our way, curiosity melting into anxiety before her attention is recalled. There’s a woman standing next to him. The sperm donor. The liar. She crouches down, bring her gaze level with Lulu’s.
“Please.” I try to propel Carson forward, my first instinct for my daughter over anything else.
“So fucking pathetic.” The proclamation is muttered, maybe not meant for my ears, yet it feels like a knife digging into my chest anyway. “It’s like I’d almost convinced myself she was . . .” He huffs an unhappy laugh. “Now I see why. She’s not like me. She’s like him.”
“She’s not like anyone,” I retort the moment before we reach them. “She’s like Lulu.” And if you can see that, can’t deal with that then— “Lulu. Come to me, please.”
She’s not like him. She’s not. That little girl has more concern for her stuffed rabbit than he’d ever shown me. More love in her little finger than he’ll ever have.
“Car.” The man I’d know once as Brett cants his head in an almost mocking greeting.
“Carson? As in the elusive brother?” The woman standing beside him is as effusive in her delight as he is cold. “Oh, my goodness! You said he couldn’t make it, Simon.”
“And he didn’t,” Simon, Brett, whatever, returns. His expression is soft as he places his hand over her fingers where she holds his upper arm. Then his gaze flicks to my hand, curled in almost the exact same place. Just a different brother. “In case you’ve forgotten, our engagement dinner was last night, darling.”
“Oh, hush. That was just one of them. For my friends, mostly,” she explains, her accent cultured with just a soft hint of something Southern. She’s very pretty in that sleekly sophisticated kind of way. Caramel highlights and nude pumps, her wardrobe colour choices are muted, though very unlike her personality. “Not everyone can make it to Plano,” she says, waving away her explanation as though we’re already privy the wedding details. “But that doesn’t matter now. I’m just so happy to meet you!” She steps forward and, for a frightening minute, I think she’s going to throw her arms around us. Instead, she demurely holds out her hand. “Melissa. Melissa Dupriest. Soon to be Hayes. My friends call me Melly, and as you’re practically family, you must call me the same.” The woman brims with a nervous kind of excitement, though her genuine pleasure is clear.
“My congratulations, Melly.” My hand slips from Carson’s as, ever the gentleman, he reaches out to take her hand. Simon steps forward and I find my trembling hand in his.
“Simon,” he murmurs smoothly, blue gaze intent on mine. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” It’s a barb veiled in satin. A warning as he brings his other hand over our joined hands, increasing the pressure in his hold.
“It’s so lovely to meet you.” Melly steps forward almost impulsively, exchanging her slim hand for his masculine one.
“I’m Fee, Carson’s . . .” I’m not his girlfriend or his date; those descriptions are too asinine to describe what we have. I’m not his boo, babe, or his partner. “I’m—”
“She’s mine.”
In any other situation I might’ve laughed, albeit delightedly, even if Cason’s tone does lack any sort of inflection. I’m just grateful he’s still standing beside me. That my hand is in his again.
I couldn’t have known they were brothers. They’re both tall, dark, and handsome, but maybe that’s just my type. Isn’t that almost every woman’s type? But I hadn’t been one hundred percent truthful to Carson. About him. About Lulu’s father. Carson’s brother, as it turns out.
“Well, how lovely. Isn’t that lovely, Simon?” Melly practically glues herself to his side, her gaze ducking to Lulu standing silently between us, her arm wrapped around Carson’s leg, quietly trying to make sense of the strange atmosphere, if I know my child. “Oh, the car is here.” Her attention slides to the Maybach idling at the curb, its driver already at the rear passenger door. “I don’t want to leave, not when we’ve just met. Maybe you’d like to come to church with us this morning?”
“That’s very kind of you Melly but we’re meeting friends for breakfast,” Carson answers, his tone smooth and unaffected. I really don’t know how he’s managing it, because this has got to be some kind of mind fuck for him, too. My insides feel like a bag of nerves on a spin cycle wash.
“Don’t say you’ll disappear before we get back,” she almost pouts.
“I’m sure Simon knows exactly