel light as air.

He’s sharp and funny over text in a way he isn’t in person.

His messages come as quickly as mine do, and I wonder if he’s smiling at the screen the way I am.

When he asks me about the romance novels, I press a hand to my throat and drop my phone onto the console. I make it halfway to his house before I pull over and respond.

His texts back make my nose feel hot and tight.

It almost seems like he’s cheering me up.

But that would be impossible. Aiden Prince doesn’t do cheering up.

He rations his laughter and he doesn’t make his own food, and he would never, ever open up to me unless he was literally being forced to.

He’s not a down-to-earth crab fisherman. He’s whatever the opposite is.

In the car, I press my fingers to my cheeks. My face is warm. I have to stop texting him. Just because he’s not 100 percent as bad as I thought doesn’t mean he’s not 90 percent as bad as I thought.

His family still took everything from us.

He still insulted me when he thought I wasn’t listening.

He still lied rather than admit he found me attractive.

I close our texts and toss my phone down. I desperately need a distraction.

That distraction comes on Saturday in the form of my family.

The goal on Saturday nights is to look hot and cause as much trouble as possible.

When Leo picks me up just outside the Crownhaven gates ( I’ll burst into flames crossing the threshold, Em, please ) at eight p.m., he rolls the window down and wolf whistles.

I grin at him, because I do look good. I spent forty-five minutes getting my makeup and hair just right, and I’m wearing my favorite crop top with matching linen pants.

There’s an extra swing in my hips as I get into the passenger side of Leo’s R8. He spent a whole year’s salary on it, or I assume he did. It’s hard to know when your family members are suspiciously flush with literal cash.

“Thought you might come out bloodied and bruised,” he says as he pulls an illegal U-turn and roars down the street toward town.

I snort. “You should have seen Aiden.”

He grins. “What’s he up to tonight?”

When I left, he was locked in his study, as he is most nights when he’s not with his siblings. I can see the light from Tristan’s and Sienna’s houses, and sometimes I see Aiden striding over the grass back home.

“Brooding,” I say. “Wandering the moors. Burning me in effigy.”

Leo sighs. “Love is a beautiful thing.”

I tease him about his boyfriend, Tyler, who is still too shy to meet the family, while Leo laughs and breaks nine kinds of laws to get us to the bar.

My good mood fades when we catch sight of my brothers inside our usual Saturday bar, each looking scowly and serious.

“Firing squad, twelve o’clock,” Leo mutters.

Andreas cracks a smile when we approach and pulls me into a hug. Benny doesn’t, just gestures for us to slide into the booth.

“Well, this is cheerful,” I say as Leo scoots in next to me.

“We need to talk,” Benny says. Andreas pulls beers from the bucket and passes them out.

“I’m listening.” I cross my arms and wait while my brothers engage in some silent communication with their eyes. Leo presses his leg against mine in support. It’s them versus me, like it too frequently is these days.

“We’re worried about you,” Benny says. I raise my brows, and my older brother shoves a hand through his hair. “We don’t want you with him.”

“He’s going to hurt you,” Andreas adds.

I know the him they mean, and the annoyance I was armed with when I walked in goes from a spark to a flame. “What does I’m married and in love mean to you?”

Benny opens his mouth to speak and Andreas cuts him a look.

“We’re not trying to start anything, Em, really,” Andreas says. He raises his hands in the air. “We love you. We want you to be happy. We were going to invite Malcolm Davenport here tonight, you know, in case you were interested.”

I groan. “Malcolm, really?”

Andreas shrugs. “He’s a dick like Aiden. And the ladies love him.”

I squint at my brothers. They’re trying to help in their own ham-fisted way.

Sometimes, I can’t believe they found anyone to marry them.

“Is something wrong with you?” I raise my hand in the air, where Aiden’s ring gleams dully in the bar’s exposed bulbs.

“I’m married. End of story. He’s not going anywhere.

” I scowl at them and sit back against the booth.

“I didn’t come here to be yelled at. I miss you guys.

” The little pinch in my chest makes the next words tumble out.

“You’ve been avoiding me at work, and I can’t come to family dinner tomorrow, and now this .

” My voice wavers on the last words, and my brothers sigh in tandem.

“We miss you too,” Andreas says. He passes me the last beer in the bucket. “Here. Peace offering. I hate fighting with you.”

I roll my eyes, even as some of the pressure on my chest loosens. “You love fighting.”

Andreas winks and nudges me under the table with his toe.

“So what about the land?” Benny finally asks. It’s an olive branch from him.

“You know we need to expand. I saw the way your eyes lit up when I told you about the land, Benny. Don’t lie.” I look my brothers in the eyes. “I want it. And I want you to help me convince Dad.”

Benny sips his beer thoughtfully. I can see the wheels turning in his head. He’s more like me, with a head for numbers, while Andreas operates off emotion.

“The fact remains,” Andreas says, “that we don’t trust your husband.” I open my mouth to protest, and he holds up a hand. “We don’t, Em. Do you? Can you honestly tell us that he won’t screw you over and strip the land away from you?”

I roll my lips between my teeth. A week ago, I would have agreed with my brothers.

I would have said Aiden couldn’t be trusted and I couldn’t wait to divorce him.

But Aiden isn’t as bad as I thought. Maybe 90 percent as bad, but weirdly honorable as far as I can tell.

Funny when he wants to be. Concerned about Dusty, the little scammer.

He might have stolen my underwear, but he also fed my dog.

“He’s a good person,” I say finally. Andreas looks like he’s about to argue with me when my next words tumble out. “Seriously. He’s not taking advantage of me. I think if you got to know him, you’d learn to like him.”

My brothers look skeptical, but Benny finally says, “Sure, maybe. We’d have to get to know him first.” His words are uncertain, but I’m already pulling out my phone.

“Great. Hold that thought.” I open my texts to the thread between Aiden and me.

Emory

I need you at the Tavern. ASAP.

Aiden

I’m busy.

He sends a photo of himself on the couch with a book, and—I squint at the blurry blob—Dusty at his feet. Dusty is a traitor.

Emory

Brothers are here. Want to get to know you. We need to sell this.

Aiden

Fine

Emory

Best behavior. I want my brothers to like you.

Aiden

You don’t even like me

Emory

Good point

Wear jeans

When Aiden walks in later, I’m at the bar getting a fresh drink, and I immediately notice two things. One, he somehow found jeans on short notice. Two, said jeans make him look edible.

I blink furiously, as if that will unfuzz the broken TV set that is my brain. Maybe if I just squeeze my eyes shut and pretend he’s ugly, it will work.

But as his eyes find mine and he moves toward me through the bar, my brain doesn’t cooperate. If anything, it gets fuzzier. The only thing it cares about is how he felt stretched over me in the gym, leaving my body buzzing with anticipation.

This must be how prey feels. Or a suspect on the run. The dread feels suspiciously like excitement, or maybe my body just can’t tell the difference. Hate and love feel the same, like I told the mayor.

As Aiden strides toward me, I see what every woman here must be seeing. He’s magnetic—skin glowing with health, t-shirt clinging to his chest and shoulders, thick hair spilling over his brow.

His last name might be Prince, but he looks like a king.

His strides eat up the floor between us, and I’m reminded of a warrior coming home from battle, a fighter pilot in aviator shades stepping off a plane and smiling for the cameras, a Super Bowl–winning quarterback pulling his high school sweetheart down from the stands.

He shoves a hand through his hair, seemingly in slow motion. I swear a woman sighs behind me. It’s disgusting. I scowl at him, but I don’t have time to react before he’s there , crowding me, one hand on my hip, backing me against the bar. He smells like man and he looks like a conqueror.

That must be why my blood is heating. That’s definitely why my breathing is shallow. It’s a primal reaction to the strongest of the hunters coming home to the cave, nothing more, nothing Aiden-specific.

“Hello, wife,” he says, his eyes gleaming dangerously. His hand squeezes my hip. His mouth descends toward mine.

Oh no.

He’s going to kiss me in front of the whole bar, in front of my family. Heat rises with dizzying swiftness.

“We don’t need to—”

My words are swallowed by the slide of his lips against mine.