Page 48

EMORY

“ A rms up, sweetheart.” There’s a voice in my ear and hands on my waist. “Arms up,” it repeats. “Don’t make me fight you. You’ve been doing enough of that with the covers.” The voice is low and gentle. The fingers skim up my sides, and then there’s a rush of cool air.

“Left arm,” the voice soothes. “I know. You don’t want to. You need a shirt, gorgeous. As much as I want you naked, I think that would be inappropriate right now.”

Fingers skim down my left arm. “Come on. This is my favorite workout shirt. You’ll like it.”

I lift my arm, feeling like I’m dragging it through mud.

“Good girl,” the voice says. “Right arm. There you go. Take this.”

There’s a cup thrust into my hand, and then a warm palm curls around my knuckles. There’s a chin on my shoulder and stubble rasping over my neck.

“Take this for me,” the voice says.

There’s liquid in my throat. I hate the taste, and I fight against the hand and the jaw and the arm that bands around my stomach.

“Take it all, sweetheart. There you go.” I swallow, and the lips are at my ear.

“There you go.” The hand loosens from mine, and I try to pull it back.

The voice just laughs, more breath than sound.

“So stubborn, Em. So stubborn and so pretty. Even like this.” There’s a shuddering breath. “Especially like this.”

He’s reading one of my books. That’s my first thought as I swim up from the deep well I’ve sunken into.

I blink to make sure I’m not still dreaming one of the weird sick dreams I had.

Aiden is sitting next to me, propped on a pillow.

He still looks edible in his reading glasses, a small smirk on his face as he flips the page.

It’s early evening, judging by the light.

I’m not sure what day it is, but I think it might be tomorrow. I think I slept.

Dusty is at the end of the bed, on the gold duvet. Gold. I’m in Aiden’s room.

I’m in Aiden’s bed.

“What is happening?” I whisper.

“You’re awake.” Aiden marks his place with his finger. “Excellent. I have questions.” He’s nearly done with the book. I peer at it. Oh god. He would be reading that. It’s a historical romance, and the heroine shoots the hero at some point. Hopefully he doesn’t get any ideas.

“Questions,” I repeat.

“Yes.” He taps at his phone. “I made a list. First of all, what is the appeal of beanies? This guy and his friend both wear them in their books.” He lifts the fisherman book in the air.

“Where did you even get the second book about the friend?”

I’m dreaming. Surely I’ve fallen into an alternate reality. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I bought it online. What are you doing?”

“Trying to figure out if I’m asleep.”

He barks a laugh, then the bed creaks as he stands. “I’m getting you food.” Dusty barks and his nails scratch on the hardwood as he follows Aiden.

When he passes me a bowl, I freeze. “Arroz caldo?” I inhale the deeply comforting scent of the best sick-day food ever invented. I make it for Leo whenever he has a cold, from a recipe his mom wrote down for us years ago.

He spears a hand through his hair, looking vaguely embarrassed. “I asked Leo what you liked. We had the ingredients already.”

My nose feels hot. I don’t know what to say.

“I will let you eat it in my bed,” he says crisply, “but only if you are very careful.”

“Sure.” I can’t help my smile. “Can Dusty join us?”

He narrows his eyes, like he knows I’m messing with him. I saw Dusty on the bed before, just like I see every time Aiden gives him an extra scratch or a little piece of food. I caught him admonishing Dusty over his lack of fetch skills on Sunday morning.

I blink innocently at him. “What harm could a little dog hair and food do to the bed?”

He snorts and leans down to scratch Dusty. “A lot. But since you’re pitiful, I’ll allow it. Come on, boy. Up you go.” The last is meant for the dog, who is looking at Aiden like he hung the moon.

Aiden settles on the pillows next to me, and I turn so I can face him. I feel weak and terrible, and I don’t really want to eat, but my body is telling me I need to.

I look down at the bowl. The food isn’t plated in the way the caterers do it—with little swirls and edible flowers and shavings of herbs.

“You made this?” My voice comes out hoarse.

He made me food. When he has a whole catering staff.

He texted Leo for the recipe, which means my phone is probably full of messages from my cousin demanding to know what is going on.

“It’s probably not very good.” He picks up his book.

I swallow away the tightness in my throat and take a bite. “It’s good.” Spicy and garlicky, just the way I like it, with lime on top. “Really good.”

“Don’t start being nice on my account,” he says, and flips a page.

I eat, and when I’m done, he holds out a hand for the bowl. “Better?”

I lean against the wall of pillows he’s created. “I feel like I got hit by a car.” I snuggle deeper into the pillows. “Where’d you learn to cook?”

He shuts the book and traces the title with his fingers. “I cooked for the twins a lot when they were younger.”

“You didn’t have staff?”

“We did,” he says slowly. “But after mom left, I didn’t want them raised by nannies. You probably didn’t notice, but I wasn’t around weekends in college.”

“I did,” I say softly.

His gaze jerks up. “You noticed?”

“I’ve always noticed you,” I say ruefully. “I looked for you at parties.”

“Huh.” I can see him fighting a smile before he says, “I made them horrible food before I learned to cook. They mostly ate it. Sienna complained a lot. Whit didn’t care.

He was only around for a year before Mom came back and got him and he started playing with the Premier League’s under-17 team.

But Sienna—” He smiles and shakes his head.

“She demanded all sorts of things. Mostly, what she wanted was company. I didn’t mind.

As long as it meant she did her homework and didn’t watch too much TV, I was happy.

” He tips his head back. “I’d die for my siblings,” he says.

“But most especially for her.” He gives me a look.

“Don’t tell her that. She’ll use it against me. ”

I laugh. There’s a warm weight on my chest. When I was out partying, Aiden was raising his siblings. That’s how he loves—quietly, steadfastly.

“Where was your dad in all this?” I ask.

He sucks in a breath.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—”

“It’s fine,” he says gently, but his voice is sad. “Dad was different after Mom left. He always loved wor-working, but he basically lived at the stillhouse.” He exhales slowly. “I got time with him, but the twins didn’t. Tristan didn’t. It wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t fair to you either,” I say lightly.

His eyes catch mine, searching my face. “What do you mean?”

“That’s a big burden to carry. You were a kid, Aiden. You deserved to do kid stuff and go to college parties and…make out with girls.” I fling an arm out. “Get too drunk. Be hungover.”

He grins. “Make out with you, you mean.”

My face heats. “Nope. That’s not what I meant.”

“Sure,” he says easily. “I heard a rumor you had a crush on me, once upon a time.”

I bury my face in the pillow. His fingers skim up the back of my neck. “You’re very annoying,” I mutter.

“You like me,” he says. “You admitted it when you were delirious.”

There’s a warmth in my chest. I do like Aiden. He’s funny and thoughtful and he listens to every word I say with a focus that no one else does.

He lets me teach him to play blackjack, though he insists we stop when I start to get tired again. It’s dark outside, and my lids feel heavy and my head too warm.

Aiden puts medicine by the bedside and pulls the covers up over me before he sinks down on top.

“You’re staying?”

“For a bit,” he says. “I have reading to do. You have any more of these?”

I crack my lids. “More?” He’s in those glasses, no shirt, hair ruffled, jaw stubbled, looking like he’s settling in for a long night of reading. Dusty circles once and lies at his feet.

“I’ve read two already. And I’m nearly done with this one.” He raises the book.

I purse my lips, studying him. Handing this over is incredibly personal, and yet I don’t think Aiden will judge me.

“Why do you want more?”

“Because they’re fun.” He taps the cover. “I liked this one a lot.” He pauses, and the gleam in his eye makes my breath catch. “I want to know you,” he says softly. “And this seemed like a good way to do it.”

A shiver rolls through me. “That’s good,” I say lightly. “Getting to know me is the point. Pass me my phone.”

He passes it to me, and I ignore the texts from Leo and my brothers. I go to the reading app where I keep meticulous track of my books and send him the link to my lists. “There.” I toss the phone down. “I sent you my list. Don’t make me regret it.”

He rubs a hand over his jaw. “Why would you regret it?”

“There’s some weird shit in there.” I yawn. “You’ll see.”

“How do I know where to start?”

I crack my lids. “Sort by rating and start with my favorites.”

“But what if I want to start with the weird shit?” He starts laughing before I can answer, and I growl at him.

I tuck myself deeper into the blankets, loving how soft and silky the shirt I’m wearing is and how deliciously soft the linen sheets are before I still. This shirt isn’t mine. I remember a cool voice in the night and cooler hands. Lips on my temple and hands brushing hair out of my face.

I shift to look at Aiden, who glances at me.

“Aiden, is this yours?” I pluck at the t-shirt. “Did you give me your shirt?”

“I wanted you to be comfortable,” he says, giving me a half smile. “If I can’t touch you, at least my shirt can.”

“Okay,” I say softly, warmth winding through me. I shift on my side and Dusty cuddles close. Aiden’s steady breathing and the occasional flip of a page are a soothing soundtrack behind my head.

For the very first time, I wonder what Aiden would be like as someone’s real husband.

I think he might be wonderful.

I hate his future wife already.