Rogue Devil (The Rourkes #11) - Kylie Gilmore Page 0,41
his actress wife. She’s filming a movie.”
Connor—his dark brown hair long on top, scruff almost to beard territory—regards Brendan with a quizzical look. “Bride or groom?”
“Yes,” Brendan says, giving Connor’s arm a friendly smack.
Connor gestures around his head. “Chloe, didn’t you have red hair at the Christmas ball in Villroy?”
“Yes, just a temporary thing.”
Sean stares at me. “That’s right. Bren wanted to ask you to dance.” He lifts his brows. “Guess that worked out.”
“Oh, no, we’re just friends,” I say immediately.
“Yeah, friends,” Brendan echoes.
I catch him making a slashing motion across his throat to his brothers out of the corner of my eye.
Connor’s lips twitch. “Always nice to meet a friend of Brendan’s.” He hands me a program and gestures to the right. “Groom’s side is over there.”
Brendan guides me down the aisle, his hand resting on the small of my back, heating my skin through the thin fabric of my dress. Considering he invited me as a friend, he’s already touched me more today than he has in the past month. Except for that one scorching hot kiss the night we made tortellini. I like to pretend that was just a dream.
He guides me into the second row, where Dylan is already seated with his wife, holding their adorable baby girl. My heart squeezes. The baby is in a white bonnet with a light pink rosebud pattern and matching dress. I smile at her, and she beams back a smile, two little white baby teeth appearing on the bottom. Awww!
Brendan makes the introductions. It’s Dylan, Ariana, and baby Olivia. I’m enthralled with this happy baby. As soon as I sit down next to Ariana, Olivia reaches toward me and pats my cheek with her pudgy baby hand.
“Aren’t you a cutie?” I coo. “Do you like peekaboo?” I cover my face with a hand and peek between my fingers. She stares in concentration. I drop my hand and smile. “Peekaboo!” She squeals and bounces in her mom’s arms.
Ariana smiles at me, her dark brown eyes kind. “You’re a natural.”
“I know how to entertain a baby,” I say, covering my face again. “I have a baby nephew.” I pop out with my peekaboo, and Olivia giggles madly. “I love babies.”
Ariana leans forward. “Did ya hear that, Bren? Sounds promising.”
I stiffen and glance toward Brendan, who doesn’t look nearly as alarmed as I feel. Strange. I turn back to Ariana. “We’re just friends. Really good friends.”
“That’s nice,” she murmurs, exchanging a look with her husband sitting on her other side.
They don’t believe me. I turn to Brendan, and my hair is suddenly yanked painfully hard. Ow! I gasp and reach back to hold my hair in place. The baby’s got a hold of me.
“I’m so sorry,” Ariana says, working on getting the baby’s fingers free. “She’s fascinated with blond hair. Most of us are brunettes.” The baby yanks my hair up and down until her dad gets a hold of her arm while her mom works on loosening her fingers. Babies don’t know their own strength. “She does the same thing to Connor’s blonde fiancée.”
I catch Brendan fighting a laugh. I narrow my eyes, and he laughs out loud.
His parents—I remember them from Villroy—take the first row, sitting right in front of us. They’re probably in their late fifties and seem very close. Mrs. Rourke turns to smile at us and then frowns. “Olivia, we have got to get you a blond dolly, so you stop accosting blonde women. Let go, sweetheart.”
“It’s okay,” I say on a wince.
Finally, the baby’s grip is free. Mrs. Rourke holds out her arms for her granddaughter, and Ariana passes her over. Mrs. Rourke bounces her a little. “You look familiar,” she says to me with a smile, her blue eyes sparkling just like Brendan’s. “Have we met?”
“Villroy,” Mr. Rourke says. “I remember. Prince Adrian’s wife’s sister. How lovely to see you on this special occasion.”
“Thank you,” I say. “Nice to see you again.”
“This is Chloe Travers, future doctor,” Brendan says. “She moved into the apartment next door, and we’ve been hanging out ever since.”
“A doctor?” Mrs. Rourke asks with enthusiasm, her smile bright. “Wow. What kind?”
“My goal is to become a cancer researcher,” I say.
His parents stare at me with twin expressions of surprise.
“She’s a genius,” Brendan puts in. “She’s finishing undergrad at Columbia in only three years.”
My cheeks heat. “I’m not a genius.” Brendan’s always saying that. It takes more than smarts to do what I’ve done. It’s all about work ethic. I work my