Page 155 of Vows We Never Made

Great.

The last thing I want to deal with right now is my sister and her snide comments about my fake engagement.

“Why are you here?”

“Flew in to help Mom round out her shoe choices for the next charity bash. I convinced her to go custom and I have an eye for it. Good thing too since it’s never been her strong point.” She rolls her eyes, and I roll mine back. “What about you?”

“Business.”

“Okay. Is that why you brought Hattie?”

I glare at her. “Leave her out of this.”

“I wouldn’t have thought you were the clingy type. Man, you’re taking this seriously.” Margot grins. At least someone’s having fun at my expense. “Dragging her around to boring meetings while she drags you to bookstores. How many have you been to so far? Thirty?”

“Fuck off, Margot.”

“You realize books are her passion, right? You’ll never compare.”

If I didn’t know how much she loves them, I’d have figured it out after the first half-dozen bookstores this morning.

That’s when I checked out—partly because I had a meeting, partly because the smell of old pages activates new allergies after a while.

But I don’t miss the way Hattie’s face lights up when she’s with her true love. And I’ll do just about anything to see her like that again.

No way in iced-over hell will I breathe a word of that to Margot, though.

“She’s a booklover,” I snap. “So what?”

“It’s not the book lovin’, dearest Brother. It’s the fact that you’re humoring her.”

I scowl. “Do you really expect me to be an asshole constantly?”

“You’ve had a lifetime of practice.”

“Pot and kettle,” I snarl, heading past her to make a drink from the wet bar. “You want anything? I’m ready to cool off and calm down. It’s been hot as hell today.”

“I’m good.” She yawns and follows me over to the bar, sitting on the counter and watching me as I pour some of Dad’s scotch.

Ending the day with Margot requires something strong.

“Why don’t you go dig out your old dollhouse and stop bothering me?”

“And let you bring Hattie around here without being relentlessly teased? Never.” She takes the glass of white wine I reluctantly pass over and holds it up in a salute.

If I’m drinking with her on my ass, I’m not doing it alone, and I don’t care whether she wants it or not.

“Should’ve known you’d be a brat about it,” I mutter, taking a long pull.

“It’s what I do. But I’ve legit never seen you so whipped.”

“I’m not whipped, Margot. Shut it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Right. Because you’d totally go bookstore crawling with any girl.”

She laughs.

“In case you missed it, I’m not about to marry just any girl.”