by Tessa Teevan
“Want some hot tea?” he asks, and I nod. “I’ve got Mom’s chicken noodle soup on the stove. It was a staple in our house growing up when any of us were sick.”
“Oh, did she come by? She didn’t have to do that,” I respond, and his eyes dance with amusement as he pretends to be offended.
“She didn’t. I made this myself,” he informs me, looking rather pleased.
“Was she busy?” I tease as I take a sip of the tea he sets in front of me, allowing the warm liquid to soothe my throat.
“If you weren’t sick, I’d spank you for that comment.”
“You keep threatening me with that, and you have yet to follow through.”
“Again, once you’re well, I’ll have to make good on my word this time.” He places a bowl of soup on the island and takes the stool across from me. The aroma is tantalizing and my mouth waters. “And no, she wasn’t busy. She actually offered, but I wanted to do this myself.” He takes my hand, and it must be ice cold. He rubs it between his two, effectively warming me up. “It’s my turn to look out for you, baby.”
“You take care of me every single day, Branson,” I whisper softly, and his eyebrows rise in delight. After rolling my eyes, I sip the soup, which feels heavenly sliding down the back of my throat. “Not like that! Well, like that, but more than that. I don’t know how many times I have to say it, but no one’s ever cared for me the way you do.”
“I always will,” he promises, and as his eyes bore into mine, I pray that it’s the truth.
Because losing him? That’d be the worst pain of all.
BRANSON WALKS in the room just as I’m slipping my gold hoop earrings into my ears. He comes up behind and slides his hands around my waist, bending down to nestle his chin on the crook of my neck. Looking forward at the mirror over the dresser, I see our reflection and smile warmly. It’s been a week since I was sick, and I’m finally feeling one-hundred percent better.
“You look stunning,” he tells me, pressing kisses along the bare skin of my shoulder. “Do we have to go?” His eyes are gazing into mine through the mirror, and he pouts when I shake my head.
“Every single time we have plans, you ask that same question. There’s no way I’m missing my first annual Wellington Labor Day bash! I hear a lot of action happens there.”
“Charlie should keep her mouth shut,” he opines, and I turn in his arms, sliding my hands up his chest to straighten his tie. “Plus, it’s not even Labor Day.”
“Hey, I think it’s pretty sweet of your mom for postponing it until things settled after the wedding and the honeymoon. This way, the whole family could be there. And just think, you can show me off tonight to all those stuffy old men you work with,” I say, giving him a wink.
He steps back and holds me at arm’s length, looking down at my low-cut, crimson mini dress with a black, floral, lace overlay. It’s strapless and falls at mid-thigh. I’ve paired it with black, sexy, open-toed heels. My hair’s styled in loose curls and pinned off to the side, hanging over my left shoulder. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as sexy around Branson as I do right now, and I can tell he appreciates the look.
“If I’m going to be showing you off, you need to be showing a little less skin,” he growls, bringing his hand down to highlight a telling bulge in his dress slacks.
Walking towards him, I place my hand on his abs and slide my hand down until it pushes his aside to cup him. My heels bring me closer to his ear, and I barely have to lift to whisper, “If you’re a good boy tonight, I’ll take care of that in more ways than one.”
I hear his sharp intake of breath, and with one more quick pat, I move past him and walk out of the room, nothing but the sound of my heels clicking down the hall, a more-than-satisfied grin on my face. His curse echoes, and just before I’m about to make it to the front door, he’s directly behind me, pushing me up against it. His hard, firm front presses against my back, his erection nestling into my ass. Swallowing hard, I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the warm burning of desire welling up in my belly.
“When have you ever known me to be a good boy, Ariana?” he whispers, his voice low and husky as his hot breath tickles my ear.
Pushing back against him, I tilt my head, giving him better access to a bare shoulder, and he doesn’t disappoint as his lips trails down my skin.
“So I was wrong about the boy part, but you’re always, always good,” I respond, my tone sultry. “Ever since that first night when I let you fuck me as long as you’d be a good patient.”
He chuckles and pulls me back just enough so he can open the door. “Just making sure you remembered.”
I watch as he walks out the door, seemingly unaffected. Closing the door behind me, I mutter my own curse and follow after him, both irritated and turned on at how he turned the tables on me.
THIS IS the closest I’ve come to feeling like the old Ariana Covington, and to be honest, it’s actually not so bad. I was a little apprehensive at the idea of a formal party full of Wellington family friends, employees, and clients, but the entire night, Branson’s kept me by his side, introducing me to everyone as his fiancée. The knowing looks passed on from some haven’t escaped my attention, and even though I could feel like arm candy, I don’t. He doesn’t treat me like an accessory. Instead, he includes me in every conversation, stealing kisses here and there, making me feel cherished and adored. In this case, I don’t mind being on his arm, and it gives me a glimpse at the future—one I can’t wait to begin.
As Branson and an older gentleman discuss something way above my head, I excuse myself and head inside to see if Amelia needs help with anything. Upon entering the kitchen, I smile when I see her leaning back against the counter, sipping a glass of white wine.
“Need any help?” I ask, and Amelia’s eyes pop open.
“Oh, Ari, you scared me. I was just taking a quick break. Sometimes, all the schmoozing gets to me.”
I smile knowingly, and she pours me a glass, holding hers up for a toast. We say, “Cheers,” and my heart flutters. I’m completely aware that I’ve hit the mother-in-law jackpot.
“I understand. I felt the same way, which is why I’m here. I heard the words ‘stocks’ and ‘investors’ and slipped away as soon as I could.”
She laughs and gives me a warm smile. “You really are the perfect fit for him, and I know you’ll do so well when he takes over the reins.”
My eyebrows rise and I lean an elbow against the counter, hoping she’ll tell me more. She must notice my intrigued expression, and she leans in conspiratorially.
“Between us, I have a feeling my husband’s going to be retiring very, very soon, and there isn’t anyone else I’d rather see by my son’s side when he takes over. You’re so good for him, Ariana. It’s like you’re a godsend, and I couldn’t ask for a better wife for my oldest son.”
My breath hitches as tears well up in my eyes. I place my wine glass on the counter and walk towards her, wrapping her my arms around her neck. “I couldn’t have asked for a better family to marry into. The way you’ve accepted me means so much, and no matter what Branson does or where he goes, I promise I’ll be by his side, no matter what.”
She pulls back and wipes her eyes. “Oh, look at us. I always get a little weepy when I have a glass of wine. It’s just… I made so many mistakes with my sons, and having all of you here… It’s wreaking havoc on my emotions—in a good way, of course.”
Placing a hand on her arm, I give her an encouraging squeeze. “You have a beautiful family, and if I’ve learned anything from being with Branson and getting to know you all, it’s that forgiveness and love run deep through all of you. Growing up in a completely opposite household, I know what a special family you have.”
“We’re happy to welcome you into the Wellington clan, sweetheart,” she tells me. “In fact, we need to start talking dates. It’s been nearly three weeks since you two decided on a Christmas wedding, yet you haven’t chosen a date. It’s going to be hard enough to plan this, b
ut it’s imperative you pick a date within this next week so I can book the venue and the pastor.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I respond, giving her a mock salute. “We’ll look at the calendar and get back to you as soon as possible.”
The back door opens and Knox pokes his head in. “Hey, Mom. Dad says he needs you to rescue him from Mrs. Cartwright… Whatever that means.”
Amelia groans then pushes off the counter, but not before she downs the rest of her wine. At the same time, the doorbell rings, and she looks back at Knox. “Tell him I’m busy entertaining,” she says, and her son simply shakes his head.
“Amelia, go rescue your husband. I’ll get the door.”
“Oh, fine,” she breathes out. “Thank you, honey.” She pours another glass of wine, presumably one to help deal with whoever this Mrs. Cartwright is, and follows her son into the backyard.
Smiling, wondering who could make the Branson’s dad need backup, I shake my head and make my way down the hall. I plaster on my best hostess face even though I want to scream at the impatient jerk who keeps ringing the bell incessantly.
“Sorry for dela—” I start, clamping my mouth shut the moment I open the door and see none other than Megan standing on the other side.
“You,” she sneers, her eyes narrowing when she sees me. Clearly, she remembers me from the hospital, and luckily—or perhaps unluckily—for her, I haven’t forgotten her face either.
Stepping out onto the front porch, I close the door behind me. There’s no way I’m giving her entrance, not knowing what kind of havoc she’s here to create. “What are you doing here, Megan?” I ask with a resigned sigh, as if she’s nothing more than a mere annoyance on what is an otherwise perfectly fine evening.
“I could ask you the same thing, honey,” she says, disdain lacing her voice. As she looks me up and down, she cocks an eyebrow and lets out a small laugh. “Here I was, thinking you were just the flavor of that week, yet here you still are. I have to hand it to you. You’ve stuck in there for the long haul and somehow got Branson to keep you around for more than just a quick lay. Maybe you’re not as frigid as I thought. Perhaps you’ll be his next little trophy wife, but I have to warn you. It’s not all it’s cut out to be. I’m proof of that.”
Rolling my eyes, I place my right hand on my hip and hold the left one up for her to see, her eyes widening when she spots the ring. “Not that it’s any of your business, but while Branson and I are engaged, the last thing I want to be is a trophy wife or to be anything like you. I don’t know why you have these preconceived notions about me other than the fact that they were true for you. But let me assure you, Megan, we’re not cut from the same cloth.”
Her incredulous laugh fills the silent air, and she shakes her head in disbelief. “You may be deluding yourself, but I know the truth, honey, and you may as well face it now before you do something silly like fall in love with him.” Some expression must cross my face as she pauses then laughs out loud. It’s an annoying howl, and I cross my arms impatiently as I wait for her to continue. “Oh my God. It’s too late. You’re in love with him already. At least I was smart enough not to let that happen. Let me clue you in on something. Branson Wellington has always had one goal in mind. To run Wellington Enterprises. His life’s dream is to be CEO and he’ll stop at nothing until he’s in the top office. Another thing I’m proof of. That ring on your finger? It means nothing. You mean nothing. You’re interchangeable with every other single woman in his orbit.”
Is she serious right now? I have half a mind to walk back inside and not give her the satisfaction of a response, but something inside me keeps me here on the porch, ready to defend my man. Maybe all of that was true for her, but we’re different. With me, he’s different.
“I’m not sure what’s more sad. That you spent so many years with an amazing man yet you have no idea who he is or that he wasted so many years on a miserable bitch like you.”
“You think he was the only one who wasted so many years? He’s the reason I was miserable. I lost everything after I let him seduce me. Knox left, and I was stuck with Branson after that.”
Just as I open my mouth to call her out on her lies, she continues, not letting me get a word in.
“I had constant reminders of Knox the entire time I was with his brother. Every time he ended up in the newspaper, Amelia made sure we all saw it before she mounted it up on the wall that became his shrine. The more it happened, the more Branson retreated into his office. I may have been a fool, but it wasn’t for leaving Branson. It was for marrying him in the first place. Knox is and always has been ten times the man Branson will ever be. I know that. He knows that, and you might as well get used to it.”
I take a step forward, balling my fists at my sides, not wanting to hear another word. I’ve never been in a fistfight, but what the hell? There’s no time like the present. “Watch it, Megan. That’s my fiancé you’re talking about. I won’t stand here and listen to you lie about him. We both know you went after Branson, not the other way around. You thought he’d be more likely to give you the life you wanted. If you were too blind to see him for the kind, caring, passionate, loving man he is, then I feel sorry for you.”
She blinks twice.
“But not that sorry, because thanks to you, I’ve been able to get to know that man, and I’m the one who’ll be spending the rest of her life with him. So thank you for giving up not one, but two Wellington men so they could find the true loves of their lives.”
This moment could only be better if Charlie were next to me emphasizing the point, but I’ll take what I can get. This woman has caused enough damage to this family, and I won’t allow it for another single second.
“You really think you’re something special, don’t you.” She scoffs then steps up into my face, so close I can feel her breath on my skin. She pokes me in the chest, and I stumble back before squaring up, knowing that’s the one time I will allow her to touch me without retaliating. “You are nothing but a means to an end. Men like Branson Wellington only want one thing—arm candy. And I have to give it to you. That dress, that hair, that makeup? You fit the bill. But what happens when his appetite is no longer satisfied by you? When he decides he’s used you enough and doesn’t need you anymore? You think that ring on your finger will mean a thing? Trust me, honey. He’ll be fucking anything with two legs as soon as he gets the chance. I may not have had proof, but I know it’s what he did to me, and he’ll do the same to you.”
Rage burns deep in my belly, and I have to force myself from slapping that smug smile off her face. “Well, fortunately for him, he has all he needs right here, and the man I know, the man I love, will always be faithful to me.”
She steps towards me, her expression changing to one of anger. Apparently, she decides that warning me off won’t work and changes her tactics. “He may claim to love you, but he never will. He’s incapable of love.”
“If that’s what you think, then you really have no idea what kind of man he is. Not that it matters. Here’s a newsflash, Megan. Branson doesn’t want you. Knox doesn’t want you. Unless you’re going to try and make a play for Cohen—which, again, he won’t want you either—then you need to get the hell out of here and never come back. Because this right here? This is just sad.”
Megan squares up, and I notice her fists clenching as her eyes flash with anger. I’m almost caught off guard when she barrels forward, but I’m ready for her. Just as her hands come up to brace my shoulders, my fist connects with her jaw, knocking her back with one punch.
Holy shit. I just punched Branson’s ex-wife.
I’ve never punched anyone before, and I’m about to apologize when she turns to look at me. There’s a small cut on her face from my ring, and I can’t help but think that it’s fitting. I take a step back to put space between us, not wanting this to get any more physical. The last thing I need is to make a scene with Megan.
Fortunately, she seems to have the same idea. She backs up, rubbing her jaw and gi
ving me a menacing glare. “You’re going to pay for that. I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but when I figure it out, I promise you you’ll wish you’d never met Branson Wellington. Better yet, he’ll wish he’d never met you.”
Giving her one last warning, I set my jaw and cross my arms, just waiting for her to retort, but she doesn’t. Then she turns and stumbles down the sidewalk. I watch as she yanks her keys from the valet and climbs into a small sports car. After she peels out of the driveway, her tires squealing, I lean back against the door, relieved that she’s gone before anyone else discovered she was here. Then I replay the last ten minutes over in my head, unable to wrap my mind around the fact that Branson was ever married to woman like her.
No amount of dwelling on it will ever make me understand, and suddenly, all I want is him. His arms wrapped around me. His lips on my skin. I need him, his presence, and as I slip inside, I let Megan’s words fade from my mind. There’s nothing she can do to hurt me, and no matter how hard to she tries, how many blows she tries to land, Branson and I are a solid unit. She’s just going to have to get used to it.
I FEEL like a teenager as I sneak off to the side of the house with Knox, where we light up a couple of cigars he brought back from his honeymoon. Mom would kill us if she saw what we were doing, and even though I may be thirty-three years old, I still don’t risk that wrath of Amelia Wellington.
We make small talk about the party, grateful that we got away from Dad’s not-so-secret admirer, his eighty-five-year-old neighbor, Mrs. Cartwright. As soon as Mom walked out back to save him from her, she set her sights on the younger generation of Wellingtons. Sure, we may be bastards for having pushed Cohen towards her and then hightailing it out of there, but it’s time he pays his dues. Andi will rescue him sooner or later. Although the snicker on her face has me guessing that it might be later.
