Accidentally Married to Brother's Best Friend

by Sofia T Summers

  Lyric looked frustrated with herself, like she was realizing I was right. “I suppose…”

  “I’ll keep things professional,” I told her. “We’ll focus just on the event.”

  Lyric squinted at me, like she was trying to see if I was lying or not. “Okay. But keep your hands to yourself, mister.”

  I grinned at her and held my hands up. “Scout’s honor.”

  “You were never a scout.”

  “Then you’ll just have to trust my word, won’t you?”

  Lyric rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

  We looked through the hotel rooms that they had for events, but Lyric quickly vetoed them. “Everyone uses hotels. You want to make a big, unique impression? Then we need to be a bit unconventional.”

  She took me to some historic buildings up in the North End and to a few restaurants that had lovely outdoor garden areas. “But, if you really want to impress and you’ve got the money for it…” Lyric held up her phone. “You’ll want to try and book the Isabella Stewart Gardner museum.”

  Hmmm.

  A museum—a way to show off how sophisticated and in touch with culture we were. A beautiful, unique setting. A way to show our clients just how much money we made them, that we could afford to hold an event at such a place.

  “Great idea.”

  Lyric beamed at me.

  I knew that I’d made the right choice, all personal feelings for Lyric aside. She was smart, capable, and ready to make this an event to remember. I was going to really show myself as an excellent and personable partner in the firm. And to be honest I was… I was really proud of all that she’d accomplished. Especially having to drop out of Amherst.

  Speaking of which.

  I had my suspicions about that whole… thing. Lyric had always been well-liked, and I certainly hadn’t bragged about my so-called sexual conquest to anyone. Why would the entire school be interested in calling one random girl a slut when she hooked up with a guy? Everyone was hooking up with everyone else all the time. You needed more than just what we’d done to get bullied and labeled.

  The only logical solution was that someone had started a smear campaign. Someone was going up against Lyric on purpose, someone with a grudge. Now, sure, Lyric could’ve made a completely random enemy at college that I didn’t know about, but how would that random enemy have known about us?

  No, Occam’s Razor was often cited for a very good reason. The simplest solutions were usually the right ones.

  “I really love the choice of venue,” I said to Lyric, quickly tapping out a message on my phone. “What’s the next step?”

  “Choosing caterers,” Lyric said promptly. “You want to lock down the menu as soon as possible. You have to account for food allergies, religious beliefs, and if you happen to know the personal tastes of the people you’re inviting, that always helps too. The food is really what makes or breaks an event, if you ask me.”

  “Great. Would tomorrow be too soon to meet about that?”

  “Not at all, I already have some suggestions.” Lyric grinned a bit competitively, as if daring me to challenge her skills.

  “Great, I can pick you up from the hotel tomorrow? One pm work?”

  “Works great for me.”

  I dropped her back off at the hotel where she’d be staying, and saw that I had a message in response to mine. Excellent.

  My younger sister, Katrina, had been in Europe for a month-long vacation and had just gotten back into town yesterday. She agreed to meet up with me for dinner, and I was going to confront her—because Katrina had always disliked Lyric. And she was just the kind of spoiled brat who would do something like this.

  Katrina insisted on going to the newest, most expensive restaurant in town. She was a self-proclaimed ‘foodie’ and was always filling her Instagram with pictures of the latest ‘it’ spot to go to. Honestly, I’d grown up with the woman. I’d seen what a picky eater she’d been. It wasn’t about actually enjoying the food, it was about showing off that she was visiting all the hippest restaurants.

  But whatever. I could afford to take my sister out to dinner, no big deal. And this place—a Greek-Mexican fusion restaurants—did look interesting.

  Katrina swept in wearing a bunch of new clothes she’d gotten from a shopping spree in Paris and proceeded to tell me all about it, from the moment we sat down at the table until our entrees arrived. I waited patiently. I was used to this little stunt of hers. Katrina would talk nonstop about herself until she finally had to break to actually eat her damn food, and that was the moment to sweep in and take the conversation from her.

  I was a lawyer. I’d gone up against much tougher conversational opponents than my little sister.

  “I’m working on planning an event for my firm,” I said, when Katrina at last seemed to realize that her food was getting cold and dove in. “You wouldn’t believe who the event planner is.”

  “Who?” Katrina asked, eyes wide. She was always there for the gossip.

  “Lyric Dean.” I had to work hard to keep my face neutral. Treat this like a court hearing, I told myself. Don’t give anything away.

  Katrina’s nose wrinkled up like she’d smelled something rotten. “Oh.”

  “She told me some real interesting stuff about her sophomore year at Amherst,” I went on. “Explaining why she’d dropped out and transferred to a state school. I’d always wondered what had happened.”

  Katrina went a bit pale, then flushed. Ah-ha. I knew it.

  “She was too polite to say it outright,” I added. “But I’m a smart man. I can connect the dots. Any particular reason you got your whole sorority to bully her?”

  Katrina’s flush deepened. “She bullied me first! Ugh, Preston, you have no idea how awful she was, if only you knew—and I could never tell you because she was the younger sister of your precious bestie—”

  I held up a hand. “Kat, I just want to know how you found out that Lyric and I had sex.”

  Katrina looked down at her plate. “Why does it matter?”

  “Why does it matter? Katrina, you bullied a girl out of her college! And did you ever think what that did to my reputation? There are now people out there who think I’m some jackass who slept with a girl and then threw her under the bus and slut-shamed her! That could’ve done real harm to my character. You weren’t just screwing over Lyric, you were screwing over me, your own brother, and for what? Because you had a stick up your ass?”

  “I was just repeating what I heard!” Katrina snapped, looking back up at me. “Someone overheard you at the party, I was just repeating it from them!”

  “Right. And you didn’t make it ten times worse.” I leaned in and dropped my voice. “You leave Lyric alone, Katrina, you hear me? She’s back in our lives and you’re going to be respectful about it.”

  Katrina snorted. “What, are you going to sleep with her again?”

  “I value my friendship with Tenor too much for that.” It was… a bit of a lie, but I wasn’t going to get into my complicated feelings for Lyric (or the mess that was our legal situation) with Katrina.

  Katrina downed her glass of wine in two gulps. “You always took Lyric’s side. I never understood what you saw in that piece of trash.”

  I stood up. “I took Lyric’s side because you were a spoiled brat who bullied her, and always had. How do you think I knew that you were the one spreading the rumor? It wasn’t some idea that just fell out of the sky. The moment she told me about it, I started to get suspicious. You were always awful to her, but not this time. You don’t get to insult her like that. Lyric’s not trash, she never has been, and if I hear you talking about her or any other woman like that—”

  “What, you’ll ground me?” Katrina stood up too, throwing her napkin to the side. “God, you’re being so mean to me! Your own sister! Always favoring everyone else over me!”

  She stamped her foot. Oh my God, was she five!?

  “I’m not going to let you talk to me like this!” Katrina grabbe
d her purse and coat. “If you would just associate with the right people, this wouldn’t even be a problem! You just don’t get it!”

  She stormed out of the restaurant.

  Well. That had gone well.

  22

  Lyric

  I… wasn’t sure how I felt today.

  Preston was being a perfect gentleman, just as he’d said he would be. He picked me up in his car, a cherry-red convertible, and took me to our meetings with the various caterers. Most men I would’ve rolled my eyes at the car, sure they were showing off for me, but Preston didn’t mention anything about the ride or give me that flashy grin and wiggling eyebrows look that silently conveyed see, see, aren’t I so rich and hot with my shiny toy?

  It was more like this was just his car and it happened to be nice and I happened to be taking a ride in it.

  When we got to each location, he would open my car door for me, but he didn’t offer me his arm the way he would before. Even in the contest of chivalry, he was taking his ‘hands off’ policy seriously.

  I found myself missing his touch. Missing being able to tuck myself into his side. It had made me feel… secure. Safe. Comforted. Looked after.

  When we met with each caterer to sample the menu, he would pull my chair out for me, but he would be careful not to touch me in the process. His fingers wouldn’t even brush my back or shoulders as I sat down. And there were no flirtatious glances sent my way, no sex jokes, nothing.

  Oh, sure, Preston was having fun with the whole thing. At one point he held up a glass of wine by his ear, swirling the wine inside, and informed me that he was ‘hearing’ the wine. He managed to keep a straight face for a whole twenty seconds until he broke down laughing at the confusion on my face.

  He kept a running tally of how many times we heard the word ‘fusion’ spoken by the caterers. “This is an Italian-Chinese fusion…” “This fusion of cream and tomato…” “Our fusion of tradition and innovation…”

  “If I’d told myself I would drink every time I heard that word, I’d be plastered by now,” Preston whispered to me at one point, and I had to quickly cough to cover my giggles.

  So he was definitely being friendly with me and joking around. It wasn’t that. And I was having a great time, honestly. I’d never had so much fun with a client before, helping them pick out their caterer and menu.

  But God, I wanted him to touch me.

  After we finished with everything, Preston pulled me aside instead of just heading back to his car. “I have to talk to you about something personal, so I was wondering—if it wouldn’t be crossing a line for you—if you could come by my place for dinner tonight? I thought it might be best to do this in private.”

  “No problem.” This must have been about the divorce. I didn’t know much about the process, but I did know that there were a lot of ways that you could get divorced, so Preston must’ve wanted to discuss options with me.

  Preston grinned. “Excellent.”

  Luckily, I always brought my trusty little black dress with me when I traveled. It worked for any fancy or upscale occasion that I might find myself attending last-minute. I curled my hair, did some daring makeup, and headed over to Preston’s.

  I had been a bit unfair to him when I’d blown up at him in front of the courthouse. And I couldn’t resist teasing him a little with how I looked. I knew that he was still attracted to me. Just because we were getting divorced didn’t mean we couldn’t have a little fun along the way.

  This whole time he had been courteous to me, respected my distance, and he’d actually been listening to my suggestions (for all of his goofing off while trying out caterers). I’d had few clients that I liked so much, never mind someone I liked just as a person.

  Perhaps I had been taking my anger out on him before, and that wasn’t fair. Perhaps I was still judging him a bit too harshly because of old wounds. And I wanted him to touch me, I’d been dying for it all day. Maybe once we worked out this divorce matter we could… celebrate.

  If nothing else, I would at least be teasing him back a little. Even if Preston hadn’t meant to be teasing me by not touching me all day.

  When I got to Preston’s place, my jaw nearly hit the floor.

  I’d known that he was rich and that he had an apartment that covered the entire floor, but his own private elevator!? Floor to ceiling windows!? Holy shit.

  I tried not to gape like a gawky kid as I stared around me. Once I got used to the sheer insanity of it, though, I noticed that there was a bit of a lack of personal touch. It felt like he had only halfway finished moving in—the furniture was there, and some paintings on the walls, but there were no rugs, no walls were painted, there were no little souvenirs or knickknacks, no curtains…

  I heard a noise behind me and I turned to see Preston frozen, staring at me. His eyes were dark and he looked like he wanted to eat me alive.

  Looked like my choice of dress was a success. I tried to hold in my smile. Preston stared at me for another minute, his gaze roaming hungrily over my body, and then he seemed to realize I was looking at him and he snapped out of it.

  “Do you like it?” he asked. “The, uh, apartment, I mean.” He sounded almost anxious, like he was worried about my opinion on the place.

  “I don’t know who wouldn’t,” I said. “This place is insane, Preston. In a good way, I mean, look at this view!”

  Preston grinned, tension leaking out of his shoulders. “C’mon, I just pulled dinner out of the oven.”

  Dinner did look delicious. “Did you make this?”

  Preston nodded. “I lived on so much fucking takeout while getting through law school and then my first year with the firm. I started cooking as a way to help me detach from work and relax so that I didn’t burn out.”

  I sat down at the small but lovely dark wood table in the dining area. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Nope, you’re the guest.” Preston grinned at me as he put the food down on the table. “But if you really want, you can help me with the dishes when we finish.”

  “Deal.”

  At first we just ate, and it really was delicious—seafood ravioli, Dijon seasoned potatoes, and salad—but then Preston got down to brass tacks.

  “So, I want us to do a no-fault divorce,” he said. “You mentioned that earlier, but I’m not sure if you know what that entails.”

  “All I know is the name, which indicates that, you know, neither party’s really to blame for it. It’s not like I cheated on you or you hit me or anything.”

  Preston nodded. “Exactly. However, the problem with that in our case is that a no-fault divorce usually means that the two parties split the assets evenly. That includes any property or money.”

  Oh. Preston had a lot more money than I did. And if I’d been his wife for a few years, I might feel entitled to some of that. But we weren’t really married, not in any way that mattered.

  “So I was wondering, if it would be all right if I put together a no-fault divorce without a transfer of assets. Is… that all right? Technically, legally, you would be entitled to half of my assets since we didn’t sign a pre-nup. And I want to be fair to you. But also…”

  “But also, Preston, we weren’t really married.” I smiled at him. “Seriously, it’s been just over two weeks since we accidentally tied the knot, what kind of person would I be if I demanded half of your money? I can’t do that to you. Besides, I don’t care about money. I’ve got enough to take care of myself and my business and that’s all I need. Go ahead and put something together. Whatever you want, I’ll sign it.”

  Preston’s shoulders slumped in relief and he took my hand, squeezing it. “Thanks, Lyric. I really appreciate it.”

  As if I could do anything else. I wouldn’t hurt Preston that way, no matter what he’d done to me. I squeezed his hand back, my heart skipping a beat.

  23

  Preston

  Thank God for Lyric. I liked to think that most people would be as decent about this who
le thing as she was, but you never knew. I had a trust fund from my parents, my overall inheritance from them when they died, this penthouse apartment, and all the money from my salary at my firm. Someone could walk away with quite a hefty sum if they wanted to. Getting confirmation from Lyric that she wasn’t going to demand anything was a load off my shoulders.

  After dinner, Lyric helped with the dishes, as she’d promised. I had a large kitchen, but… well. I couldn’t help but keep bumping into her, what with that gorgeous dress she was wearing. It was a tight, black little number that left none of her curves to the imagination and if I hadn’t already been fucking smitten with her, this would’ve done the trick for sure.

  Lyric started to notice my ‘accidental’ bumping into her, of course she did, and she started bumping me back. Our old competitiveness reasserted itself, and the next thing I knew I was blocking her from trying to put the dishes away as Lyric hit me playfully with the towel, jumping around, trying to block me in turn like we were in the NBA.

  “Two points!” Lyric crowed as she jumped and threw a bit of trash over my shoulder, sending it sailing neatly into my trash bin.

  “You think you’re so cute,” I replied, grabbing her by the hips and spinning her around to playfully shove her out of the kitchen.

  “I know I’m so cute,” Lyric replied, turning back around and sticking her tongue out at me like we were kids again.

  I laughed, hip-checking her. “I let you get that in, just so you know.”

  “Aww, whatever you gotta tell yourself so you can sleep at night.”

  Dinner was over, and we’d already discussed the divorce—how it would work, the details, how long it would take, all of that—so there was really no reason for Lyric to stay. But I didn’t want her to go. Soon I would have no excuse to have her in my life and I wanted her there. I wanted to have the chance, despite the rocky start, to prove that we belonged together.

  Over Lyric’s shoulder, I spied my speaker system. I’d wanted to dance with her that night in our hotel room, but Lyric had skipped straight to the sex (not that I was complaining). Maybe tonight I would get my wish.