PROLOGUE

“Right there,” I manage, his thumb circling my clit while his index and middle finger probe my entrance.

I’m driven out of my mind.

I’m so hungry and obedient, I’m willing to do anything for a release.

I’m on the razor’s edge, tiptoeing toward a shattering orgasm, as Cole trails kisses down my body again.

He tastes every inch of my bare skin, letting his fingers brush gently over the fine stretchmarks that frame my hips before he dives face-first into my pussy.

I cry out in sweet agony when his tongue flicks over my clit. His mouth makes sweet love to my flesh, lips closing around the swollen nub.

He sucks it harder and harder, his tongue pressing while his fingers enter me, test me, explore me on a deeper level.

“Let go,” Asher beckons me.

I look at him; he and Toby have their massive cocks in their hands, watching.

I’m the star tonight. I’m the object of their desire.

And my total pleasure is their supreme objective.

“You taste like the best kind of addiction,” Cole growls, then finger-fucks me into oblivion. I raise my hips to meet his capable fingers as he goes deep and suckles my clit until, finally, I explode.

I come hard and gushing, panting and heaving, as I ride the wave, as the orgasm crashes through my body and mind, and I hold onto Cole’s powerful shoulders and beg him.

“I need you inside me right now.”

“Right now?” he asks, his lips, glistening with my juices, stretch into a smile.

“Right now, please.”

A split second later, he’s on top of me, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he splits me in half. I hold my breath, stunned by his sheer size—all of him deep inside me, a perfect, maddeningly marvelous fit.

Our eyes lock as Asher and Toby move around to flank me. My hands reach for them, fingers tangled in their black and silver locks, as they each take one nipple in their wet, hot mouths.

Their rugged beards tickle.

Their teeth nibble and send stinging sensations through my torso as Cole fucks me harder, deeper.

“Oh, God,” I manage as my breasts bounce with every thrust, and the twins keep a tight hold. They have me pinned down to the sofa, while Cole pumps me full of him.

Every inch, thick and hard, filling me.

Stretching me.

Sending me into the deepest ocean of pure ecstasy.

Cole grunts as he watches me unravel before him, as he pounds into me, harder and deeper and faster, until the edges of reality blur into darkness.

I hold onto his brothers, a thousand intricate sensations bursting through me at once, as Cole smiles and goes even harder.

“You were made for us, Willow, every inch of you,” he says.

His breathing becomes ragged, his brow furrowed.

I can feel him swelling even thicker inside me.

I cry out, shuddering and quivering, a second orgasm dismantling me as he stiffens and spills deep into me.

His brothers lie back while caressing my body.

Their hands always moving. Fingers always touching.

“This was just a taste,” Cole reiterates.

“I want the whole deal,” I tell him.

He smiles. We kiss, softly, slowly, glowing, with our bodies glued to each other. The air grows hot and thick around us as I take deep breaths and settle into my new reality.

The Morgan brothers want me.

And I want all three of them.

Chapter 1

“No fucking way.”

“Is that…” Jamie’s voice trails off as he stands beside me, two glasses of champagne in hand.

“That’s him alright,” I manage.

“I thought he said he wasn’t coming,” Jamie mutters.

“That is what he said.”

I leave Jamie behind and walk over to my fiancé, Terrence Madison. He’s wearing one of his best suits, a dark grey ensemble meant to bring out the rust in his hair and the blue in his eyes. His mother, Sheila, is beside him, talking and laughing with a vaporous blonde, both of them draped in an elegant emerald green, like they’re besties, in matching outfits.

My problem is that the blonde clings to my fiancé’s arm with too much ease.

And as soon as they see me coming, their humor fades.

They’re not surprised, though. Terrence knew I had an invite to this event. The Future Artists of America Foundation, chaired by William James Morgan, Terrence’s stepfather, sent me a personalized invitation after a team-building weekend I organized for one of Mr. Morgan’s finance firms. I’d invited Terrence to join me, and he’d turned me down.

“Hey, Terrence,” I say with as much calm as I can muster.

This place is packed with some of New York’s richest and most influential people. Potential clients not just for the wedding planning side of my business, but also for all the other corporate packages Jamie and I put together over the past year. I can’t afford to make a scene.

“Hey, Willow,” Terrence replies with a casual smile, but I still catch the strain in his voice. He knows what’s coming. “Glad to see you here.”

I gawk at him, my jaw almost dropping before my gaze shifts to Sheila, his gorgeous and equally redheaded mother. The blonde beside her raises an eyebrow at me, as if asking whose idea it was to let the cockroach into the room.

“Glad to see me here? Are you kidding me, Terrence? I asked you to come with me, and you said you were unavailable. Clearly, you’re very much available,” I hiss. “What the hell is this?”

“Willow, take the hint already,” Sheila cuts in.

I give her a hard look, the kind of look I never imagined I had in me. This woman usually intimidates me. She’s mean, intense, and judgmental. She’s been a nightmare since Terrence proposed.

“I’m not following,” I say, choosing to focus on Terrence. “You need to explain it to me like I’m five.”

“Willow, I said I was unavailable to join you at this charity event,” he says. “Not that I was unavailable to come to this charity event.”

“Seriously?”

I should’ve broken it off weeks ago. I knew I’d made the wrong choice when I said yes. But my whole life, I’d been told I needed to settle for less because no high-value man would want a girl like me: a curvy, middle-class New Yorker without a family pedigree, and that I had to lower my standards.

Then Terrence Madison came along with his Hamptons family and Manhattan connections, and he seemed to be nuts about me. I fell hard for the guy, only to soon realize that most of his fortune was built upon his association with his stepfather and stepbrothers, not from his own hard work.

“It’s the truth,” Terrence says with a shrug. The more he speaks, the more I wonder what I found attractive about him to begin with. “We might as well face it, Willow. This isn’t going to work, and we both know it.”

“You proposed to me, remember?” I flash him my ring, as if to remind him.

“It was a lapse in judgment,” he replies and nods at the blonde on his arm. “Katrina is a much more suitable choice for me.”

“A more suitable choice? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you’re too fat for him,” Katrina cuts in. “It might sting a bit, but we might as well be honest about this.”

“I’m too fat!” I gasp, staring at her in sheer disbelief before I look at Terrence again. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“It is what it is,” he says and shrugs again.

I notice heads turning, eyes widening, brows furrowing, as the unexpected drama unfolds. I’m being humiliated in public, and every instinct I have screams at me to just punch this bastard’s lights out and call it a day.

“Terrence is a Morgan,” Sheila adds. “He’s New York royalty by my marriage to his stepfather. He needs a woman who can represent him in public, not some downtown girl who has absolutely nothing to her name.”

“I run my own business, which I built from the ground up,” I snap. “Forgive me if I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth like the rest of you. Ironically enough, it’s what Terrence said he liked most about me.”

“For a hot minute, yeah.” He chuckles dryly. “Then I snapped back to reality. It just wasn’t meant to be, Willow. You should just move on.”

“I would’ve gladly avoided this entire nonsense, if you’d been man enough to break it off with me, instead of proposing.” I raise my voice.

“You’re making a scene,” Sheila comes closer.

I take a step back, my heart racing with rage, shame, indignation, and pure, red-hot fury. It feels like a nightmare I cannot wake up from.

“I’m making a scene?” I repeat, my voice barely audible. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Take the loss, Willow. You’re a smart, capable, independent woman. You said so yourself,” she replies. “You’ll find someone eventually. But my son is not your man, darling. He deserves so much better, and Katrina… why, she’s exactly whom he was born to be with.”

“Sheila, you’re too kind,” Katrina says with a giggle.

They’re besties already, while I spent an entire six months with an engagement ring on my finger, trying to win my future mother-in-law’s approval. Jamie was right. I never should’ve said yes.

“You’re not the kind of woman I can build a legacy with,” Terrence sneers.

“Then she’ll build one with us,” Cole’s growl cuts through the air like a sharp, stainless-steel blade.

Cole Morgan has entered the chat, flanked by his older brothers, Asher and Toby. All three stand tall and ridiculously handsome in their sleek, black tuxes, with their salt-and-pepper hair and blue and green eyes. Their frames are so large, they take up half my field of vision.

“Cole?” I manage, as if coming out of a haze.

I’ve only met them a few times during my relationship with Terrence, but I’ve never had a chance to get to know them, as my interactions with them were few and far between.

“What are you doing, Terrence?” Cole steps closer, his arm quick to snake around my waist. I’m surprised by the move, but I don’t move away.

I can’t.

The man has the kind of magnetic pull that keeps me firmly grounded, my curves soft against his hard body. There’s a palpable shift in the atmosphere, and my only choice is to go along with it. The Morgan brothers might actually save my honor tonight.

“It’s none of your business,” Terrence replies, holding his precious girlfriend closer, as well. One look at her, and I can tell she’s starting to wonder if she picked the wrong guy to get with.

“It is, if you’re so gleefully eager to besmirch my family honor,” Cole says. “It’s my understanding that you are still engaged to Willow. You’re not anymore?”

“No, and you’ve already met Katrina,” Terrence replies, raising his chin in defiance.

“I did, an hour ago,” Cole says. “And from what I’m hearing, you didn’t tell Willow about it.”

“My personal life is⁠—”

“Is my business. It’s our business, Terrence. Your mother might’ve married our father, but that doesn’t make you a Morgan. You have to earn the title,” Cole snaps. “And this stunt you just pulled is embarrassing for you and you alone.”

Asher steps in. “You know what, Terrence? You already know I never liked you, but I’ll admit, I do appreciate you for not ruining Willow’s life by marrying her.”

“She was always too good for you,” Toby adds with a wry smile.

Suddenly, I’m flanked by all three Morgan brothers. As I take a deep breath, mixed scents of tobacco, sea salt, and Moroccan rose oil fill my lungs. The Morgan genes run deep, and it only goes to prove how fundamentally different they are from Terrence.

“We’ll be more than happy to show Willow what it’s like to be with a real Morgan,” Cole says.

“What?” I ask, a little dumbfounded as I look up at him.

His gaze locks onto mine, and for a moment, my heart just… stops. I’ve never seen him so determined, so imposing, so intense. Cole Morgan and his brothers always take up space, they always draw focus, and they always stand out. But tonight, I feel like I’m the most precious creature in their presence.

I feel like they just saved me.

“Well, given that Terrence wasn’t man enough to appropriately end your engagement, how about you let us be your dates tonight?” Asher asks.

Unlike Cole and Toby, Asher’s eyes are a midnight blue, and the more I look into that night sky, the harder it is to walk away. The silver specks in his wavy hair and his carefully trimmed beard give him a particular kind of distinction that makes my fingertips tingle.

I’d heard about their polyamorous lifestyle but convinced myself they were just rumors.

“Why settle for this guy when you can get the real Morgan experience in triplicate?” Toby chuckles and tucks a lock of hair behind my ear.

His touch alone is enough to ignite tiny fires down my spine as I respond with a shy, soft smile.

“It’s not the worst idea I’ve heard tonight.”

I can’t believe I just said that.

And neither can Sheila, judging by the coarse gasp that just escaped her skinny, slightly wrinkling throat. “What are you doing, Willow?”

“I dare say it’s none of your business, Sheila,” I casually reply.

This is madness. Getting dumped by William Morgan’s stepson, only to let myself get carried away by his three biological sons feels like something out of a scandalous Reddit thread. But I’m doing it. I’m so angry, so humiliated… it’s the only exit that makes sense.

Because I’ll be damned if I’ll let Terrence or his mother make me feel like I’m not good enough.

“That is a wise choice,” Cole tells me. “Why don’t we stop by the bar first?”

“Jamie’s got champagne for me,” I reply.

“He’s your business partner, right?” Asher asks, then curiously looks around. “Ah, he’s over by the buffet, discovering the Beluga caviar tarts. He seems happy.”

“Come on, let’s ditch these losers,” Toby says and nods away from Terrence, Katrina, and Sheila.

I can’t help but laugh as I join them.

I might regret it later, but for now, my heart’s fluttering, my stomach’s as tight as a marble, and my ego is bruised enough to warrant a little bit of the Morgan brothers’ comfort.

“You’d better not be stupid enough to think you can weasel your way into the Morgan family again,” Sheila calls out.

I glance over my shoulder. Terrence doesn’t seem too happy with this conclusion. Katrina looks awkward, as if she really did get stuck with the wrong guy. Sheila’s eyes throw daggers at my face.

Toby laughs. “Projecting a little too much there, Sheila.”

She doesn’t get a chance to reply because we’re already too far away.

Once the tension and awkwardness wear off, I find myself sitting at one of the tables on the terrace overlooking Manhattan. The charity event takes place every year on the top floor of the Marriott, which opens up to a gorgeous, glass-covered garden with fairy lights and plenty of seating, which is perfect even for a cool, late November night like this.

Inside, the music and the liquor flow as New York’s richest sign checks and rub elbows while making a difference for hundreds of aspiring designers supported by the William James Morgan Foundation. And I catch glimpses of Jamie meeting and greeting some of them, clinking glasses and handing out business cards.

My three unexpected companions have my full, undivided attention.

“You’re nervous,” Cole remarks, leaning back into his seat.

We’re sharing a bottle of champagne, and we’re almost finished with it. The fizzy potion works its way through my body, taking the edge off. It’s not enough to wash away tonight’s troubles, though.

“I’m feeling a little bit of many things right now,” I tell him and smile weakly. “I can’t thank you enough for getting me away from Terrence.”

“It was our pleasure,” Toby says. A devilish grin slits across his handsome, bearded face, and I notice black tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. They reach over his large, strong hands with intricate, fine-line details. “I love pissing Sheila off every chance I get.”

“I take it that you have a contentious relationship with your stepmother.”

The brothers exchange glances, and I observe the details I hadn’t noticed before. Asher and Toby are the eldest, in their mid-forties. Born at the same time, yet fascinatingly different. Asher is the clean-cut, automotive business-mogul type, while Toby chose rebelliousness and makes custom motorcycles for high-end clients. Cole is the youngest, in his early forties, and heir apparent to the William J. Morgan financial empire—a role I know, for sure, Terrence desperately wants.

“She’s not our mother,” Cole says. “Step or otherwise. She’s been trying to cut us out of the family and the business ever since she married our father.”

“Oh. Terrence never mentioned⁠—”

“Of course, he didn’t,” Cole replies, shaking his head. “Why would he? Sheila got it into his head that he should be included in our father’s will.”

“Love makes people do foolish things,” Asher adds, equally dismayed. “Our father is no exception.”

“Either way, you guys didn’t have to do that,” I say.

“Do what?” Toby gives me a confused look. I like the way the shadows deepen around his greenish-blue eyes when his brow furrows.

“Intervene,” I say. “It’s greatly appreciated.”

“We meant it,” Cole says.

And as soon as his gaze meets mine again, I feel the words coiling in the pit of my stomach as heat spreads through my limbs—the intensity of his attention is enough to make my skin tingle all over. It’s just that my brain needs to do a little catch-up.

“Meant what?” I foolishly ask.

“Terrence doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you, Miss Willow Bennett,” Cole says.

I laugh lightly, if only to divert attention from my reddening cheeks. “You don’t even know me all that well.”

“I know everything there is to know about you,” he says. “Which only serves to reinforce my statement. You were always too good for him.”

My mind bounces back to Terrence and Sheila’s words, my gaze dropping as I look at myself. Full-figured, with thick thighs and full hips, wrapped in a floral-patterned evening gown, pink and yellow orchids stretching over my shoulders. I feel big.

“Our family is complicated,” Asher says, pouring himself another drink after he refills my glass. “When our mother died almost twenty years ago, we were sure Dad wouldn’t marry again. Plenty of women tried, most of them from within our Hamptons and Manhattan circles.”

Toby scoffs, shaking his head. “But Sheila Madison got her claws into him, eventually. The Hoboken pretender.”

“Hoboken?” I ask, somewhat confused. “She’s a Madison.”

“By marriage,” Toby says. “Sheila married into wealth.”

“Her husband died, right?”

“When Terrence was just a kid,” Asher replies. “She squandered the little fortune he left her. By the time she met our father, she was pretty much broke.”

“And now she thinks she’s better than the Queen of England,” Toby mutters.

“Personally, we didn’t have an issue with Sheila until she started pressuring our father into knocking Asher and Toby out of the will, particularly where the ownership of his financial companies is concerned,” Cole says with a heavy sigh. “My brothers may have businesses of their own, but they’re still Morgan men. The companies need to stay with us.”

“She wants Terrence in the will, I know,” I nod slowly. “He mentioned something about it more than once.”

“Let’s just say you dodged a bullet with that prick,” Cole says and leans in closer, taking me by surprise.

My body responds before my brain has a chance to process the sudden proximity. “To be perfectly honest, I was close to calling it all off,” I say. “I just kept hoping he’d change.”

“A man like Terrence doesn’t change,” Cole says.

“And a man like Terrence wouldn’t know how to make a woman like you happy,” Asher adds, leaning in from my left.

I find myself under the sizzling attention of three of New York’s most handsome and most successful men, and I don’t know what to do with it. Terrence and Sheila’s jabs still echo in the back of my mind, fueling insecurities I’ve struggled with since middle school. Insecurities I thought I’d gotten over.

“I’m too fat for Terrence.” I blurt it out, holding back tears under a strained smile.

“No, Terrence’s an idiot. And Sheila’s his mother, so don’t expect her to be any better,” Toby replies. “You’re a beautiful and successful woman, Willow. Don’t ever let those parasites make you feel like you deserve less.”

Cole’s gaze drops to my cleavage, hunger darkening his eyes. “You’re all woman, Willow, from top to bottom. Poets wrote about bodies like yours. Painters were inspired by your curves. And your character just makes you the total package.”

“I am flattered. Thank you…” I giggle softly.

“I’m not looking to flatter you,” he says, getting even closer.

I hold my breath. His lips are mere inches away. His eyes drill holes into my very soul. I should push away, I should move, I should do something, but… I don’t think I want to. I think I like this, perhaps more than I should. I’m a free woman now. And the heat spreading through my core feels natural. It’s filling a void that Terrence could never even touch.

“Like I said, we meant it,” he adds. “You’ll be seeing more of us, Willow, not less.”

“Wait, you really were serious,” I gasp.

Asher chuckles softly, then whispers into my ear. “As a heart attack.”

His lips brush over my earlobe, and a thousand tiny pinpricks spread across my skin. I can feel my nipples hardening, struggling against the fabric of my dress. All I can do is pray they don’t notice.

The Morgan brothers arrange for a ride back for Jamie, and I promise my best friend that I will see him first thing tomorrow at our office, over coffee and lox and cream cheese bagels—our “gossip” breakfast routine.

Cole, Asher, and Toby then escort me to their limo and have the driver take us to my apartment in Lower Manhattan before they head home. The conversation flows in the meantime, and I find myself growing more and more curious about them, about what they’re like, about where this might lead, because a quiet promise hangs in the crisp air between us as they get out of the limo to escort me to the building’s front door.

“It was a surprisingly lovely evening,” I tell the brothers as I turn around to face them at the base of the steps. “Thank you for that.”

“The only way you can thank us is if you let us take you out some time,” Cole declares, squaring his shoulders.

“Take me out…”

“On a date, Willow.”

“Okay,” I say and muster a shy smile.

“We’ll see you soon then,” he replies and kisses me right on the lips. I fail to react, his lips quick to silence me, to arouse me, to turn me inside out and to make my insides quicken with brimming desire. It’s short but intentional. It speaks volumes.

“Have a lovely evening,” Asher adds and takes over as Cole steps back with a hungry smile.

I’m about to say, “You too,” when Asher kisses me too.

Breathlessly, I welcome him, his tongue briefly playing with mine before he, too, pulls away to let Toby seal the deal.

I’m flustered and wet, my heart throbbing maniacally as I breathe in the deep notes of Toby’s cologne while his lips caress mine. I’m helpless.

“We’ll be in touch,” Toby says.

I manage to find my keys and get inside the building, my knees as soft as jelly, as I head for the elevator. Equal parts confused and aroused, I keep looking back, catching glimpses of them as they climb into the back of the limo. It’s not until I see the red taillights disappear down the street that I’m able to truly breathe again, realizing that I may have just traded a wanna-be Morgan for the real deal.

Times three.

Chapter 2

“It’s not looking good.”

Jamie’s conclusion drives the nail even deeper into the core of the problem. It’s been almost a week since the charity gala, and despite all the business cards we handed out, not one new client has popped up. In fact, the opposite seems to be happening.

“We’ve lost three clients in two days,” I mumble, going over the emails again.

Our office is small but breezy, occupying the top western corner of a building in NoHo. Jamie and I worked hard to turn it into a great workspace, considering the place was gutted down to the original brick when we first came in. Now, off-white walls and walnut furniture with white and soft gold accents welcome us every day, with framed photos of our most successful events dotting the walls.

The morning sun beams through the window behind me, but there isn’t enough light in the world to drown out the darkness taking over my mood. I worked too damn hard to lose everything now.

“The Metzlers aren’t too sure about going forward with their engagement party either,” Jamie says, checking his phone after a familiar chime. “Crap.”

“No,” I gasp, wide-eyed, as I look up at him. “What are they saying?”

Jamie, my best friend since design school, has been by my side since I first got the idea of going into event planning. I had the design mind, and he had the business know-how to make it work in an increasingly competitive market. It made sense that we should join forces. For the past two years, we’ve been designing and delivering some of the city’s most talked-about weddings and corporate events, theme parties, team-building experiences, and engagement and gender-reveal parties.

“Jacob Metzler was at the charity event last week,” Jamie says, his eyes darting across his phone screen. “And he got another offer from some boutique company from uptown, Steel Rose Inc.”

“Steel Rose Inc.,” I mutter. “That’s one of Sheila’s friends. I’ve heard that name before.”

“Yes, when the Adams people told us they didn’t need our services anymore.”

“Oh, God,” I says as I realize and run a hand through my hair. “Sheila’s behind this, isn’t she?”

“It sure sounds like it.”

“Jamie, I am so sorry.”

Jamie gives me a troubled look and takes his seat in one of the guest chairs across from my desk, straightening his dusty pink shirt and grey bow tie in the process. “What the hell are you apologizing for, honey?” he asks matter-of-factly. “It’s not your fault Sheila Madison-Morgan is a raging bitch.”

“She’s costing us business,” I reply. “With three, now possibly four, contracts down, how the hell are we supposed to cover rent this winter?”

“We’ll figure it out,” he says, giving me a soft smile. “I’m the one who’s sorry for freaking out the way I just did. Remember, Will, we started from scratch, okay? I worked my triple shifts at the Velvet Lounge to help with the bills and the office rent. You bussed tables. We made it work. We handled it.”

“But that was two years ago, Jamie. We’re supposed to be doing better.”

“We are. This is just a hiccup.”

“It’s more than a hiccup,” I grumble. “Sheila is going to great lengths to ruin me, and I don’t understand why. She got what she wanted. Terrence is dating a damn Vanderbilt. He doesn’t have to deal with fat ol’ me anymore⁠—”

“Hey!” Jamie smacks his lips at me. “Don’t you fall for that nonsense. Come on, Will. You know better than that.”

“I do… I just…” I let out a frustrated groan and lean back into my chair.

“Dominic said he can send some parties our way,” Jamie says after a long, heavy pause. “Nothing too big, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll probably have to cut back on our regular fees, but we can charge extra for the drinks on the night of each event. It should get us enough cash to move things around. We still need to pay for those ice sculptures for the Hildebrand wedding in August.”

“And the floral arrangements from Holland,” I add. “The fee they paid upfront will have to cover our office rent now that we’ve lost three clients.”

“Maybe four.”

“Thank you for reminding me,” I bitterly snap. “At least your boyfriend’s a super trouper, sending us clients.”

“If he could also put a ring on this finger,” Jamie chuckles, raising his left hand, “I’d be even happier. But I’ll take his clients for now. You’re right, he’s being awesome.”

Another email comes through, this time on the agency’s main address. It’s from Ruth Metzler, and it starts with “Sorry to inform you.” My blood pressure plummets as I take a sip of coffee, followed by a long, deep breath.

“Make that four,” I grumble.

Jamie’s eyes pop out as he jumps from his seat and comes over to my side of the desk, so he can read the email for himself. “That raggedy hag. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts, those pricks at Steel Rose Inc. gave her a discount or something. We already had the best price on the market and a much better delivery time frame.”

“I cannot let her win.”

“You won’t. We won’t,” he says. “Will, remember how hard we had it growing up the way we did.”

“I’ll never forget.”

“Right. My point is, we worked hard for this, Will. There’s no way I’m letting that bitter redheaded bitch ruin our business and our livelihood because she’s got some kind of personal grudge against you. No way.”

I offer Jamie a soft, heartfelt smile. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you saying that.”

“Together, always, through thick and thin.”

“Always.”

We bump fists just as the door opens and a courier pokes his head through. “Delivery for Miss Willow Bennett?”

“Sure, come in,” I say.

The courier comes in with a massive bouquet of roses, from which a gilded-framed note hangs by a satin bow. Jamie signs for the delivery, and I take custody of the flowers, breathing in their scent. I’m flooded with memories of my earliest childhood, before my parents passed away.

Mom had a rose garden, a small patch just outside our apartment building. It wasn’t much, but she loved it. The smell takes me back there, when life was pretty, easy, and so colorful.

“Holy smokes,” Jamie says as he admires the flowers. “Somebody means business, Willow. Who are they from?” He pauses and gasps with wonder. “Wait, don’t tell me…”

“I don’t know; hold on,” I reply and check the note. “Yep.”

“Give me that!” He snatches the note away and reads it aloud. “Dinner. Friday evening at 8 p.m. We’ll pick you up. Wear something tight.” Jamie pauses to giggle. “Signed, the Morgan brothers. Hot diggity.”

“I didn’t think they were serious,” I mutter.

But as enticed as I am by the prospect of seeing where this might lead with them, I’m also concerned by Sheila’s threat from the gala. She wanted me to stay away from the Morgans.

Jamie picks up on my frown. “Girl, what are you worried about? They’re showing intent. Isn’t that what you wanted in a guy? You’re getting it from three!”

“It is what I wanted. I just… I mean, it’s strange. One woman, three men. I get that polyamory isn’t the taboo it used to be, but still.”

“That’s not what this is about.” He sounds so confident.

I glare at him. “Oh, it isn’t? Enlighten me.”

“I saw you with them that night, Will. The chemistry was damn near palpable. And you’ve had a spring in your step since they dropped you off at home,” Jamie says with a casual shrug. “I know a woman with a fire lit when I see one. And you deserve to be treated better, to be worshipped and wanted, especially after that prick Terrence. Why not let these guys do their thing? Why not let them woo you? They’re clearly interested.”

My heart beats a little faster. Terrence and Sheila’s words cut so deep that I ended up doubting myself as a woman. All I ever wanted was to be loved, to belong. I thought Terrence was going to be the guy to do that, until he turned out to be a terrible man and an even worse fiancé.

“Sheila wouldn’t like that very much,” I say to Jamie. “And she’s done enough damage to our business for me to at least try to be cautious.”

“Oh, please. She’s not technically their mother. And since she’s already done said damage, what more could she do?”

“Remember, we’re partners in this business. I’m trying to look out for both of us,” I reply with a wry smile.

“We’ve weathered worse storms, Will. What are you going to do, let that shrew dictate the terms of your personal life? Where does it end then?”

He makes a fair point.

“All I’m saying, Will, is that you deserve freedom in your personal life. If you want to sit there and lick your wounds after Terrence, by all means, I’ll get us a tub of chocolate chip mint ice cream and give you a shoulder to cry on.”

“Funnily enough, I don’t feel like crying over him,” I confess. “It hurt a while back, when I realized Terrence would always resent me for being more successful, more dedicated⁠—”

“More hard-working.”

“Yes,” I say and sigh deeply. “I don’t think I need to lick my wounds. I just need to move on.”

“And you’ve got three of New York’s most eligible bachelors eager to seduce you.”

“It’s weird.”

“But hot. Admit it.” Jamie laughs and reaches for his coffee.

I can’t help but give him another point here. “It is hot. I’m looking to build a relationship, though. How will that work with three guys?”

“You won’t know until you try it.”

“Wow, Jamie, you’d make one hell of a devil on any woman’s shoulder.”

Jamie gives me an evil grin, wiggling his perfect eyebrows for dramatic effect. “Honey, I will pluck the wings off the angel on your other shoulder with tweezers, if that’s what it takes to see you happy.” He pauses and leans forward. “Go on. Send them a text. Let them know the date is on. You know it’ll piss Terrence off the most. Forget Sheila. Stick it to that bastard! He deserves it.”

I nod and take my phone out. With trembling fingers, I let my heart do the talking for me.

Whoosh.

The message is sent.

A couple of days go by, and Jamie and I find ourselves sighing with relief when the rest of our current clients confirm their contracts and send through some of their required payments. It’s enough to keep us afloat for the next couple of weeks, at least, but it’s not enough to get us through the whole winter. We should’ve had at least a couple of Christmas parties booked by now, but aside from Jamie’s club buddies, with their Christmas-themed raves, there’s nothing on the horizon.

Not yet, I keep telling myself.

“Nervous about the date?” Jamie asks.

He’s been on his laptop on the other side of my desk for the past half hour, going over contract and event details, but I’ve felt his eyes on me the whole time. Work is the last thing on his mind now that I have three beaus interested in making my acquaintance.

“Get out of my head,” I jokingly snap. “I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”

“They’ve been texting, though.”

“How would you know?”

“Your face lights up when the phone pings, and I know business doesn’t put that pink blush in your cheeks.”

That’s the trouble with having a ridiculously observant bestie. He sees everything. Nothing escapes Jamie’s eagle eye. “They set up a group chat for the four of us,” I admit with a tiny smile. “They do know how to communicate; I’ll give them that.”

“Well, at least you’ve got that going on. I’m still going over the accounts, and I have to say, I’m not sure we’ll be able to cover December or January with what we’ve got on the roster so far.” Jamie exhales sharply. “February might bring us some spring weddings, but I was hoping we’d get some events for Valentine’s Day, at least.”

“The requests usually come in around early December, don’t they?”

“Unless they’re last-minute psychos, but given our pricing, we’ve always been able to deter those.”

“We might have to drop the prices then and deal with their lot, too, if push comes to shove.” Even so, I’m not getting my hopes up.

“God, I just wish I could understand why Sheila hates me so much,” I say after a long, heavy pause. “I mean, Terrence dumped me. You should’ve seen her at the gala. She enjoyed watching me squirm as she and Terrence and that airhead, Katrina, humiliated me in public. I don’t get it.”

Jamie gives me a curious look. “You don’t know that much about her, do you?”

“I didn’t think I needed to do opposition research on my future mother-in-law,” I say.

“Well, I browsed a little. And there are some murky things in her history. First, where she came from. Sheila Madison is a Hoboken girl, okay? There were some ladies from her past who painted a not-so-flattering picture of her teenage years, but their accounts were buried in old tabloids.

“She married James Madison when she was just nineteen, which is when she had Terrence. The Madison dude was rich, not Morgan rich, but rich enough. A few years later, he kicked the bucket and left her with a small fortune,” Jamie adds. “She put Terrence through school and squandered the rest of that money on lavish parties, expensive shoes, and all the trappings.”

“She married into the Morgan family maybe five or six years ago, right?”

“I think so, yes.”

“So she was single for a long time. A single mother,” I say, trying to empathize with a woman who has clearly declared herself my archnemesis, for some reason.

Jamie rolls his eyes at me. “Don’t be ridiculous. The woman had nannies and sitters galore. My point is, the woman married for wealth. She has no acquired success of her own, then you show up, having built your business and success from the ground up. Of course, it pissed the hag off. She’s jealous.”

“Jealous?” I give him a doubtful look.

“Why else would she still come after you? You’re out of her precious angel’s life, aren’t you?”

“It’s just… it’s mind-boggling. So gratuitous. I wish she’d just leave me alone.”

Jamie shakes his head slowly. “I don’t know, Will. I don’t think she’s the kind of person who simply gets tired of hurting people.”

“Where does that leave me then?”

“I’d say you could benefit from the Morgan brothers’ protection,” he says.

“Whoa, hold on. I haven’t even gone on a first date with them, and you’re already suggesting tactical alliances?” I snort my disbelief. “Jamie, come on, let’s get our head in the game and focus on getting our business through the winter.”

We both hear the familiar ping of an incoming email on my laptop. I glance at the screen and see the new message. My breath falters as I read the sender’s name.

“Sharon Bates,” I mumble. “I know her. She’s one of the business liaisons for the Morgan family. She handles personal issues for them, separate from the financial firms and their legal teams.”

“Oh? What does it say?”

I open the email and find myself shocked as I read it word by word. I wonder if this is some kind of twisted dream. I might have to pinch myself.

“Will?” Jamie insists, then gets up and comes around my desk to read the email for himself. “An event… wait, what?”

“Precisely my thoughts.”

“A wedding is being planned for someone in the Morgan family, and they’re interested in our services.” Jamie goes over the inquiry again. “They want the whole planning package, including chaplain and catering services… press, and so on. And they want to meet with us at the Morgan estate… Whaaaat?”

“It’s in the Hamptons, close to the yacht harbor, to be specific. Terrence showed me photos.”

Jamie gives me a sneer. “He never took you there, did he?”

“Nope.”

“But he proposed. What. A. Prick.”

“Jamie! What do we do about this?” I ask, reiterating the weight and implications of the Morgan family’s inquiry. “This is obviously about Terrence and Katrina’s wedding. I saw their damn engagement announcement in the paper two days ago. He couldn’t even wait a damn week after he’d dumped me.”

Jamie stands up, blinking in rapid succession and equally baffled. “What kind of game is Sheila playing? First, she steals clients away to give them to her friend’s agency. And now, she wants us to handle Terrence’s wedding? What the hell is going on?”

The cost of what they have in mind is bound to take them into six-figure territory. This wedding alone will get us through the winter, which is precisely our biggest priority right now. We can’t afford to turn them down.

But what is the endgame?

Chapter 3

To think I never set foot in the Morgans’ Hamptons estate, even though I was engaged to Terrence, should have been yet another red flag in our relationship.

“It’s humongous,” Jamie says as we get out of my car.

We park next to a string of silver and sleek black Lexus sedans. At the base of the palatial mansion’s front steps, an artesian fountain displays its marble angels that pour water into a small pond surrounded by a cobblestone pathway. At the top of the stairs, a man in a dark grey butler’s uniform awaits.

“They’ve had this place for generations,” I tell Jamie. “I’m pretty sure they built it from the ground up, somewhere around the turn of the twentieth century.”

“Well, the Morgans have been rich and around since long before that,” he says. “They probably wanted a summer palace, like the European royals or something.”

“It does make you wonder.”

“Wonder what?” Jamie asks.

“What they’re like. I mean, the brothers are dashing, charming, and handsome, but what are they really like?” I wonder aloud. “Are they as entitled as Terrence, just better at smooth talking?”

Jamie leans in. “I don’t think you should use a loser like Terrence as a blueprint for the Morgan brothers. Just remember that he’s not really⁠—”

“A Morgan,” I say, finishing his sentence for him. “You’re right.”

Some skepticism is healthy, but I’m probably delving into overly cautious territory, and the chemistry I felt with Cole, Asher, and Toby hit differently. It was deeper, more intense, and more intentional than anything else.

“Good morning and welcome,” the butler says, greeting us as we reach the top of the stairs. “My name is Ian. I hope you had a nice ride out.”

“There was not as much traffic as we expected,” I reply with a smile. “Then again, the cold weather is upon us. I assume most of the Hamptonites have already gone back to the city to prepare for the holidays.”

“They have. The Morgan family will be moving their operations to the upstate winter estate, as well, by the end of next week,” he says. “Now, if you would both follow me inside.”

We do, quiet and observant as we walk through the massive double doors. The mansion’s exterior is painted white with dark blue window frames, and the wood bears a dark, almost chocolatey grain. It’s a dramatic and imposing contrast, reminiscent of the nineteenth-century nautical theme so many of America’s bourgeoisie chose for their summer homes.

The interior is exquisite and enormous, with tall ceilings and lacquered parquet floors. The windows are equally tall, providing a constant source of abundant light, while the textiles are light in color. Paintings of nautical scenes and family portraits adorn the walls, along with vintage photographs of some of the Morgan men’s most treasured yachts.

We’re taken to the tearoom, and as soon as we walk through the French doors, my stomach begins to violently churn.

Sheila stands up from one of the embroidered chairs while steam rises from a porcelain pot on the table next to her. “Glad to see you both made it,” she says, looking elegant and composed in her white silk shirt and black pencil skirt, heels clicking on the marble floor. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Yet here we are,” I reply, my tone clipped and my blood close to a boiling point, but Jamie takes the lead, like we agreed.

“Thank you for the invitation,” he says.

We cautiously approach as the butler steps back. I steal a glance at the man in his late fifties and notice the discomfort deeply etched into his face. He doesn’t like Sheila that much either. At least I’m not alone in this sentiment.

“I had tea prepared. Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable,” Sheila replies, motioning toward the other seats around the table.

I sink into one, while Jamie takes the other next to mine, and Sheila returns to hers, proceeding to pour some freshly brewed, rose-colored tea into one of the dainty cups—part of an elegant set prepared for this occasion. It smells nice, but her perfume is so intense and far too sweet, quickly overpowering my senses.

“I had Ian supply us with an artificial sweetener,” she says, looking at me with a flat smile. “Assuming you’re watching your calories.”

And there it is. Another jab. But I need the money, and I need this project, so I clamp down on my pride and flash a cool grin. “No, I’m good with regular sugar, thank you,” I reply and pour a cup of my own, adding two teaspoons of brown sugar for good measure.

The muted horror in her eyes gives me tremendous satisfaction.

“Now I understand you’re organizing a wedding,” Jamie says with a polite nod, as he takes out his iPad for meeting notes. “Who’s the happy couple?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Sheila shoots back, smiling from ear to ear. “Terrence and Katrina are eager to tie the knot just before Christmas, so⁠—”

“Just before Christmas?” I blurt out, almost choking on my tea. “That’s less than four weeks away. I assume you want a big, lavish wedding.”

“Exactly,” she says, as if her request is completely reasonable. “Are you not up to the task?”

“Sheila, you know we’re up to the task. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had your people reach out to us. But I want to know… why us?”

I give Jamie an apologetic nod. He was supposed to handle the discussion, but she’s just too much for my tired nerves.

“Because while I may dislike you as a person, I do appreciate the skill with which you deliver your services,” Sheila says. “I’ve only heard good things from your previous clients.”

“Is that why you poached four of our existing clients and sent them off to your friend’s agency?” I ask sharply.

She looks surprised, but I’m not buying it. “I don’t take kindly to unfounded accusations.”

“Then you should enlist your friend’s agency to handle this event,” I reply.

It’s a gamble, I know. And judging by the not-so-subtle ankle kick Jamie just gave me as his eyes throw daggers at my face, he knows it too. Yet I find comfort and certainty in the fact that Sheila asked us to come over—fully aware that I’m not the type to bend over so easily. She must’ve seen this coming.

“They’re too busy with their new clients to give us the attention and the dedication we require,” she states, sounding way too satisfied for my own ego. I walked right into this one, didn’t I? “So, are you capable of handling this?”

“You want a wedding before Christmas,” Jamie says. “Four weeks. It means we’ll need to mail the invitations out before the end of next week. It’s a stretch, but doable.”

“Good. Glad to hear that.”

“Do you have a location in mind?” he asks.

“Our winter estate in Thornwood,” Sheila says. “The ballroom holds up to a thousand guests.”

A troubled look passes between Jamie and me. “How many guests will you expect?”

“About a thousand.”

My stomach drops. That’s a large number for a short window of time. “It’ll be close to Christmas, and there’s bound to be heavy snowfall by the second week of December, which might make the Thornwood inaccessible.”

“Oh, they’ll come,” she replies with another confident grin. “It will be the event of the year, and we insist on a luxurious winter theme.”

“Design and visual-wise, what color scheme are you considering?” Jamie tries so hard to be professional while all I want to do is throw this cup filled with hot tea at the woman’s face. “Perhaps white and silver?”

“Precisely,” she says. “With some pale blue or a metallic, deeper blue for accents. Or white and a smidge of gold? Some cream on the side? What would you suggest?”

Jamie thinks about it for a moment. “White, silver, and blue is as distinguished as they come. The Romanoff family’s winter balls had that color scheme, and they smashed it every time.”

“Oh, yes, I remember seeing photos. So bejeweled.” Sheila laughs lightly.

The tearoom door opens. Terrence and Katrina walk in—hand in hand and dressed like an uppity J Crew catalogue couple that’s about to go sailing together.

“Hope we’re not late,” Terrence says as the two of them join us. “We’re just popping by to say hello. Mom will handle all the wedding details.”

“Without any input from the bride?” I quickly pick up on the unspoken tension as I give Katrina a wry smile.

“Sheila says I only have to worry about my dress and makeup. She’s got everything else covered,” Katrina replies, trying to sound cool with this arrangement. “It saves me a lot of stress and effort. I couldn’t be more thankful.”

“I’m sure you couldn’t,” I mutter.

“Well, I’m glad we were able to get some cash flowing your way,” Terrence cuts in, looking at me. “I heard you weren’t doing so well, so Kat and I decided to work with you, despite our history.”

Our history.

Oh, now he’s just begging for a kick in the nuts. Was I so blind to this man’s charm that I really didn’t see who he truly was? Or was the fear of never being chosen simply powerful enough to blind me? Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s a lesson learned, not a mistake meant to define me.

“It’s greatly appreciated,” I reply, but the strain in my voice is impossible to hide, and it draws a dark glare from Sheila.

“I can’t wait for you to see Katrina in her bridal gown. I saw the preliminary design earlier this morning. It’ll be downright stunning,” she says. “Perfect for her slim, delicate figure.”

“I’ll need to focus on the last-minute request of the event itself,” I reply. “I hope you understand that there will be additional fees attached to the final bill, and we will need timely responses on every selection, from fabrics and theme colors to decorations and the catering menu. Not to mention the drinks, the cake… everything. It will cost you a fortune.”

“We have a fortune,” Sheila laughs. “I will spare no expense for my son’s happiness, Willow.”

Bitterness tests the back of my throat as I remember how I spent six months engaged to this man, and not once did she ever sit me down to talk to me about the actual wedding. Hell, she’s fast-tracking this, like the engagement to Katrina might expire before the new year. It makes me angry.

But Jamie’s right, and so is my business instinct. We need the money, and with the amount of additional fees we can charge for this event, we’ll have enough to brave the winter, without worrying about most of our monthly expenses.

“I hope you’re not bitter about this.” Terrence continues to run his mouth.

Sheila sighs deeply. She doesn’t seem happy about what he just said, but she stands by her son with a stern, bold smile, looking at me as if she expects me to react. In the meantime, Jamie’s shoe keeps nudging mine to the point where I might have a bruised ankle.

I’m just about to answer, when the tearoom door opens again. To my astonishment, the Morgan brothers come in.

“When Ian said you were here, I thought he was mistaken.” Cole laughs as he and his brothers join us. “You look fantastic, Willow.”

I stand up, beaming like the sun, as I greet all three. They lean in, one at a time, dropping a soft kiss on my cheek as we say hello, then shift their focus to Sheila, Terrence, and Katrina—who look like they just swallowed a keg’s worth of lemon juice.

“So, you’re really doing this, eh?” Cole asks Sheila, albeit rhetorically, by the sound of his voice. “You get an A for audacity.”

“Willow’s agency has great credentials,” Sheila replies with a careless shrug.

“What are you three doing here?” Terrence grumbles at his stepbrothers.

Asher gives him a wry smile. “We’ve been living here since before you were born, squirt. Mind the tone.”

“Gentlemen,” Sheila tries to stifle the brewing conflict.

“Are they treating you well?” Toby asks Jamie and me.

“Well enough, thank you,” I say, while Jamie stands up and puts his iPad away. “We’ll draw up the contracts and have them sent to your office by the end of the day,” I tell Sheila, “with a complete breakdown of the prices and a specific mention about the estimates. There’s no telling what the suppliers will charge for such last-minute requests, particularly so close to the winter holidays.”

“I’m fine with that, as long as my son has the wedding of his dreams in Thornwood,” Sheila says.

Cole gives her a hard frown. “What did Dad say about Thornwood?”

“He’s been under the weather. I didn’t bother him with the details,” she replies, her shoulders squared as she looks up at him.

There’s tension between them, the kind of tension that spans years and has been kept in check for far too long. They clearly can’t stand each other, but they’re also forced to share the same space. I wonder what’s going on under the surface.

“You should. He married our mother at Thornwood. That place is sacred to him. Last I remember, he was hoping for a spring wedding for Terrence and Katrina, so he’d be in better health and able to have it here,” Cole insists.

“I will not have this discussion here right now,” Sheila replies. “Take it up with James when he comes back from the clinic.”

The last thing I need right now is a crash course in Morgan family drama. I put on my bravest smile and decide to put my business above all else.

“If that is all, Jamie and I need to get going,” I cut in. “There are plenty of preparations to make if we’re to deliver Katrina and Terrence’s perfect winter wedding.”

“Oh, I love the spirit,” Sheila quips.

Terrence and Katrina seem pretty content, as well, cuddling and smiling with an almost perverted satisfaction as they look at me. I turn to Cole and gently squeeze his wrist, the touch of his skin quick to alter my senses, then give Asher and Toby a playful wink.

“And I will see the three of you on Friday for our date,” I add.

With lightning speed, the humor fades from Sheila’s and Terrence’s eyes. Katrina’s just surprised, but nowhere near as emotionally invested in my downfall—so she doesn’t have a dog in this fight.

“Date?” Terrence manages.

“I’ll be in touch with the contract shortly,” I say, shutting down the conversation.

“We’ll walk you out,” Asher says. “And yes, Friday is all set and ready to go.”

“Wonderful!”

I walk out with my head held high, fully aware that Sheila would sell her soul to the devil himself for a chance to gouge my eyes out. But she can’t do anything about this. And Terrence looks downright pitiful, standing next to his belle while I am accompanied by his three stepbrothers.

His ego must be screaming in pain.

By the time we reach the top of the front steps again, Jamie is one breath away from struggling to hold in his laughter. I hook my hand through his as we make our way down the stairs, but not before I give the Morgan brothers one more thankful smile.

“See you,” I tell them.

“Oh, God, that was just too much on so many levels,” Jamie gasps as we get in the car. I turn the heat on first, then let the engine rev till it’s purring softly. “It was savage, Will.”

“But we got what we wanted, didn’t we?”

“Plus, a side dish of sweet revenge. My lord, Terrence was transfixed. He did not see any of it coming. And Sheila. I have to give that cold-hearted shrew credit. She held it together. We’ll need to be careful, though. You need to be careful,” he says, gradually assuming a more serious tone.

I offer a sigh as I pull out of the parking space and head for the estate’s main gates. “Yes, I know. She’ll keep poking and prodding every chance she gets.”

“And we’ll keep taking her money,” Jamie says. “That’s not the problem. You do need to be careful about how she might interfere with your dating life.”

“Sheila has no control over the Morgan brothers. They made that much obvious just now.” I giggle softly. “Man, she almost choked on that bitter pill, didn’t she?”

“She might’ve had a little trouble swallowing.”

However, Jamie does raise a solid concern. Sheila is playing a game here—and chances are, it’s the kind of game that will burn me, if I’m not careful. We need to make this wedding happen at any cost, and we need to make it happen at the standard we always promise to deliver.

High end. Perfect. Sublime.

Without any compromise. Without complaints. Without any reason for Sheila to turn around and claim we botched Terrence and Katrina’s wedding in any way, shape, or form. Otherwise, she’ll use my status as Terrence’s ex-fiancé to trash me and our agency. She will bury us, if I give her the chance.

I won’t.

Chapter 4

 

I’ve been so preoccupied with keeping our business afloat that I’ve not had time to think about this very moment. Wrapped in a simple, knee-length black dress with matching pumps, I walk out of my apartment building with a shivering confidence.

Cole, Toby, and Asher step out of the silver Lexus to greet me.

“Look at you, ready to steal the show,” Cole says, half smiling as he looks at me.

I tilt my head back to lose myself in the greenish blue pools of his eyes. “You give me far too much credit, sir.”

“You should give yourself more,” he says.

The way he says it sends playful chills down my spine. Toby opens the passenger door for me.

“Let’s get you out of this cold.”

“Where are we going, exactly?” I ask as I get in.

I ride shotgun while Cole drives, and his brothers occupy the backseat with their massive frames—the three of them clad in shades of grey and dark blue to match their piercing gazes and the silver specks in their hair.

“Dinner and a show,” Cole says, hands firmly gripping the wheel as he takes us on a ride across Midtown.

“What show?”

“You’ll see.”

“Playing your cards close to the vest,” I say and giggle nervously.

Asher leans forward, and I turn my head to look at him, instantly caught in the dark blue of his eyes. “It’s the element of surprise, Willow. But we’re certain you’ll enjoy it.”

“How are you certain? You don’t even know me that well.”

Toby laughs lightly. “Let’s just say you’re a bit of an open book.”

As soon as we pull up outside the cabaret theater, I understand precisely what they mean. I know this place. My interest is piqued.

“How’d you know?”

The Morgan brothers flank me with bustling confidence; faint smiles etched across their handsome faces as they look at me.

“You’re a powerhouse, Willow,” Cole says. “A strong, young woman who built her business from the ground up. You have certain appearances you need to keep up in public, especially when you’re dealing with prissy Hamptonites and upstate New Yorkers and their fancy weddings. But deep down, there’s a sizzling core of want and need written in your eyes.”

I’m briefly mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze, by the scent of musk and jasmine coming off him in subtle waves. I’m drawn by the broadness of his shoulders beneath his navy blue jacket.

Toby whispers in my ear. “He saw your post about this place from two weeks ago on your Facebook page. Your profile is public.”

“Ah.” I burst into laughter, realizing Toby is absolutely right. My profile is public, and I do remember casually sharing a post about the cabaret and their winter program.

Cole gives me a crooked, playful smile. “They’re doing the Red Velvet Cupcakes number tonight. I figured you’d want to see that one first. Rita Von Vanderburg is headlining the show.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” I reply.

Once we’re inside, a hostess dressed in a ridiculously tight, red velvet bodycon dress welcomes us and escorts us to our table—front-row seats, mere feet away from the sprawling stage.

“Oh, wow, it’s quite something,” I mumble as I gaze around.

Our table features booth-style seating that hides us from sight. I imagine when they turn the lights down during the show we’ll have even more privacy, and I’m surprised by my dirty thoughts.

“We could kick things off with some champagne,” Cole says to the hostess as he and his brothers take their seats.

He sits close enough to me to keep me intoxicated with his fine cologne while Asher flanks my left side. Toby sits across the table, but his long legs still make it easy for our knees to discretely touch.

“I agree,” I say with a slight nod.

Five minutes later, a waitress in tight black velvet brings the champagne over, along with four glasses, then leaves us with the menus. “The show starts in about an hour, so you have plenty of time to order whatever you desire.”

“Yes, eating while Rita Von Vanderburg takes a dip in a giant champagne glass,” Toby chuckles softly. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

By the time the first course of our dinner arrives, the conversation is sparkling and sprinkled with heavy laughter as we talk about what it was like for me to date their stepbrother. I wasn’t that open about it at first but seeing the ease with which they talk smack about Terrence, I relax and recount the experience.

“He never gave me flowers,” I say at one point. “Oh, gosh… I shouldn’t be talking like this. We’re supposed to be on a date.”

“We are on a date. We can talk about whatever we want,” Asher says. “We saw very little of you two when you were engaged. We’re trying to understand precisely how much of a loser he is. Fumbling a woman like you is unconscionable.”

“Asher, you’re too kind. I’m far from perfect.”

“No one is perfect. But you’re hardly the kind of creature a man in his right mind would toss aside, certainly not in that manner,” he replies with a deep frown. “Truth be told, when our father married Sheila, we weren’t too happy, mainly because her kid was already troublesome. From prep school to college, plenty of donation checks were signed and slipped to the deans to keep that idiot enrolled. When he first announced that you two were dating, we were genuinely intrigued.”

“Terrence isn’t the kind of man who can attract a good woman,” Toby agrees. “It was a mystery.”

“How did you know what kind of woman I was?” I ask, genuinely curious. They seem to know a lot more about me than I do about them.

Cole gives me a cool smile. “Remember, your social media profiles are public.”

“But that just skims the surface; it’s barely a façade,” I reply.

“Not with you. You’re genuine. I could tell from what you post on a daily basis: things that interest you, inspire you: design, theater, great music, and various social and political issues that most women in their twenties know or care little to nothing about. It doesn’t take a forensic psychologist to recognize your depth, Willow. Give yourself a little more credit.”

For a moment, I’m stunned, imagining Cole late at night, scrolling through my social media, discovering me, studying me, showing interest in what gets my mind ticking.

It turns me on.

“Refill?” I ask Asher, and he gladly obliges before he orders a second bottle.

The champagne flows freely, the floral spirit working its way through my system and gradually loosening every knot in my body, including the ones in my tongue.

“Yeah, so Terrence was just not what I expected at first. I kept thinking, hoping it would get better. There were so many things I overlooked because his attention flattered me for some reason, until I realized that marrying him would’ve held me back.”

“But he beat you to the punch by calling it off,” Cole sighs. “And he chose to do it publicly to humiliate you.”

“You stepped in, though. I did not see that coming.”

“We had no other choice. Not with you, Willow. You’re too special to let someone like Terrence mistreat you in any way,” he says.

I can’t help but blush as I finish the last of my Italian-style bruschetta bites. “Well, I’ll admit, I didn’t mind getting asked out by three of New York’s finest,” I tell them. “Even now, I consider myself fortunate to be in your company. I’m pretty sure I bagged the handsomest guys in this theater.”

“And we’re just getting started,” Toby says, stretching his legs underneath the table until his rock-hard calves brush against mine. I can feel them through the fabric of his slacks, and the sensation causes a hum deep within my core as our gazes lock.

I feel his brothers’ eyes on us, too. I can almost hear it. The whispered promise of what’s to come.

“You said your parents died when you were little,” Cole says, lowering his voice as the lights go off and the waitress clears our table, leaving only the drinks and the dessert menus to check during intermission. “I’m sorry you had to grow up without them. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“At least I didn’t get lost in the foster system,” I reply with a shrug. “My aunt Mary took me in, raised me like her daughter. She never wanted kids, being so focused on her career⁠—”

“Mary Woodrow, right, the marketing mogul?” Toby raises an appreciative eyebrow. “I took one of her seminars at Hudson University a few years back, just to brush up on the basics for my up-and-coming bike shop. The woman knows her stuff.”

“Oh, she spearheaded several major campaigns for some huge clients, Meta and Amazon among them,” I say with a broad smile. “But she still made time for me and she made sure I was well taken care of while she was away, too. It got lonely sometimes, I’ll admit, but Mary loved me unconditionally. She still does.”

“There’s plenty to love in a woman like you. And given the way you’ve handled yourself in a very competitive business environment, I’m pretty sure she’s proud of you and then some,” Asher states.

“She is,” I say. “We talk once in a while and I bring her up to speed. She books dinner for us at the Ritz whenever she’s in town. I haven’t told her about the loss of clients since the charity gala, though.”

Asher shakes his head slowly. “All we can do is apologize on Sheila’s behalf. She can be a nightmare sometime, a gratuitous, fucking nightmare.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” I say, my brow furrowing slightly. “Here’s to hoping she’ll get over it sooner rather than later, especially now that I’m organizing Terrence and Katrina’s wedding.” I chuckle. “It’s not what I had on my bingo card for this Christmas, I’ll say that much.”

Cole narrows his eyes, staring at his glass for a moment. “I do wonder what her endgame is. With hiring you, that is. There is an endgame, for sure.”

“Dominance, perhaps? Her way to prove she has the power to make or break me,” I surmise with a casual shrug. “I’ll rise to the challenge, but I hope Terrence or Katrina won’t be the stuff of nightmares for the next few weeks.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Toby says with unshakable confidence. “Our little stepbrother knows not to piss us off.”

“Let me guess. You three keep him in line.”

“We do a lot more when needed,” Toby admits.

When Rita takes the stage, we’re two bottles of champagne in and infinitely more relaxed than when we started. I’ve learned enough about Cole, Asher, and Toby to respect them even more—not just for swooping in the way they did, but for treating me so well and making me feel like I’m the only girl in the world.

Rita soon captures our attention with her sensual choreography and dazzling accessories. Diamonds and rubies glisten across the corset, her hips swaying to the smooth music, her long legs taut with every stretch, as her stilettos cast a reflection over the luscious, black floor.

I love her style, her confidence.

In the nineties, she would’ve been called fat. Today, she’s a starlet of vaudeville, performing at high-end venues that are almost always sold out, and she even launched a lingerie line that has spiced up its share of marriages over the past few years.

Her moves hypnotize me, and when I glance around me to see if the Morgan brothers are equally enticed, I find them mostly looking at me. Watching. Admiring. Half smiles on their faces.

“The only difference between you and Rita is that she fully embraced her figure,” Cole says, his lips brushing against my ear.

The effect is immediate; a fire ignites in my chest as I soften in his close proximity. “I was caught off guard,” I say. “Otherwise, I never would’ve allowed Terrence to treat me that way.”

“I know, but that’s over. What matters is what you do now, in this moment,” he replies as the music floats through the air. “We’ve made our intentions clear, Willow. How will you respond?”

He kisses the side of my neck, and I moan softly, an unexpected reaction, one I cannot control, as his fingers trail up my thigh.

We’re in public; there are people everywhere around us. But no one is watching, and the high sides of the booth add an extra layer of intimacy. It’s so naughty, so delicious, to even think about how far we could take this.

“I’ve shown my share of restraint and composure. They didn’t help me much,” I say to him. “Might as well see where this takes us.”

Cole kisses me, deeply, hungrily, our tongues clash, as unbridled passion sizzles between us. Asher’s hand moves up my left thigh, and he trails kisses along the side of my bare neck.

When I turn my head to meet him, he lets out a heavy sigh out. “You’re going to drive us wild, Willow. I can tell.”

“How? How can you tell?”

Under the table, I feel Toby lift my leg and remove my stiletto shoe, gently but purposely massaging my foot. His touch sends chills up my spine, causing liquid heat to pool between my legs as I look at him. The ravenous hunger in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.

The chemistry isn’t just palpable; It’s explosive and is eager to consume.

The further we go, the more I allow, and the harder it is for me to remember who I was when we first met, when I said yes to this date, when I chose to move forward rather than focus on being wounded.

“Because your body speaks to us in a language we understand,” Asher says.

His hand slips between my legs. His fingers find my lace panties already soaked while a tightness grows in my lower half, a desperate need to be filled.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as his fingers press against my clit, finding it swollen, even through the soft fabric.

Cole cups my cheek and pulls me into another kiss. “You can’t lie to us, Willow.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You smell sweet, like honey and orange blossoms,” Asher whispers and lets his tongue trail invisible, slick patterns all the way down to my collarbone.

I tilt my head back and let Cole’s tongue expertly tangle me into a heated frenzy, while Toby leans slightly forward so his hands can massage my calf and reach for that soft, inner part of my knee. I’m clenching tighter and tighter, begging for release, when all three men pause and move back.

“No…” I manage. “Why’d you stop?”

My heart almost collapses. Asher’s fingers needed to finish what they started.

“We’ll have dessert first,” Toby says. “And then we’ll move this to my place, if you’re agreeable.”

“If I’m agreeable…”

“You decide, Willow. It’s all up to you,” Cole says.

Toby’s penthouse in Upper Manhattan is massive. Sprawling over one corner of the twentieth floor, it has a gorgeous view of the city at night, all skyscrapers and twinkling lights. A solitary moon watches from above while the shadows of Central Park deepen in the darkness.

I stand before the floor-to-ceiling windows, buzzed from the champagne, as I let my bare feet grow accustomed to the cool, hardwood floor. It feels nice after an entire evening wearing high heels.

“You have a beautiful view,” I tell Toby.

He sits on the sofa, glass of whiskey in his hand and his deep grey shirt unbuttoned, giving me a look at his rippling chest covered in intricate tattoos. I finally see the continuation of the black lines I saw earlier peeking above the collar.

Asher sits in a chair across from him, nursing a glass of his own and looking equally comfortable. Both watch me with silent hunger, fires blazing in their eyes, as Cole approaches me.

“You’re the only view I need,” he says.

His lips crash into mine, and everything we’ve kept bottled up until now comes flowing, fizzing, and spreading through my veins like wildfire. His hands roam over my body, touching, squeezing, pinching, and memorizing every inch of me, as he unzips the back of my dress and peels it off.

I steal glances at Asher and Toby. They’re loving the view, sipping their whiskey. I see the thickening bulges in their pants, and I realize they’re hard as rocks as I’m reduced to wearing nothing but my matching lace bra and panties—the latter drenched with arousal.

“I never imagined I’d experience something like this,” I whisper.

“We’ll go slow. Nobody’s rushing us. We’ve got all the time in the world,” Cole replies, kissing me feverishly as I help him out of his shirt.

I let my hands explore the chiseled lines of his torso, silver and black hairs tickling my fingertips as he removes his pants, and they fall to the floor. My body aches for more, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He deepens the kiss, his breathing heavy, as he removes my bra, releasing my breasts, cupping and squeezing them.

His groan sounds in my ear as his hips tilt forward. His gargantuan erection nestles against my belly as I brace myself for what will inevitably come next. With a shy tremor, I reach down and try to wrap my hand around his cock. He’s so hard and thick, I can barely grasp it.

“Come here,” Toby says, his voice low, almost a rumble.

Cole gently nudges me toward the sofa, then hooks his fingers through the satin lace of my panties and pulls them down. They drop to the floor, and I neatly step out of them. Then I’m somehow gently shoved backward, until I’m sitting on the sofa.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan harshly as Cole kneels in front of me and takes my nipple in his mouth.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Willow,” Asher says as he removes his underwear, and I see his erection spring free. He strokes himself, enjoying this show, and it turns me on to the point where I feel that I might lose my mind. “Every inch of you needs to be spoiled.”

“Don’t stop,” I beg Cole as he suckles my right nipple, then moves on to the left, his hands sliding downward. He finds my pussy, hot and slick, and begging for his attention.

He pauses to look at me, embers burning like blue alchemist fires in his eyes. “You were meant for this,” he says, then kisses me again while his fingers slip between my wet folds.

“Right there,” I manage, his thumb circling my clit while his index and middle finger probe my entrance.

I’m driven out of my mind. I’m so hungry and obedient, I’m willing to do anything for a release. I’m on the razor’s edge, tiptoeing toward a shattering orgasm, as Cole trails kisses down my body again.

He tastes every inch of my bare skin, letting his fingers brush gently over the fine stretchmarks that frame my hips before he dives face-first into my pussy. I cry out in sweet agony when his tongue flicks over my clit. His mouth makes sweet love to my flesh, lips closing around the swollen nub. He sucks it harder and harder, his tongue pressing while his fingers enter me, test me, explore me on a deeper level.

“Let go,” Asher beckons me.

I look at him; he and Toby have their massive cocks in their hands, watching. They were nowhere this turned on during Rita’s performance, and that makes my heart swell as I understand the truth: I’m the star tonight. I’m the object of their desire.

And my total pleasure is their supreme objective.

“You taste like the best kind of addiction,” Cole growls, then finger-fucks me into oblivion. I raise my hips to meet his capable fingers as he goes deep and suckles my clit until, finally, I explode.

I come hard and gushing, panting and heaving, as I ride the wave, as the orgasm crashes through my body and mind, and I hold onto Cole’s powerful shoulders and beg him.

“I need you inside me right now.”

“Right now?” he asks, his lips, glistening with my juices, stretch into a smile.

“Right now, please.”

A split second later, he’s on top of me, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he splits me in half. I hold my breath, stunned by his sheer size—all of him deep inside me, a perfect, maddeningly marvelous fit.

Our eyes lock as Asher and Toby move around to flank me. My hands reach for them, fingers tangled in their black and silver locks, as they each take one nipple in their wet, hot mouths. Their rugged beards tickle. Their teeth nibble and send stinging sensations through my torso as Cole fucks me harder, deeper.

“Oh, God,” I manage as my breasts bounce with every thrust, and the twins keep a tight hold. They have me pinned down to the sofa, while Cole pumps me full of him.

Every inch, thick and hard, filling me.

Stretching me.

Sending me into the deepest ocean of pure ecstasy. Cole grunts as he watches me unravel before him, as he pounds into me, harder and deeper and faster, until the edges of reality blur into darkness.

I hold onto his brothers, a thousand intricate sensations bursting through me at once, as Cole smiles and goes even harder.

“You were made for us, Willow, every inch of you,” he says.

His breathing becomes ragged, his brow furrowed. I can feel him swelling even thicker inside me. I cry out, shuddering and quivering, a second orgasm dismantling me as he stiffens and spills deep into me.

His brothers lie back while caressing my body. Their hands always moving. Fingers always touching.

“This was just a taste,” Cole reiterates.

“I want the whole deal,” I tell him.

He smiles. We kiss, softly, slowly, glowing, with our bodies glued to each other. The air grows hot and thick around us as I take deep breaths and settle into my new reality. The Morgan brothers want me.

And I want all three of them.

Chapter 5

I’m back at the office on Monday morning, working hard not to let the memory of Friday night distract me from everything I need to get done before the day is over. It’s quite the mission, I’ll admit, considering I’d spent most of the night letting Cole take me in every possible way while his brothers watched and occasionally intervened to give me another orgasm.

It was decadent. It was wonderful. And I’m still so deliciously sore, I can barely sit still or stop grinning like the beast they turned me into.

“Will?” Jamie’s voice breaks through my haze.

“Crap, sorry,” I reply, shifting my focus back to the task at hand, the to-do list for Terrence and Katrina’s wedding. Terrence feels so far away to me now, barely a memory, somebody I used to know, definitely not the man I was going to marry. “Where were we?”

“We were going over the planning and preparation stages,” Jamie says. “At least, that’s where I was. I don’t know where you were, though. You must still be stuck in Friday night.”

I pause and lean back in my chair, trying hard not to smile.

Jamie laughs. “I knew it. You four hit it off and then some, didn’t you?”

“And then some,” I sheepishly admit.

“I was waiting for you to say something. Please note that I didn’t badger you in any way.”

“Oh, it’s definitely noted,” I reply. “I’m still wrapping my head around it, truth be told. The Morgan brothers… They’re unique. I mean, handsome features and fortunes aside, they’re so attentive, so gentlemanly, so courteous and charming, funny, and at the same time, so dirty-minded and decadent. I had a hard time keeping up.”

Jamie gives me a broad smile. “Yet here you sit.”

“Here I sit, looking forward to more,” I admit. “They’re intense, all-consuming. When I’m with them, you could ask me about Terrence, and I’d probably need a minute to remember who that was.”

“Of course, there’s no comparison. Terrence is a prick, darling. The Morgan men, well, the whole city knows they’re M-E-N,” Jamie says and laughs.

I smile, once again remembering Friday before shaking my head to clear it. “But we have work to do, you’re right. I’ll try to stay on task, I promise.”

Jamie points at a checkmark on the list. “Relax. The contracts are signed, and the caterer options and supplier lists are approved by her royal bitchiness.” I snicker at his nickname for Sheila. “I was on the phone all weekend with them, and we should be getting some menu proposals via email before the end of business today.”

“What about the bar and the cocktail menus?”

“Also pending. I reached out to The Mixologist and Studio Framboise for this. They’re two of Terrence and Katrina’s favorite cocktail bars, apparently. We’re negotiating the mixologists’ fees and an approved list of drinks, and other supplies they need. They’ll probably do a crystal winter theme, so champagne, ice sculptures, and all that fancy crap.”

“The Thornwood Estate’s ballroom fits about a thousand people, according to Sheila,” I say, going over the next item on our list. “We need to do a site visit, get some measurements, and all that. We should bring Steve with us.”

“Steve’s got his hands full with the Nutcracker on Broadway this winter,” Jamie sighs. He sounds disappointed, and I am, too.

“Damn. Steve was our go-to guy on decorations.”

“He’s not our only go-to guy. I left a message for Karl. Remember him?”

“He helped us with the Halloween-themed wedding for that Connecticut couple,” I say. “I remember him. He was good, He delivered on time, he didn’t skimp on the materials, and he didn’t cost us a fortune either. Great call, Jamie.”

“Here’s hoping he’ll reach out by the end of the day, otherwise⁠—”

“Otherwise, I’ll talk to Sally over at the New York Ballet Company. They had a brilliant production designer who worked with them last season, a freelancer. He might be available. Either way, we need production design checked off the list.”

Jamie nods and makes a couple of notes next to that particular item, then moves on to the next. The further down the list we go, the more we realize we still have to get done. However, with a miracle or two, we might be able to pull it off.

But I’ve yet to spot any miracles on the horizons.

The hours go by, and my mind wanders back to Cole, Asher, and Toby in between phone calls and last-minute emails to some of the city’s most highly rated florists. It’s a crazy stretch, but I think Sheila knew I’d be able to handle it on such short notice. She wouldn’t have taken the risk, if she didn’t.

I also know she’s using this opportunity to hurt me eventually. I just wish I knew what her endgame was.

My phone pings; it’s Cole.

How’s the wedding planning coming along?

Shaping up slowly but surely. On the phone and emails all day. My eyes hurt. How’s business over at Morgan Enterprises? I reply, allowing myself a smile as I notice Toby and Asher are typing messages of their own in our group chat.

As usual. Keeping the business ethos alive. We just salvaged a credit union. It’s being absorbed as one of our subsidiaries, Cole texts.

Detroit is finally picking up slack in the automotive industry, Asher says, referring to his own independent company, not under the Morgan name. We’re opening a plant there in February. I just signed the contracts.

That’s amazing! Congratulations! I reply.

I’m elbow deep in grease, Toby chimes in. Not that I envy my brothers or anything. Just felt the need to point that out.

I laugh lightly. Toby has a way of lightening any mood, and the fact that he turned his passion into a thriving business model only makes me like him more.

Who’s that Hog for? Cole asks him.

Some bigwig over at Stanley. You might know the guy, Curtis Shaw.

That idiot? What is this, a midlife crisis buy? Cole shoots back.

Call it natural selection. I’ll still cash the check, Toby replies.

I set the phone down. I’m glad I can tune into our little group chat once in a while for stress relief. We don’t always answer right away, but when we do, it’s like we’re picking up where we left off. There’s no pressure, no obligation. Terrence used to throw a fit if I didn’t respond quickly—probably because he was a professional slacker while I was busy running my business.

The more I look back, the more reasons I find to dislike him.

My phone pings again.

Tonight, my place, Cole says. The townhouse on 44th. I’ll have a driver pick you up, Willow.

What’s happening tonight? I ask, though I think I already know.

You’ll find out when you get here.

I giggle and put the phone down again, then focus on a half-written email to the New York Ballet Company. I know I’ll get a quick reply, and I hope it’ll be a positive one.

From the copy of Thornwood’s blueprint that Sheila emailed over, I noticed that the gigantic hall is oval-shaped, a recent modification, with faux -plaster walls from about twenty years ago that Mrs. Morgan requested. I’ve gone over photos of previous events that took place there, and I’ve got a pretty good idea of what we’re dealing with.

It’ll be beautiful, that much I’m sure of.

Another ping. I laugh lightly, expecting a funny line from Toby or some saucy remark from Asher, whose wonderfully dirty mind works 24/7 solely to entice me. But it’s not any of the Morgan brothers.

The number is blocked, but I open it.

Stay away from the Morgan brothers or pay the price.

I drop the phone on my desk, startling Jamie as he walks back into my office.

“Whoa,” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“Read that…” I manage and hand him the phone.

I look out the window. It seems quiet on my side of the city. Traffic flows smoothly below. People the size of ants rush left and right. Across the street, I catch glimpses of the neighboring offices. I see folks in smart shirts and dark slacks, carrying their laptops from one work station to another.

It all looks normal, but there are eyes watching me, even if I can’t see them.

“Who the hell sent this?” Jamie asks, downright outraged.

“I honestly don’t know. But someone has my personal number, and they’re using it to threaten me.”

Jamie sits on the edge of the desk; his brow furrowed with concern. “Someone who knows about you and the Morgan men.”

“We were at the cabaret show on Friday. Maybe someone saw us there. Maybe they recognized Cole, Asher, and Toby. I have no idea. It’s weird.”

“It’s also worrying. We’ve got enough to deal with. You should alert the police, Will.”

I give Jamie a confused look. “They’re not going to do anything about it. It barely qualifies as a cybercrime.”

“Tell the brothers, then.”

“No,” I reply and shake my head. “No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because we’ve got this good thing going. It’s the one good thing to come out of this whole disaster with Terrence, because we both know the wedding itself will be a nightmare, and because it’s just a text message.”

Jamie gives me a pleading look. “Now isn’t the time for you to turn into a warrior queen.”

“I’m not being a… whatever. I’m just thinking clearly. If the messages continue, if at any given moment, I feel unsafe, I will definitely tell the guys, and I will call the police. But until then, it’s just a text. It could be nothing, just some jealous chick trying to get a rise out of me.”

Doubt lingers in the back of my mind, but I stick to my guns. That message could be a fluke. I may never get another one. And if I do, I’ll do something about it. In the meantime, we’ve got bigger and richer fish to fry. Jamie nods like he sort of agrees and holds up his iPad for me to read one of the emails he got a few minutes ago.

“Fantastic. The Mixologist has agreed to handle the bar, and they also sent a preliminary menu with a winter theme. Damn, they’re fast. No wonder they’re so popular,” I conclude.

By the end of the day, we’ve got a couple more confirmations and meetings set up for the next day. The planning stage is moving along nicely, and I can only hope we’ll keep the momentum going until we deliver the dream winter wonderland wedding for my ex and his bride.

As I step out of the office building and into the dark limo Cole sent to pick me up, I instinctively look both ways.

Wondering.

Looking for those eyes.

But there’s nothing, just winter darkness, people heading home, red taillights on cars leaving the city, an me on my way to another hot date with the Morgan brothers.

Chapter 6

Thornwood Estate is fully operational during the winter season. Christmas is only a few weeks away, and Ian has decorated the mansion accordingly, with traditional-style wreaths and garlands. A giant fir tree stands in the middle of the lobby, with its classic red, gold, and green decorations, including antique baubles, Murano glass ornaments, gilded ribbons, and warm twinkling lights.

I find Sheila in the ballroom, which now feels like a cancerous growth on our beloved winter abode. Following her specific color scheme, the walls were recently painted white. I hate it. Everything Sheila touches turns ugly in my eyes.

“Cole, what brings you here?” she asks as soon as she sees me.

Her slim figure is wrapped in a burgundy velvet robe, cinched around her waist with a gold-brushed belt. Her red hair is pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and loose curls frame her bony cheeks. I can see why my father found her appealing. Once, I also saw her appeal, but now I only see the rotten character that lurks beneath the surface.

“Your behavior, in particular,” I say, stopping in the middle of the ballroom.

Above us hangs one of three gigantic Art Noveau-style chandeliers with swirling brass arms and smoked glass bulbs that my great-great-grandmother commissioned when the estate was built and loved so much. I take a second to admire it, and Sheila follows my gaze.

“Oh, those are coming down for the wedding,” she says casually, heels clicking as she walks toward me.

“No fucking way,” I bluntly reply.

“It’s already been approved. Your father signed off on it.” She savors this little victory.

I give her a hard look. “Where is he?”

“Upstairs. He’ll join us for breakfast,” she says. “He’s looking better after the recovery center. Those doctors worked a miracle, didn’t they?”

“Sheila, what you’re doing is fifty shades of dirty,” I reply. “Out of all the wedding planners in the city, you pick Willow’s. You’re sick.”

Sheila seems unfazed. “Willow could’ve turned me down.”

“She couldn’t, because you caused her to lose her other clients,” I shoot back. “Willow may not have her ears attuned to the Hamptons gossip, but I hear things. And most importantly, I know how your filthy mind works.”

“Cole, darling⁠—”

I cut her off. “Don’t call me that,” I say. “Consider this a warning.”

Sheila raises an eyebrow, defiant, as she lets her red lips curl into a smile. “A warning?”

“Yes, a warning. Stay the fuck away from Willow. Keep it strictly professional, and do not make her job harder than it needs to be. She’ll deliver your dream wedding, and then you’ll give her a rave review.”

“Or else what?” Terrence asks as he enters the ballroom.

I don’t know when he’d gotten so cocky, but I have plenty of methods to beat the sense back into him, each more painful than the next.

“Or else I’ll make you both regret ever looking at Willow,” I calmly reply. “She’s being courteous, patient, and professional. Her track record is impeccable. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure her business thrives, no matter what the two of you throw at her.”

Terrence chuckles dryly as he reaches his mother’s side. “Cole’s in love, Ma.”

“You dodged a bullet with that one,” Sheila sneers, then looks at me. “Have the three of you taken a run at her yet? Or are you still taking turns?”

“Sheila, you may be married to my father, but that doesn’t make you immune to retaliation from me or my brothers if you continue being so nasty.”

“She’s not lying,” Terrence chimes in, smiling broadly. “I mean, a woman who’s willing to take three dicks is not a woman worthy of me.”

I take a quick step toward him, making the fucker flinch. “I can beat you to a pulp before anybody stops me, asshole. Do you really want to keep testing me? I thought we sorted that out back when you were still in prep school.”

“It’s not my fault that the truth hurts,” he says.

“No, what bothers me is your audacity,” I reply, then look at Sheila. “Put a muzzle on him, if you want your precious son to make it to his wedding in one piece.”

“I’ll tell your father about these threats,” she hisses. “You’re out of control, Cole.”

“I’m just being honest,” I reply. “Isn’t that what you like? Brutal honesty? Well, here’s some brutal honesty for you, Sheila. I know what you’re doing here, and it’s not going to fly with me or my brothers.”

She puts her hands on her hips, feigning outrage while struggling to remain calm. I’m glad I can get a rise out of her. It means my words haven’t fallen on deaf ears.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asks. “Terrence and Katrina are having their wedding here. We’re changing the ballroom to match the wedding’s aesthetic. Your father agreed to everything. There’s nothing you can do about it!”

“You’re trying to nibble away more and more of what’s ours: a ballroom here, a refurbishing there, a shift in property ownership somewhere else. I know about your chat with the family lawyer, Sheila. You’re getting ready to secure your son’s legacy while advocating that Terrence be added to the will. That’s what this whole Thornwood wedding is about. You’re tugging at the old man’s heart strings.”

Sheila scoffs. “Terrence is his son. He should be in the will.”

“Terrence Madison is not my father’s son. He never will be.”

“Hey, Dad could adopt me and give me his name, if he wanted. But you and the twins keep getting in the way of that,” Terrence argues with a deep frown on his face.

“You’re goddamn right we do,” I snap. “All you’re good at is spending your monthly allowance, instead of working for a living like a man. Sheila keeps saying you dodged a bullet when you dumped Willow, but Willow is the one who dodged the bullet here. You’re a fucking parasite.”

I point a finger at Sheila before continuing. “Keep your son on a leash. I’m not going to say it again. And kiss that will goodbye. You’ll probably get something when the time comes because Dad’s an honorable man. He won’t leave you or Terrence out on the streets, but you’re not getting a single extra penny from his fortune.”

“Unfortunately, that’s not for you to decide,” Sheila calmly replies. “Mr. Bennington has already agreed to talk to your father about it, especially after the last surgery.”

“You had no business talking to the family lawyer without me or my brothers present,” I remind her.

The ballroom door opens, and my father walks in. I haven’t seen him since he returned from the recovery center. He looked rather feeble and pale then, but now, I see a smidge of color in his cheeks. His white beard is neatly trimmed, and he’s gained a pound or two, judging by how he fills out his dark green sweater.

“What’s with all the ruckus?” he grumbles.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustrated that we have to do this now. I’d hoped to catch him alone later because he can rarely be reasoned with when Sheila is around. The woman has a way of getting into his head and twisting his mind. She’s been doing it for years, every time to the detriment of our family.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, giving him a cool smile. “Glad to see you up and about.”

“You three were fighting again, weren’t you?”

Sheila rushes over to put an arm around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder as they both look at me.

“Feeling better, Dad?” Terrence asks him.

I know how disingenuous this prick is. All he wants is a big chunk of the Morgan family fortune. He never gave a shit about my dad. It’s been the root of our discord from the minute he and his mother walked into our home years ago.

“Much better, thank you, Terrence,” Dad replies. His hair has gotten thinner and whiter, but he seems stronger. The old man isn’t ready to retire from the company, let alone this life. “Cole, what’s with all the yelling?”

“You’re giving them too much leeway with the ballroom, for starters,” I say. “The chandeliers are part of this space. They’ve been up there since the estate was built. You said so yourself.”

“Maybe it’s time for a change,” he replies. “Let’s see what the ballroom looks like with the new fixtures. If we don’t like it, we could always change them back.”

It’s a shame we couldn’t change him back to being a widower again.

“Sheila spoke to Mr. Bennington without me or Toby or Asher present regarding your will,” I add. “It’s an issue.”

“It’s only an issue if I wasn’t made aware of it,” Dad says. “But I was.”

“So you’re seriously considering the amendment?”

Sheila scoffs and rolls her eyes, but her demeanor is softer in his presence. “Cole, for God’s sake. Terrence is as much a part of this family as I am. He deserves more. And he’s already expressed a desire to work for your father.”

I’m surprised and don’t bother hiding it. “You have?” I ask Terrence.

“I did. As a matter of fact, I’m starting right after the honeymoon, in mid-January,” he replies with a cocky grin.

“You have no background in the finance sector. That MBA you got was bought and paid for by your mother. You spent most of your college years drinking and partying. What the hell do you know about running a business?”

“And you were off fighting with the Marines for years before you came back to work in my company,” Dad reminds me, “while your brothers built businesses of their own. Forgive me if I’m growing more interested in making sure that my legacy, my family’s success, stays in the family.”

“Well, I’m here now, aren’t I? I’ve been here for years,” I say.

“And Terrence has room to grow and learn,” he replies while Sheila gives me a smug smile. “Cole, please. Enough with the fighting and the bickering. I’m old, I’m tired. I’m not getting any better. I don’t want to leave you arguing and going for each other’s throats when you could all be working toward the same goal. Morgan Enterprises needs every hand on deck, and we have a wedding coming up.”

“Dad, I… Deep down, you know that each of my concerns holds up,” I say, trying to reason with him. “Just talk to me; talk to Asher and Toby before you make any decisions.”

“Asher and Toby have repeatedly said they’re not interested in running the company,” Sheila chimes in. “All I suggested was a shift in the shareholding percentages to include Terrence, especially since he’ll soon start working for your father.”

“Just because Asher and Toby don’t want to run the day-to-day operations of our father’s company doesn’t mean they’re willing to relinquish their advisory or voting roles on the board,” I reply. “Know your place, Sheila.”

“Cole!” Dad snaps. “Enough. I’ll take your concerns under consideration, and I will take Sheila and Terrence’s concerns under consideration, as well. In the meantime, I understand we have a copious breakfast waiting for us in the den. Will you join us?”

I exhale sharply, my anger and pride getting the better of me, and I shake my head. “No.”

“The deeper you dig, the greater the chance that you will shake something loose and end up hurting your father more than you will ever hurt me,” Sheila says. “Come on, Cole. Have breakfast with us. Let’s try to be a family, for once.”

I know what she’s insinuating, and it only makes me despise her more. There are things best left in the past, and the fact that she’s threatening to bring them back to the surface tells me Sheila is ready for war.

What she fails to understand is that I have fought in an actual war. I have seen the battlefield. And she has no idea the kind of damage I can deliver, even if it costs me my relationship with my father.

“You three go ahead,” I say, hiding my anger under a tense smile. “Dad, I’ll be in touch. Sheila, do heed my warning about Willow. You too, Terrence. Don’t test me.”

I shake my father’s hand and walk out before the conversation veers back into unpleasant territory.

“Why did Cole warn you about Willow?” I hear him asking Sheila.

“Oh, it doesn’t even matter, honey. It’s just a misunderstanding,” she says.

My warning stands, though, and she knows it. Terrence knows it, too. Willow deserves better, and I intend to give her better, along with my brothers. A woman like her only comes around once in this lifetime, and I’ll be damned if I’ll let my stepbrother and stepmother hurt her again.

I’ll burn it all to the ground, if I have to.

Chapter 7

Thornwood looks a hell of a lot bigger than it did in the photos. None of the images did it justice. Its east and west wings stretch across the estate with Art Nouveau archways and massive, stained-glass windows. Most of the original elements were preserved and restored over the years, and I can only imagine what the gardens look like in the summer, bordered by the deep woods leading to Chappaqua.

Inside, the old and the new meet like a friendly handshake. Vintage furniture, antique textiles, precious decorative items, and legacy paintings mingle with modern lines and upholstery, contemporary equipment, and state-of-the-art lighting and heating systems, which turn the cavernous estate into a warm and welcoming winter home.

“Right this way to the ballroom,” Ian says as he escorts me across the lobby and past the gigantic Christmas tree.

One look at this thing and my heart tingles as I imagine Cole, Asher, and Toby growing up here, spending their evenings gazing up at the twinkling lights, decorating the tree with their mother and father, hanging the baubles, getting tangled in the golden-specked garlands, maybe sneaking downstairs at night to catch Santa in the act.

“Oh, wow,” I gasp as Ian pushes through the ballroom’s glass doors. “It does look beautiful in this new light.”

“I agree, though I, personally, I still prefer the original fixtures,” Ian politely admits.

I give him a smile. “I only saw them in the photos, but they were beautiful.”

“Master Cole hopes they’ll go back up after the wedding. I believe he and his brothers are actively lobbying for that.”

“I’m not surprised,” I say and chuckle lightly. “They speak so fondly of Thornwood.”

“Their mother spent her final days here,” Ian says.

That hits me like a punch in the gut. No wonder Cole and his brothers are so hung up on this place, so eager to protect it from Sheila’s design quirks for an event as ephemeral as a wedding.

“The Morgans spent their Christmas holidays here, didn’t they?” I ask, my gaze wandering across the pristine white walls.

“Every Christmas from the moment they were born. Mrs. Morgan was adamant about it, even during the harshest of winters,” Ian replies. “The estate staff spent half the summer stockpiling wood for the fireplaces. Truth be told, this is the closest one might get to the fabled winter wonderland.”

He pauses and looks around. “I understand you’re here to take photos and measurements and prepare for the incoming decorators. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“Not at this time. Thank you, Ian.”

“Then I will get out of your hair. Ring the bell in the lobby, if you need me.”

I watch Ian leave, then turn around to take in the whole space. It’s magnificent, enormous, a wedding planner’s dream. It’s a massive oval with a tall ceiling painted the same white as the walls. The decorator is supposed to bring the silver-brush molding to frame the ceiling, the wall sconces that mimic stylish icicles, the wall tapestries made of tulle and embroidered with silver threads and real Swarovski crystals, and everything else we ordered according to Sheila’s requests.

It will look stupendous; I know that for a fact, but it also breaks my heart, because an Art Nouveau–style wedding, respectful of the original ballroom’s design, would’ve been even better, even more in line with the Morgans’ historical aesthetic. Alas, Sheila’s the one in charge, so I take out my measuring tape and notebook and get to work, ignoring several text messages from my group chat with the Morgan brothers. I’ve been avoiding them since that night at Cole’s townhouse, mainly because of the threatening message.

I set the tape and notebook down at one point, itching with curiosity and concern.

I told you to stay away! The message reads.

I got it the moment I got out of the limo in front of Cole’s townhouse. It cast a shadow over my intimate evening with the brothers, and they felt me slowly pulling away by morning.

You’ll pay for this, a third message read at noon.

I saved all of them, just in case I might need them. I filed a complaint with the police department, too, but no one’s gotten back to me yet. Maybe they never will. Maybe Jamie is right, and I should tell Cole, Asher, and Toby about it. But the wedding needs my full and undivided attention.

Another message from Asher. What’s wrong? he asks. You’ve been distant over the past couple of days.

Just busy, I gather the nerve to text back. Sorry.

The ballroom door opens, and I expect to see Ian. But it’s Asher, giving me a curious glare. “Just busy?” he laughs, but I sense the tension in his voice. “I reckon we deserve a little bit more than that, Willow.”

I sigh and leave my phone on the floor next to my purse, measuring tape, and notebook, then turn to face Asher as he walks toward me.

A smile crosses his face, and I’m momentarily entranced by how good he looks in his custom-tailored navy blue suit, white shirt, and deep red tie, making his chest and shoulders look even broader. The man is large by default, and his sartorial choices often amplify that.

My stomach flutters.

“Where have you been?” Asher asks, closing the distance between us. “You’ve been pulling away from us.”

“It’s the wedding. I’m just trying to get as much done this week, so we don’t get jammed up next week. Christmas is in, what, fifteen days?”

“There’s something else, but I won’t force it out of you,” he replies. “Just know that we’re here. You can always talk to us.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” I sigh deeply. “What brings you here?”

“We stopped by to talk to our father about some family issues.”

“Ah, you mean the will amendments,” I reply. “I remember you guys mentioned something about that the other day.”

“Yes. It’s all very tedious stuff. You, however, look particularly hot in this getup,” Asher quips and comes closer, his hands eager to roam over my body.

“You’re not too bad looking yourself,” I reply, letting my hands rest on his shoulders. I feel his muscles through the layers of fabric. My fingertips tingle with the anticipation of touching his bare skin. “I like the suit, though I prefer the version of you that doesn’t wear clothes.”

“Listen to you, Miss Naughty.” Asher laughs lightly, then kisses me with the intensity of the sun.

His cologne fills my lungs, the taste of him turning me into a wet, hot mess, as I melt in his arms and surrender to him. I forget about my stalker and the threatening messages as I find safety and comfort against his hard body. I forget about the wedding and the work I’m supposed to do today, too, as Asher deepens the kiss and cements his claim on my body.

“Let’s leave the event planning stuff for later,” he says, taking a deep breath. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“What?” I manage, dazed by his kisses.

“You need to see for yourself, experience it for yourself.”

“Now I’m curious.”

He smiles and takes my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Quietly, I follow him out of the ballroom and across the lobby, then all the way through to the back of the mansion, somewhere on the north side, where beyond a double glass door, a greenhouse opens with a splendiferous view of the woods beyond.

“My brothers and I usually have this corner all to ourselves,” Asher says as he closes and locks the doors behind us.

Cole and Toby emerge from behind a massive potted shrub with long, blade-like leaves and thick flower stems. I remain still, genuinely surprised.

“Wait,” I gasp. “You’re all here?”

“We were waiting for you, Willow,” Cole says.

“You knew I’d be here, and you purposely set up your meeting with Mr. Morgan to coincide with my visit,” I say, a grin stretching across my face.

“Did you really think you’d get away from us that easily?” Toby asks, a black tee stretching shamelessly across his broad chest while the jeans hug his muscular legs in all the right places, adding pressure to my core.

“I guess I did,” I concede. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

Toby is the first to reach me. He grabs me by the back of the neck, his grip firm and unforgiving. A sharp edge is added to our dynamic, and it only makes me hotter for this man, more willing to abandon myself in his possession.

“You were wrong,” he growls. “You can’t get away from us, Willow.”

“Even if I wanted, I can’t,” I admit as he pulls me into a hungry, devastating kiss.

“Don’t run from us,” he tells me, and maybe it’s supposed to intimidate me, but all I can do is soften against his chiseled chest and purr like a kitten.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” I ask, leaning into my naughty side.

Cole moves behind me, his hands eagerly working to peel my jeans off, while Toby rids me of my sweater.

“You’re going to get on your knees, darling,” Toby commands me.

I am so eager to oblige, my mind bubbling with the opportunity ahead. They guide me to the seating area to our right, where large sofas unfurl over a plush green carpet. Potted plants and miniature trees keep us out of view of anyone, and the trees outside cast a long shadow over the greenhouse.

I let Asher take off my panties and bra before I sink down to my knees in front of them, watching as they take off their clothes.

“I’m on my knees,” I say, my hands slowly reaching up to my breasts as they get naked, gloriously hung and eager to fill me, to stretch me, to devour me. “What now?”

Cole, Asher, and Toby move closer, their thick thighs and massive cocks making my lips feel dry. I lick them as I squeeze my breasts, stunned by how turned on I am simply by being here with them.

“Open wide,” Toby says, cupping my chin.

I smile and do as I’m told, letting him slide into my mouth as I admire the ropes of muscle covered in tattoos, his pecks twitching and lips twisted into a devilish grin as I suck his cock. He tastes like heaven, and I love the ease with which he fills my mouth. A vein throbs along the shaft, pressing against my tongue.

“If this is my punishment, I think I might want to be bad more often,” I say, pulling off Toby’s cock and moving to Asher’s.

I taste him, and I’m drunk, drunk with lust and something that runs far deeper than anything I’ve ever felt. I’m safe with them, safe enough to let my innermost thoughts and most daring dreams breach my reality as I look up at Asher while Toby and Cole watch me with dark, hungry eyes.

I relax my jaw to take all of him, and tears spring to my eyes. He pulls back, and I take him in, licking and damn near swallowing him whole, over and over, until he grunts and lets Cole take over.

I wrap my hands around the base of his cock and slowly take him next, suckling and licking until the taste of him becomes embedded in my very soul.

One by one, they switch places, and I suck them over and over, eager and hungry for more, until I feel their cocks pulsating, swelling, and aching for me. Asher runs his fingers through my hair as he helps me up and nudges me toward the sofa.

“Look at me,” he says.

I look at him, drowning in the dark blue skies of his gaze, his lips parted slightly.

“Spread your legs,” he says.

Again, I do as I’m told and part my legs just as Toby gets behind me. I feel him testing my entrance, his fingers digging into my hips as he pulls me into him.

“Oh, fuck!” I cry out as he splits me in half and hold onto Asher for dear life.

Cole stays close, his fingers slipping between my legs, while Asher fondles and squeezes my breasts and feverishly pinches my nipples. All control and common sense are lost as I’m bombarded with a plethora of overwhelming sensations.

“Come for me,” Asher says.

I grip his shoulders tightly. He pinches my nipples so hard, the sting travels all the way down to my core. I cry out at the same time as Cole’s fingers ravage my clit while Toby fucks me hard from behind. I feel Toby’s hand come down to slap my ass—it’s meant as some sort of playful punishment, but all it does is unleash a thunderous orgasm.

“Oh, God, don’t stop!” I groan, my legs shaking as Toby drills into me.

Asher kisses me, savagely, ravenously, before he takes Toby’s place. Toby moves to the front, and I get to hold him next while Cole continues to work my clit, and Asher stretches and fills me beyond my wildest dreams.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Asher growls and pounds into me, harder and faster, every thrust throwing me closer and closer to yet another edge.

My mind is blank, my body surrendering to the avalanche of pleasure that engulfs me. I lock eyes with Toby as he leans in to kiss me.

Another orgasm crashes into me as Cole flicks my clit repeatedly and whispers in my ear. “Just let go, baby. Let it all go. Give yourself to us.”

“Cole, don’t… oh, God, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop!”

The newfound sensation travels through me as I push my ass back to take as much of Asher into me as I possibly can.

I throb from the inside out, gushing like a fountain when it’s Cole’s turn to fuck me. It’s wild and unbridled, shameless and ferocious, the way he claims me, the way their lips caress mine, the way their tongues play with mine, the way their hands take me beyond the confines of reality itself.

“Fuck, I think I’m going to come again,” I gasp, and Cole hooks one arm under my left knee, lifting my leg up to fuck me even deeper, even harder.

Asher and Toby stay close, their body heat seeping into mine.

My heart explodes as I glaze Cole’s cock with another climax, my liquid pleasure trickling down my thigh as he pounds into me and takes me until I feel him stiffen. He bites my shoulder and grunts like a wild beast as he fills me, the heat spreading through my core.

“My turn again,” Asher smiles as he takes over.

I hold on, my legs are weak, but the rest of my body eager to receive what they are so willing to give. Asher bends me over while his brothers hold me in place. He comes hard and deep, fondling and squeezing me with each of his final thrusts, then Toby has me kneeling on the sofa and crying out in sheer ecstasy as he, too, reaches the finish line.

My flesh feels weak, my bones made of jelly, as I linger in the afterglow, wrapped in their sweaty, hard bodies.

“I told you,” Cole whispers, then plants a soft kiss on my cheek. “You were made for us, Willow.”

“Which is why you don’t get to push us away,” Asher adds.

“I didn’t mean to, not really,” I manage, still having trouble adjusting to the physical realm while my core throbs in a frantic rhythm, the aftershock of that last orgasm still quivering through me. “It’s just…”

“You’re new at this,” Toby says, “but you’re not alone anymore.”

“I’m not?”

Cole kisses me on the lips. “No, baby. You’re ours now.”

I’m theirs.

Chapter 8

The next morning, my brothers and I are back at Thornwood—this time, for a cordial breakfast with our father. As soon as we walk in, however, something feels different in the mansion. The air itself seems to have shifted.

“What’s going on, Ian?” Cole asks as we’re welcomed into the lobby.

“Mr. Morgan hasn’t been feeling as well as we’d hoped,” Ian replies, “but he didn’t want to cancel the breakfast. He’s still trying to make it downstairs.”

My stomach tightens with concern. The old man has always been a mountain, a rock for the whole family to lean on. Learning that he’s growing feebler doesn’t sit well with me.

“I always imagined him going out in some kind of blaze of glory,” Toby mutters.

“He’s nowhere near dead yet,” I remind him, then look at Ian. “We’ll be in the breakfast room, and we’ll wait, no matter how long it takes, alright? Just let him know. He can take his time.”

Cole sighs deeply. “We could go upstairs and see him.”

“I’m afraid he’s not taking any guests in the bedroom, apart from Mrs. Madison. Pardon me, Mrs. Morgan,” Ian replies.

That brings a smile to my face, knowing Ian can stomach her even less than the three of us. He’s been with our family for two decades, since long before Sheila even came into the picture. Unlike us, Ian has the misfortune of dealing with her and her son on a daily basis.

“The breakfast room it is then,” Cole grumbles.

At least the table is set, plates and coffee and tea service ready, along with some freshly baked pastries, and the smell of eggs and bacon wafts in from the kitchen next door. My brothers and I get comfortable, helping ourselves to coffee and a few bites while we anticipate what this morning might yield.

“First things first. What are we doing with Willow?” I ask my brothers. “It’s been fun and games until now, but we’re inching closer. We need something concrete.”

Toby exhales sharply, smiling as he gazes out the window. “She’s something else. Hell, she could be the one we need. She can certainly handle the three of us.”

“She’ll have to handle our twisted family, too. Sheila and Terrence included, and that prissy Katrina on top,” Cole says. “I want her; don’t get me wrong, for more than what we already have. Toby’s right. She’s different. She’s damn near perfect. But our family…”

“We’ll figure out a way,” I tell him. “We will. Sheila’s not dumb enough to come after the three of us, and Dad’s already made his peace with our lifestyle. Terrence will have Katrina and bugger off eventually, so Sheila will just have to deal with it.”

It’s clear by now that the three of us are enthralled with Willow. There’s plenty for us to crave, want, and desire about this woman. Her curves for one thing, even though she was often told she was too big, little does she comprehend that her figure is precisely what makes her so fucking desirable. Plus, her smarts and her ambition, and that dirty little side of her that comes out when her clothes come off.

Part of me hopes Dad lives long enough to get to know her a little better. I know it would give him a measure of peace to learn that we’ve found our forever girl, assuming she’ll have us.

“I didn’t like the look on Ian’s face,” Cole says. “He’s worried about Dad.”

“I thought the recovery center helped him,” Toby replies.

I offer a slight nod. “It did, but given his old age and his blood pressure, I doubt he’ll get much better. He’ll probably have more bad days than good.”

“He’ll have to retire soon,” Cole mutters, then takes a sip of coffee, “which means he’ll be looking to his heirs. Right now, I’m the only one of the three of us with an executive position in the company.”

“Cole, we can still serve in an advisory role,” I remind him. “We made that clear during the meeting with Bennington the other day.”

“It won’t be enough, not in his mind, anyway. I think he’s seriously considering Terrence,” Cole says.

“Terrence is fucking useless,” Toby grumbles. “He can’t have anything close to a deciding vote. Hell, he shouldn’t get any kind of vote.”

“We can’t stop Dad from amending the will,” Cole says. “The best we can do is make sure Terrence and Sheila don’t get a big enough slice to call the shots. She’s fiscally irresponsible, and he’s the epitome of laziness and incompetence. They’ll drive the Morgan companies into the ground.”

Toby shakes his head slowly, then takes a bite out of a scone. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t go that far. Right now, Dad’s still kicking, and you both know he’s not relinquishing the helm anytime soon.”

“He’ll delegate,” I say and look at Cole. “You’ll need to step up.”

“That was never an issue. I already have full executive control over most of the fintech branch. I’ve got forty percent on the board in the banking sector, as well. I’ll handle whatever else comes my way.”

“And in the meantime, we need to keep Sheila and Terrence from messing with Willow,” I remind him. “I doubt your warning did much. Sheila can be persistent.”

“I’ll handle her,” Cole mutters with a furrowed brow.

Toby gives him a cold grin. “You’ve handled her before, brother. She’s a fucking menace. Maybe it’s time to air out the dirty laundry and kick her off the board altogether.”

“Are you serious?” The color drains from Cole’s face.

“It’s like ripping a Band-Aid off,” Toby insists. “The old man will be furious, but he’ll get over it once the truth sets in.”

Cole shakes his head. “I can’t do that to him. It’ll break his heart.”

Some things are best kept in the past, and this could very well be one of them. Toby means well, but Cole has a point, too. We always agreed to stick together and weather the storm, if the truth were to come out, but I certainly don’t want the truth to come to light in the first place.

Sheila prefers to let sleeping dogs lie, as well.

“It wouldn’t do anyone any good, especially if Dad can amend the will,” I tell Toby. “He could get angry enough to give Terrence what he wants just to punish Cole. It’s a risk we shouldn’t be willing to take.”

Terrence wanders in, looking like he just fell out of bed. His red hair is a mess, his shirt is unbuttoned, and he has dark shadows under his green eyes.

“I forgot the three of you were coming over,” he grumbles as he pours himself a cup of coffee. “You might as well leave. Dad isn’t coming down for breakfast most likely.”

He takes a sip of coffee, then winces from the bitter taste and adds sugar and milk for a more palatable concoction.

“Our father, you mean,” Cole says, giving him one of his signature glares.

We used to give this kid a hard time, but he always asked for it, often and brazenly. These days, he’s asking for a hell of a lot more, but civility and the legal repercussions have restrained us, and Terrence loves to take advantage of that, the weaslly prick.

“He became my dad the minute he married my mom, in case you forgot. I mean, I know it’s a hard pill to swallow, but you might as well accept the truth.”

“The truth is you’ve been a parasite your whole life, and your bullshit doesn’t fly with us,” Toby replies. “We’re going to wait here for the old man to come down. He insisted.”

Terrence shrugs and takes another sip of coffee. “I guess you want to spend as much time as you can with him before… you know…”

“Before what?” Cole asks, a vein twitching furiously along his temple.

“The inevitable occurs.”

A split second later, Cole is up and pressing his forearm into Terrence’s throat while Toby and I struggle to pull him back before he does something worse. The mug hits the floor with a loud crash, coffee splashing across the grey marble.

Heels click hurriedly from somewhere nearby, echoing louder and louder.

“Say that again, you piece of shit!” Cole snarls.

“Get off me, you jackass!”

“Cole, calm down!,” I can barely contain our younger brother when his temper takes over. Not that I’d mind Terrence getting his ass whupped, but it just isn’t the right time. With one final pull, my brother and I manage to separate Cole from Terrence just as our stepbrother’s face turns blue from the impromptu chokehold, just as Sheila storms into the breakfast room with a shocked look plastered across her filler-riddled face.

“What the hell is going on here?” she hisses and rushes to Terrence’s side. “Are you animals?”

“Your precious offspring was asking for it,” Cole says. “He seems to be under the impression that if he’s poking the bear, the bear isn’t going to bite back. I’m hoping he’s learned his lesson this time.”

“Cut it out, Cole,” Sheila replies. “You’re brothers. You can’t be fighting one another, not when your father needs you all united by his side.”

“The three of us are brothers, yes,” Cole shoots back. “I’ve got no business with Carrot Top, over there.”

“Call me that again!” Terrence makes a move to start another brawl, but Sheila’s grip on him is surprisingly tight.

“Or Little Orphan Annie, if you prefer.” Cole is relentless.

It’s hard to keep a straight face, but I can’t let this devolve into something worse. “Guys, come on. It’s early morning. The coffee is good. Dad’s trying to make his way down here. We should at least try to get along for his sake,” I say, not really believing a word coming out of my own mouth.

Sheila and Terrence take their seats at the table first. Cole remains standing, and Toby sits close to him. I sit next to Terrence and Sheila. Whether we like it or not, they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. Cole has a point about potential repercussions if the truth does come out, and that leaves us at an impasse.

“William is getting worse,” Sheila announces after a long, painfully awkward silence. “The last thing he needs right now is a skirmish between his sons.”

“His sons aren’t fighting each other, Sheila,” Toby cuts in. “We’re fighting your son. Spin this all you want, but that’s the truth.”

Out of the three of us, Toby hates her the most and has the least to lose if the truth about her were to come out. Some of my assets are tied up with the Morgan estate, and frankly, I should exercise caution until a final will is sealed by our family’s lawyer. One wrong move, and Dad might do something potentially damaging just to teach Cole and Toby a lesson. I’d get stuck in the middle, as always, so if I can avert such a crisis, I will try.

“What matters is that Dad’s health doesn’t need us adding our conflict on top. We can take it outside some other time. Right now, the old man is working hard to get himself downstairs. He should find a peaceful atmosphere when he make it down.”

“If he makes it,” Terrence grumbles.

“You’re not helping!” I snap.

Sheila gently caresses her precious prick of a son’s cheek. His neck is turning red from Cole’s headlock. “He’s right, honey. Maybe don’t antagonize your brothers. You have plenty of other, much more important things to worry about, don’t you?”

“Dad hasn’t given me much to work with at the office,” Terrence complains.

“You have to give him a reason to trust you first,” I reply.

Cole gives me a sullen look. “What are you doing?”

“Working toward peace,” I promptly reply, “unless you prefer the bickering and the flying fists. Let’s see how far that gets us.”

“Thank you, Asher, for being the voice of reason,” Sheila chimes in with a soft smile.

“I’m not doing it for you,” I retort.

Finally, the door opens, and our father walks in. He’s still in his pajamas and wrapped in a house robe, slippers dragging across the floor with each heavy step. His breath is labored, but his smile is optimistic.

“There’s my family,” he says, eager to join us.

Cole is the first to reach his side and patiently escorts him to the breakfast table. “How are you feeling, old boy?”

“I’ve had better days, son, but I sure am glad to see you.”

“You’re still allowed coffee, right?” I ask, already pouring some into a clean mug for him.

Dad gives me a wry smile. “They’ll have to pry a good Colombian roast out of my cold, dead hands.”

As soon as he’s settled in his chair, Sheila leans in to kiss his cheek, and my stomach turns.

“So happy to see you at the table,” she tells him. “It gives me hope for the future.”

“I’m sure it does,” Toby mutters.

I’d step in again, but even I can’t fight that particularly unpleasant truth. We all know Sheila doesn’t love our father. We know whom she’s still carrying a torch for, too. But Dad’s ticker is already faulty; he doesn’t need the aggravation.

“What were you all arguing about?” Dad asks as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I heard you on my way down here.”

“The wedding,” Terrence replies with a half smile as he adds eggs and bacon to his plate. “We were arguing about the guest list.”

“We have an issue with overcrowding the greenhouse,” I say. “We can’t have too many people in there. And removing all the plants to let more people in kind of kills the whole concept of a ceremony in the greenhouse, don’t you agree, Dad?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “I do, yes.”

“But Dad—” Terrence tries to object. Sheila also opens her venomous mouth to say something, but our father raises a hand to silence them both.

“Keep the ceremony small, close friends and family only. Invite as many folks as you want to the reception. There’s plenty of space in the ballroom.”

“Honey, maybe—” Sheila insists, but Dad’s growl cuts her down with lightning speed.

“The boys’ mother curated that greenhouse with much love and care,” he says. “There are rare plants in there that would suffer even a transfer to another room. You work with what is already there or have the wedding ceremony elsewhere. End of discussion.”

Even Sheila can’t overpower the memory of our mother.

Chapter 9

“You look like the Snow Queen,” I tell Katrina.

She is truly a vision in white, silver thread, and diamonds for the first and, hopefully, only fitting of her wedding dress. Francine, the designer, moves around with colored pins and clamps, pinning what needs pinning and clamping what needs clamping.

Her studio is on the Lower East Side, on the top floor of an industrial building that’s been converted into artist’s spaces. She wanted to work there because she feels connected to her roots, even though she could easily afford something posher uptown.

“Have you lost some weight since I last took your measurements, Katrina?” Francine asks her.

“I have!” Katrina beams with pride. “I want to be perfect for my wedding day.”

I’d like to tell her that she is already perfect, but there’s no talking to a woman who’s at war with her own body.

Francine rolls her eyes, adding more notes to her workbook. “You should stop, honey. Otherwise, I’ll have to keep making adjustments to your dress. It’s already a short-term project.”

“I’m only making the dress look even better,” Katrina quips as she fawns over herself in the mirror. One moment, she loves what she’s seeing, then, a minute later, she pinches her hips through the shimmering fabric, lips twisted in disgust.

“You look great, Katrina,” I say, trying to ease her mind. “Terrence’s going to love you. I mean, he already does. You don’t need to lose any more weight; I promise.”

“I bet you’d like me to stay fat like you, so he can dump me before the wedding, right?”

I let a heavy sigh roll from my chest. I knew going to this fitting was going to be hard, so I came mentally prepared. “Moving on,” I reply, going over my agenda. “The color scheme for the gown matches the décor, which is great. You already approved the table settings and the floral decorations.”

“Sheila approved them,” Katrina says. “I mean, yeah, they’re approved. Whatever.”

“You didn’t like them?” I ask, carefully analyzing her expression in the mirror.

Her back is to me, but I’m seated on the ottoman behind her, which gives me a good view of every scoff and eye roll this spoiled, moody brat makes. This morning, she’s been on an emotional roller coaster from the moment I walked through the door.

“I had other ideas, but Sheila talked me out of them,” Katrina concedes.

“It’s your wedding, though.”

Katrina turns around and gives me a puffy scowl. “You have no idea how the rich work, do you?”

“Oh, I do. I’m just pointing out the obvious. You’re the one getting married, Katrina, not Sheila. It’s your wedding day, your dream come true, right?”

“Right.”

“So why aren’t you the one deciding these things?”

She turns to face the mirror while Francine steals a sympathetic glance at me and adds a few more clamps to the skirt part of the bridal gown. My eyes wander across the fabric, dazzled by the studded pearls. It’s a fresh, pristine white—an almost perfect match to mountain snow in the sunlight.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s fine. It’s going to look great. Like I said, everything is approved,” Katrina says.

The more I’m around these people, the clearer it becomes that I dodged one hell of a bullet when Terrence unceremoniously dumped me.

“Okay, what about the bridal bouquet?” I ask Katrina. “I sent you three options the other day. Did you get a chance to look at them?”

“Yes,” she replies with a faint nod, “I wanted the lilies.”

“Then I’ll order the lilies.”

“No, get the white roses with the lily-of-the-valley fillers.”

She sounds downright disappointed, and I know this is because of Sheila’s interference. Taking a deep breath, I give Katrina a soft smile. “Are you sure? If you like the lilies⁠—”

“I’m not letting you get between me and my dream wedding!” she snaps.

Francine clears her throat. “She’s not the one getting between you and your dream wedding, Katrina.”

Silence falls between us. The most awkward kind. It’s heavy and it presses down on my shoulders, but I give Francine an appreciative nod before I try to talk some sense into Katrina.

“Listen,” I say, “I get that you don’t like me. Honestly, I don’t like you either.”

In spite of herself, Katrina laughs. “And yet, here we are.”

“Because I’m a damned good wedding planner, and you know it. So does Sheila. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here, trying so hard to do my job.” I sigh. “What happened between Terrence and me is in the past. I will never, ever let my company or my professional reputation suffer because of my feelings. I want my brides to be their happiest on their wedding day.

“That means their choices, their designs, their tastes to define the moment. Visually, musically, gastronomically, you name it. I point at her. I want you to have the dream wedding you want, not Sheila, so I’m going to ask you one more time, do you want the lilies for your bouquet?”

She thinks about it for a long, hard, almost excruciating second. Judging by the look on Francine’s face, she’s on the edge of her seat.

“Sheila will be mad,” Katrina sighs deeply.

“What is she going to do? Force you to cancel the wedding over a bouquet?” Francine can’t take it anymore. “I’ll bet it was Sheila who told you that you needed to lose a few more pounds, too.”

Katrina nods slowly. “About ten, she said.”

“It’s not going to happen unless you get rid of one of your implants,” I mutter.

“Excuse me?” She spins around, ready to pull out one of those pins on her gown and shove it right in my eye.

I raise my hands in a defensive manner. “It’s the truth. You’re almost skin and bones. Sheila isn’t the one getting married, Katrina. And you’re even more insufferable when you’re hungry and miserable with the design choices for your own wedding. I mean, there’s only so much I can do unless you put your foot down.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Pick your own damn flowers!” I explode. “Take charge of your wedding, Katrina. Sheila had hers. Twice!”

Francine stifles a laugh as she pretends to go over her notes, but I see the glance Katrina steals at her. Deep down, she knows I’m right. With a dramatic eye roll, she gives me a slight nod.

“Go with the lilies.”

“Wonderful. Thank you.” I jot that down, one eye already on the next item that needs her approval. “What about the napkins and the napkin rings?”

“The white ones with the silver corners,” she says. “And the rings with the tiny little carvings, the little pretty holes, what are they called again?”

“Filigree,” I reply. “Duly noted, Katrina, thank you.”

She’s not unreasonable. I doubt I’d ever want to go out for coffee with her, but she’s not a bad person. Her circumstances and the people who exert their influence on her are what makes her difficult to work with. On the one hand, I can’t blame her for going out of her way to please Sheila. But if Katrina doesn’t set her boundaries early on, she’s going to end up marrying both Terrence and his mother.

“Okay, moving on. Are you set on the wedding cake? The bakery sent us three different models.”

Katrina shakes her head. “Sheila hasn’t gone over them yet. I mean, I know what I want, but she should at least get a chance to give her input.”

“Again, I don’t think⁠—”

“It’s my wedding, Willow!” She exhales sharply. Francine steps back to get some measuring tape. “Don’t push it.”

“Wow.”

“I get you helping me put my foot down or whatever, but I’m not going to make a wedding cake choice without at least asking Sheila for her opinion. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out between you and Terrence. You never asked for her input”

“I assure you that wasn’t it.”

“Willow was too much woman for a weasel like Terrence,” Toby cuts in.

Katrina gasps. I jump up from my seat and turn around, surprised to see him standing in the atelier’s doorway with a broad smile on his face.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, though I’m genuinely relieved to see him.

His biker boots thud the floor with every step he takes to reach me, and his cologne travels across the room to dazzle me before he snakes an arm around my waist.

“Hi, Toby,” Katrina mutters.

He ignores her and kisses me; a tender look settles in his eyes. “Hi, baby,” he whispers, his lips brushing mine.

“What a nice surprise,” I manage.

“Jamie told me where to find you.” He pauses and gives Katrina a dull glance. “You look like my mom’s old ironing board, but sparkly.”

“And you are?” Francine interjects with an insulted scowl.

Toby laughs lightly and raises his arms in surrender. “The dress is gorgeous. It just needs a better model. This one looks like it’s about to die of starvation.”

“I beg your pardon?” Katrina croaks, red-faced from the insult.

Toby grabs my ass for good measure, beaming like the sun. “It’s cool, Katrina. Terrence likes his women starved. I like mine curvy with plenty to hold and spoil.” He glances down at me. “Are you done here?”

“I think I am, yes.” I was already working on an exit strategy, but I was torn between giving Katrina another piece of my mind and pretending to answer a nonexistent, incoming phone call.

“Good. I booked us a table at Le Taittinger,” he says, “for brunch. You mentioned you’ve always wanted to go there.”

“And you remembered. I’m impressed.”

“I remember everything you tell me, babe.”

We bid Francine and Katrina a brief farewell, then head out. Glancing over my shoulder, I see the bitter look on Katrina’s face as she watches us leave. I recognize it.

Because I know the kind of man she’s about to marry.

I’m the lucky one.

10

“Inow pronounce you husband and wife,” the priest declares. “You may kiss the bride.”

The wedding ceremony is finally over.

The forty guests present all clap and cheer as Terrence kisses Katrina. Sheila’s eyes are filled with tears—though I’m not sure if those are tears of joy or grief. She just handed her precious boy off to another woman, and Sheila’s not the quitting type. She’s clapping, though, and wishing them the best.

“She’s going to be miserable,” Cole mutters.

He and his brothers stand farther at the back, close to Jamie and me, while William Morgan makes his way over to congratulate Terrence and Katrina, along with other members of their extended family.

“Who? Katrina?” I reply. “I know.”

“Sheila,” Cole says and chuckles dryly. “If I were Katrina, I’d keep a hand over my drink at all times when Mommy Dearest is around.”

I can’t help but laugh.

Outside, a blanket of pure white covers the ground, the old pine trees of the neighboring forest donning their best winter garb. The sky is a dull, cold grey. It resembles the look on Sheila’s face as she glances our way.

Once the congratulatory part of the wedding is over, Sheila and William urge everyone to head to the ballroom.

“The other guests are starting to arrive,” Katrina says, glowing with pink cheeks and all the joy in the world. Unfortunately for her, I know it won’t last.

Terrence keeps her close, though his gaze keeps wandering back to me for some reason. I recognize the hunger in his eyes, and it makes my stomach turn as I lean closer to Cole. I know my layered, champagne-beige dress is hugging my figure in all the right spots, but his focus should be exclusively on his bride.

“It’s a circus, anyway,” Toby mutters, watching the others walk out of the greenhouse, following the bride and groom.

“It’s their circus,” Cole reminds him. “Once today is over with, we can go back to business as usual.”

Asher shakes his head. “Only for a couple of weeks while those two are on their honeymoon. Terrence will come back and keep vying for his spot in Dad’s will.”

“I’ll be here to receive him,” Cole replies. A muscle ticks in his stubbled jaw.

My fingers itch to run along that stern edge before they get lost in the richness of his salt-and-pepper hair. My eyes meet his—wild spheres of blue and grey whose intensity I drown in, until William’s voice startles me with its warm, familiar rumble.

“Congratulations on a job well done, Willow,” he tells me. “Both of you, actually,” he continues and shakes Jamie’s hand. “It came out beautifully, and I saw the ballroom, too. It’s different from what I remember, but it’s wonderful. It made the kids happy, and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, sir,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I’m glad you’re happy, as well.”

“I never liked the way it ended between you and Terrence, but I’m glad you landed on your feet and handled this event so honorably. I’m impressed.”

“Willow is a professional through and through,” Cole says.

William frowns slightly, his left hand balled into a fist.

Asher is the first to notice. “Are you okay, Dad?”

“Just tired. I think that’s it for me. I’ll get Ian to help me upstairs,” William replies, then motions for Ian. “You all go in there, though. Have fun. Eat the food. Drink the booze. I’m pretty sure it all came out of my pocket.”

Toby laughs, but I can still see the concern in his eyes. “You’re just miffed you can’t wrestle Uncle James over the eighteen-year-old scotch, old man.”

“You’re damn right,” William chuckles, letting Ian escort him out of the greenhouse.

I’m touched by his words. He’s a good man with good principles, and I know he raised his sons right, too. It’s obvious. The difference between the Morgan brothers and Terrence is immense. I genuinely feel sorry for Katrina. As much as it hurt when it happened, I find myself feeling grateful for the way Terrence broke it off. He saved me.

And Cole, Asher, and Toby arrived to remind me that I’m worth so much more.

The reception is as boring as I knew it would be, judging by the guest list alone: rich folks from all over New York, dressed impeccably and armed with the standard talking points—the weather, the stock market, the Hamptons’ next golden couple, the Ivy League academic standards, that article in The New Yorker, and a few good words here and there about the wedding itself. It’s stuffy.

I overhear bits and pieces, mostly praise over the décor and the menu. It’s nice and reaffirming, for sure, a testament to the quality of our work. What’s even nicer is that the Morgan brothers have barely left my side this whole time.

“You really did pull off one hell of an event,” Cole says.

“And on such short notice,” Asher adds.

“It helped that the couple’s family had so much cash to burn.” I laugh lightly. “Lots of last-minute orders just before Christmas tripled the budget.”

Jamie takes another sip of his champagne. “But we showed them, didn’t we? I already gave out half of my business cards tonight.”

“That’s great news, right?” Toby asks.

“It is. There’s a growing chance that we’re going to be packed with wedding events and engagement parties for the next year, maybe even the next two years, if they all come through,” I say.

“Provided they’re not all last-minute nightmares like this one,” Jamie mutters.

I clink his glass and give him a confident wink. “Sheila thought she could break us, but she failed. We’ll handle whatever comes our way.”

“I’m not surprised,” Cole says. His gaze follows Sheila across the room as she glides like a goddess in silver, drinking champagne and accepting congratulations. “It was your sink-or-swim moment, Willow, and you swam.”

“One thing that’s been bothering me for a while, though, is why she used her own son’s wedding for this? What was her endgame?”

Asher offers a subtle shrug while his hand rests comfortably on the small of my back. “She tried to ruin your business reputation. She cost you some clients. She got you desperate enough to work this wedding because you would either succeed or fail miserably. In her sick mind, success means you owe her. Failure would’ve meant a miserable bride like Katrina hating you even more. Sheila doesn’t take her son or her daughter-in-law’s feelings into consideration, only her personal agenda.”

“Well, Sheila’s in for an unpleasant surprise, then, because I don’t owe her a thing,” I say. “And this wedding is proof that our agency is awesome. Everybody here knows it now, too, so she can’t badmouth me to anyone, not anymore.”

“Don’t think for a second that she’s done giving you a hard time,” Toby says. “You’re ours, Willow. And if there’s one thing Sheila hates more than seeing you happy and thriving, it’s seeing us happy and thriving.”

“That sounds ominous.”

I gulp down the rest of my champagne and give my empty glass to Jamie for a refill. He makes his way to the bar, chatting up a few more guests along the way. He’s so charming and talkative, he needs to hand out a couple of cards before he even reaches the bar counter.

“I don’t think I could’ve pulled this off without him,” I tell Cole.

“Jamie’s a badass, I’ll give him that. He’s quite the diplomat, too. He held his own with Sheila more than once, and he was firm during the price negotiations,” Cole says.

“I was so nervous at first,” I reply.

“Speak of the devil,” Toby warns.

We all see her approaching our group.

Behind Sheila, the reception unfolds. Champagne rivers flow from intricate ice fountains. Chocolate pours hot over platters of fresh fruits, while bartenders mix Christmas-themed cocktails in stainless steel shakers before pouring them into perfectly chilled martini glasses with salt-crystal-coated rims.

It’s a winter wonderland for the rich: silver sparkles and white tulle, classical music and white poinsettia blossoms bursting across the walls, lights twinkling from ornate icicles, and a fine, subtle fragrance of pine and winter spices floating through the air.

Sheila stands out with her bright red curls and dazzlingly tight silver sequined dress as she glides towards us with two glasses of champagne. One is for her, and one is for me, apparently.

“Congratulations on a job well done, Willow,” she says, her smile faker than her veneers. “You truly outdid yourself.”

“Thank you,” I reply, unable to mimic the same. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

She steals a glance at Cole, a shadow briefly darkening her face, before she shifts her focus back to me. “My happiness is beside the point. My son is thrilled, and Katrina is a glowing bride. The event was just gorgeous from top to bottom. I would’ve gone for the roses for the bouquet, they’re classier, but I couldn’t argue with the bride on that.”

The falsetto laugh tells me everything I need to know. Sheila had no idea Katrina would be carrying the lilies for her bridal bouquet until she walked down the aisle. I saw the look on Sheila’s face. She didn’t like it.

“You’re absolutely right. You can’t argue with the bride’s wishes,” I reply.

She takes another look at Cole, blatantly ignoring Asher and Toby. I find it odd. But then she smiles my way again. “I was hoping we could bury the hatchet. You proved your professionalism, despite the personal issues, and my son is now happily married to the woman of his dreams. No hard feelings?”

“No hard feelings for what, exactly?” I ask, my tone as flat as death.

“For the harsh words that were said perhaps, for the collateral damage your business incurred after Terrence broke off your engagement, for how it must’ve all felt. And then for you to organize this event, it couldn’t have been easy, but you rose above.”

“I always rise above, Sheila. Don’t worry.”

She nods, but an insidious smile stretches across her red, glossy lips as she measures me from head to toe. “I’ll tell you one thing, though, honey. If you drop about thirty, maybe forty, pounds, I’ll be more than happy to introduce you to some of the finer men of New York. My bridge club ladies have some of the city’s hottest bachelors for nephews and grandsons. A self-made woman like you deserves the best shot.”

“I’m trying to figure out what sort of gift one needs to be able to mask an insult underneath all that fluff,” I retort and take a sip from my glass.

Welcoming the slightly fruity, bubbly liquid down my throat, I wait for Sheila to flutter her eyelashes in faux confusion. Beside me, I can already feel the Morgan brothers becoming tense, like walls that are about to close in on her. She senses the shift in the air between us, as well.

“Whatever do you mean?” Sheila asks me. “I was just saying⁠—”

“You were just saying that I’m too fat to be with what I assume you consider a high-quality man,” I boldly interrupt. Having Cole, Asher, and Toby beside me fills me with incredible confidence. “But you ignore the fact that I’m already in the company of three of the city’s most desirable men, right here, right now. I don’t need to look like someone else to be with a good, high-value man. In fact, by being myself in every aspect of my life, I’m not with one, or two, but with three of them. And that, Sheila, makes me the luckiest woman in this ballroom.”

Sheila’s jaw drops to the floor. The anger in her eyes is damn near palpable. It makes my skin crawl, but I keep my chin up, not regretting a single word that came out of my mouth. Asher’s hand adds pressure to my back, as if to remind me they’re still here and I’m safe.

“It was just a piece of well-meaning advice, Willow. You don’t have to get so defensive about it,” Sheila scoffs. “You do you and see how that works out. But when you’re ready to take things to the next level, I’m here. I doubt the Morgan brothers are the marrying type.”

Sheila walks away, hips swaying, as she blends into the swelling crowd.

The party comes back into focus with its twinkling lights and spicy smells. The dinner is precisely what the menu promised: seven different courses, each finer and more extravagant than the last, molecular gastronomy reinventing some exquisite French dishes into spectacular new forms. The plating is gorgeous, too, and the wine pairing just brings every taste to a whole new level.

“My God, this is the third course,” Jamie groans and takes another sip of water. “How the heck am I going to make it to the seventh?”

“It’s not a lot of food, if you look at it,” I quip, nodding at my plate as the waiter sets it down in front of me.

Jamie frowns slightly when he notices that my plate has a couple of extra shrimp on top of the black rice bed. “I love shrimp,” he mutters.

“Have at it; I’m not a huge fan,” I laugh, watching him spear each morsel to transfer it onto his plate.

“There was a non-fish option, too,” Cole says.

“I know, but I figured it’s seven courses. I don’t mind skipping one.”

Toby leans in and plants a kiss on my cheek. “Seven courses mean nothing, if I don’t get to taste you later.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll get your fill of me tonight,” I reply with a soft giggle.

“We have quite the appetite; I should warn you,” Cole adds with a devilish smile.

The clinking of metal against a glass draws our attention to the end of the long table where the bride and groom are seated. I notice Sheila’s nasty glare bounce off me before I look at Terrence. He’s standing and demanding everyone quiet down.

“I just wanted to say thank you all for being here tonight.” He is already slurring his words, much to Katrina’s muted chagrin.

“It’s his second toast, isn’t it?” Asher mutters.

“And I just wanted to say how lucky I am to be married to this beautiful, bright woman,” Terrence adds, wobbling slightly on his own two feet. “You look hot, baby, like, smoking hot.”

“Thank you, my love,” Katrina flatly replies. “Why don’t you sit down? The food is getting cold.”

“Fuck the food!” Terrence quips and laughs a little too loud, prompting some scowls and gasps from the guests. “I’m celebrating here. My wedding day! I got married, folks! I’m off The NY Times Most Eligible Bachelors List!”

Cole shakes his head slowly. “No such thing.”

“He meant the New York Post, but he’s too drunk,” Asher chuckles dryly.

In the meantime, Jamie works through his double serving of fancy shrimp and black squid ink rice, washing each bite down with a generous gulp of water while watching Terrence make a fool of himself in front of almost a thousand guests.

“I am a lucky son of a bitch, right? Oh, sorry, Mom.” He cracks himself up, laughing loudly again, while Sheila struggles to get him back in his seat.

“You’ve had enough, honey, let’s eat.”

“No, hold on, I’m not done yet!” he snaps and pushes her away.

Sheila falls back in her chair, red-faced and livid. Katrina’s eyes are wide, glossy, and round with horror as Terrence continues his drunken spiel.

“Cole, you’d better get him to sit his ass down before he makes a mockery of the entire family,” Asher advises.

A strange sound coming from Jamie makes me look to my right.

“Jamie?” I ask.

He’s as white as a sheet. His mouth is open, his eyelids drooping. Sweat blooms across his face. “I think… I think…”

“Jamie!” I cry out, unsure how to help him.

He faints and face-plants into his plate, frothing at the mouth and convulsing at the same time. I scream and jump out of my seat. Asher and Toby rush to Jamie’s side and get him out of his chair.

“Somebody call 911!” I hear someone shout.

Terrence is frozen, holding up a champagne glass while staring at the commotion on our side of the table. More and more guests stand so they can see what’s happening. I’m shaking like a leaf as they lay Jamie down on the floor.

“This looks like poison,” Asher says, loosening Jamie’s tie.

“An ambulance is on the way,” Cole replies.

Toby wets one of Katrina’s fancy wedding napkins with the silvery corners, and uses it to pat Jamie’s face. It’s the only thing to do, as Jamie shivers and twitches, going in and out of consciousness.

 

13

Cole’s penthouse seems a lot more spacious and welcoming now that most of my stuff is unpacked and stored in the appropriate drawers and on some of the shelves in the guest bedroom. I didn’t pack much to begin with, hoping I’d be able to go back to my place once this is over.

Even so, it’s nice that they made room for me here.

“We thought about cooking dinner tonight, but it’s already seven,” Cole says as he walks into the bedroom.

“A pizza will do just fine,” I say as I close the last drawer of the ginormous chest that covers half of the bedroom’s eastern wall. “I’m in the mood for something sinfully greasy, anyway.”

Asher and Toby are talking somewhere in another room. Cole lingers in the doorway, watching me with a curious gleam in his bluish-green eyes.

“I know this can’t be easy for you, giving up what is basically a testament to your independence, your own place.”

“You’re right; it isn’t easy,” I admit. “But you’re also right in that I’m safer here with you until we figure out who tried to kill me. Besides, I don’t mind your company.”

Hunger settles in his gaze, and it has nothing to do with dinner. A shadow simmers in silence, beckoning my body to react as I slowly turn to face him.

“What are you doing?”

He takes his sweater off and tosses it on the floor. “What I’ve been thinking about doing all damn day.”

My mouth feels dry, a ravenous smile sneaking across my lips, as I measure him from head to toe. I love the way his muscles stretch and blend, shadows deepening between the tight ropes of his abs as he unzips his jeans.

“All day, huh?” I ask, my hands already working on my shirt buttons.

“All day,” he repeats.

As if they knew what was about to happen, his brothers join us, and as soon as they see me, half naked and peeling my jeans off, they pick up on the swelling heat, filling the narrowing space between us.

“I take it this means we’re skipping the conventional dinner model tonight,” Asher mutters, and I catch a glimpse of his cock hardening and struggling against his beige slacks.

Toby steps closer, naked and hard as a rock, while my gaze wanders across his tattoos. Ink demons snarl at me, their claws reaching over his rippling pecs and bulging shoulders.

“I’d rather eat you, anyway,” he says. And before I can respond, he helps me out of my drenched panties and cups my pussy with his big, warm hand. “You’re gonna taste delicious.”

A moan escapes my throat as I shudder against his palm. His fingers slide between my wet folds as we lock eyes on each other.

At the same time, Asher and Cole flank me, their massive bodies radiating my favorite kind of heat. Their hands wander up and down my body as they take turns kissing me. Lips clash. Tongues wrestle. I tremble under their touch as they knead every inch of me until all common sense is lost.

“This is your home now, baby,” Cole whispers in my ear as he gets behind me.

“It feels like home,” I say, out of breath and quivering with insatiable lust.

“Forget about what’s out there,” Toby murmurs when my gaze briefly wanders to the bedroom window. Beyond it, New York’s skyline rises with twinkling lights against an almost black sky. The chill of winter leaves an impression on the glass, subtle ice flowers blossoming at the corners. “Tonight, it’s just us.”

“Just us,” I mumble as he clasps my chin between his thumb and index finger.

He draws me closer to the bed, then pulls me into a kiss. “You taste like fucking heaven, Willow.”

“Nobody will ever take you away from us,” Asher says as he and Toby sit on the edge of the bed.

The view from where I’m standing is spectacular. Cole lingers behind me, his breath steaming hot as it tickles the back of my neck.

“I’ve never felt safer,” I admit, my voice barely a whisper.

My legs part, a natural reaction to Cole’s gigantic cock pressed between my buttocks while he trails wet kisses down the side of my neck. His hands travel up my back, and I instinctively bend over, taking a firm hold of Asher and Toby’s engorged members. I can’t help but smile as I look into their eyes.

“Ah, fuck,” Toby growls as I take him in my mouth first. He and Asher brace my shoulders as Cole spreads me open and plunges into me. He stretches and fills me until a muffled cry of raw and desperate pleasure fills the room.

“It feels natural, doesn’t it?” Asher asks, gently caressing my hair as he watches me service his brother.

Toby’s cock slides down my throat, and it takes a lot of work to fit him. He’s thick and delicious, and throbbing against my tongue.

“This is precisely the way it was meant to be,” Toby gasps when I pull back and take Asher next.

Cole moves slowly at first, in and out, probing and priming me, as liquid heat trickles down my inner thighs. One hand is firmly planted on my hip while the other comes around to tease my clit—already swollen and begging for release.

As his finger begins to circle my tender nub in a persistent rhythm, I feel the tightness in my core. My whole body winds taut as Cole starts pumping into me. Harder. Deeper. Faster. Ecstasy grips me by the throat as I stroke Toby’s cock with a hard grip while I suck Asher, my lips wrapped around his pulsating tip.

“Let it all go,” Cole grunts and fucks me even harder.

The orgasm tears through me with devastating precision. I come gushing, screaming in sheer delight as I hold on to Asher and Toby’s cocks for dear life. Pleasure ripples through me as Cole slaps my ass, fingers digging into my hips, deeper with every plunge. He doesn’t let go. He rides the waves with me while I take care of his brothers.

Licking, sucking, deep-throating each in mind-bending turns, until they both look at me with sweet darkness in their eyes. I stroke them harder, jumping from one bulging tip to another, suckling until I feel them coming against my tongue.

Their groans and grunts of liberation are music to my ears.

My pussy feels tight and slick and so wonderfully tender. I blink slowly, lazily, as I swallow my men, and find complete abandonment in their strong, protective arms.

“You’re ours, Willow, for as long as you want to be,” Toby whispers.

“And you’re mine,” I reply, my breath ragged and my heart throbbing as the sweet glaze of the afterglow washes over me. “Forever.”

I don’t know where the “forever” came from, but none of the Morgan brothers objects. They help me get on the bed and wrap me up close, keeping me warm until we’re all ready to go again.

 

14

Coming down from Willow’s heaven has become painful, but if we’re to keep her safe and happy, my brothers and I need to figure out who tried to poison her—and fast. Fortunately, we’ve made friends all over the city in the past few years, and we’re chasing down every possible lead.

“This is the right address?” Toby asks. He sits on his custom motorcycle, a V-twin beast with chrome steel details and leather-dressed saddle, across the street from a rundown apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen.

“According to Cole’s message, yes,” I reply.

I parked the Lexus a couple of blocks down, not wanting to stand out too much on this side of the city. We’re supposed to discreetly follow up on the information provided to us by Cole’s buddy in the NYPD.

Toby gives me a once-over and chuckles softly, shaking his head.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, slightly offended.

“Is this your idea of blending into Hell’s Kitchen?” he asks as he measures me from head to toe with a skeptical eyebrow.

I didn’t think my black tracksuit would be a problem. It’s supposed to be casual. “I’m not sure what the issue is,” I tell my brother.

“Obviously, it’s been a while since you’ve been out of Manhattan.”

“If this is the right address, then Brett Harvey should be there, right? First floor,” I say, trying to change the subject as I briefly go over Cole’s message once more. Cole is chasing down an avenue of his own, so Toby and I agreed to cover this side.

Toby won’t let go of my outfit issue just yet. Anything to lighten an otherwise somber mood, I guess. “You’re wearing a $2,000 Armani tracksuit in Hell’s Kitchen,” he says. “We must have different definitions of discreet.”

“It’s a tracksuit. Nobody gives a crap.”

A couple of young men in loose-fitting jeans and dark hoodies walk past us—both giving me a long, almost-dazzled look.

“That’s a nice tracksuit, man,” one of them says.

“Screams rich and asking for it,” the other guy replies and moves toward me.

Toby stands up from his bike and clears his throat, drawing their focus away. “Scram, children. You don’t want to pick a fight with us today.”

A few moments later, they’re at the end of the street, nervously glancing back at us and probably hoping we won’t go after them. I suppose there are benefits to having a brother who looks like he could murder you with his bare hands.

“Thank you,” I tell Toby with a curt nod.

“You’re welcome. Stick to jeans and a jacket next time.”

I roll my eyes as we cross the road. With our usual banter out of the way, we shift our focus to the building’s front door and the general layout of the street. Classic recon demands attention to detail.

Several cars are parked along the sidewalk. It’s close to noon, so few people are out at this hour. Most of them are probably at work or at school in this predominantly youthful neighborhood.

“Christmas Eve is tomorrow,” Toby says just as we’re about to walk through the front door of the apartment building.

“I know.”

“It’s going to be a weird one for Willow, given the circumstances.”

“I know that, too,” I reply and check the photo I have in my phone of this Brett Harvey guy, committing his face to memory: high cheekbones, blond hair with plenty of silver strands, dark brown eyes, white stubble, and a sharp jaw. He looks like a hawk that would undoubtedly swoop down on his prey if she came into sight.

“Cole said we should do something for her,” Toby mutters, then stops to check the mailboxes while I look around.

“Already taken care of,” I say.

“Good. Found him. Brett Harvey. Apartment 3C,” he says, pointing at one mailbox in particular. “There’s a whole lot of envelopes crammed in there, though. I doubt he’s been here lately.”

I nod slowly and make my way up the stairs. Toby follows closely, keeping one eye on my six at all times.

“Over here,” Toby says when he reaches the door for apartment 3C.

I look both ways down the narrow, dimly lit hallway, not oblivious to the smell of stale takeout food and crushed cigarettes coming from somewhere nearby. I hear the loud TV in someone’s apartment—they’ve got the news on, and it’s blaring. Sirens wail two blocks over. There’s the honk of a horn, followed by a slew of curse words.

Toby gives me a curious glance, and I respond with a soft nod. He knocks on the door, but there’s no answer.

“Brett Harvey?” he calls out, ears twitching as he listens for any sign of movement from inside the apartment. We hear only silence, not even the slightest creak of a floorboard. “Brett?”

A door opens behind us. I turn around to see an old lady with curly white hair and round glasses atop her nose, giving us the stink eye. With a smile, I show her Brett’s photo on my phone. “Good morning, ma’am. Have you seen him?”

“Who the hell are you?” she croaks, growing increasingly suspicious.

Toby takes the lead with a frown. “We’re Brett’s cousins, ma’am. Our father died, and we’re looking for him. Turns out the old man left him something in his will.”

“You came all the way out from Nebraska for this?” She sounds incredulous. “How loaded was your old man?”

“Extremely,” I reply.

She looks me up and down, eyebrow lifted. “I can see that. He ain’t here, though.”

“Do you know where we could find him?” Toby asks.

“No, he hasn’t been around in a while,” the old woman says. “His girlfriend used to pay for this place. I think she still does. I’m not sure. I haven’t seen anyone lately.”

“Lately as in weeks or days?” I insist.

“Do I look like I keep track of my shady-lookin’ neighbors?”

She does, but if I say so, she’ll take offense. Instead, I let my brother try to get more information out of her. Alas, before he can ask her another question, the old lady decides to shut the door in our faces. I hear the lock turn, sounding almost as offended as the woman herself.

“So Brett’s from Nebraska, apparently,” I conclude. “I thought he didn’t exist.”

“Brett Harvey clearly doesn’t. But you’re right, the guy pretending to be him is from Nebraska. At least we didn’t come out here for nothing.”

We’re about to head out when we hear footsteps coming from the other end of the hallway. I turn around just in time to see two hooded men dressed in black.

The lighting works to their advantage because I can’t make out their faces. Toby squares his shoulders to match their aggressive frames. They’re not here to talk, that much is obvious.

“Hey, fellas.” I try the peaceful method as they’re coming toward us. “Do you know a guy named Brett Harvey?”

They don’t answer. Their gloved hands bundle into tight fists. Immediately, my instincts kick in.

“Ash!” Toby growls.

“I got it,” I reply as the first guy to reach us throws a punch.

I dodge and respond with one of my own—a single but effective left hook.

Toby’s got the other guy in a headlock already, but I see the metallic glint of a blade coming out of his pocket.

“Watch out, knife!” I shout.

I drive my knee up into my attacker’s gut. I hear the grunt of pain and know I hit the right spot. Relentless, I serve an uppercut to the liver and slide to the side. At the same time, a short blade whizzes past my face.

He’s knifed up, too. Shit.

The adrenaline really kicks in.

I kick my attacker in the chest with full force and hear the ribs crack under the pressure of my boot. Toby knocks his guy down altogether, and a knife slides across the dirty floor. He’s about to immobilize the guy when the other one gets out of my reach and brings the knife up to Toby’s neck, forcing us to freeze.

“Stay away!” he snarls and helps his buddy up.

I recognize his eyes despite the rage and fear glimmering in them. Even beneath the hood, and in this terrible light, I notice enough to make my mental match.

“It’s Brett,” I tell Toby.

We can’t get any closer because he keeps slashing at us with his knife. I could try and disarm him, but the risk of something worse happening doubles as his buddy gets up and retrieves his knife.

Toby glares at them, moving his eyes from one to the other. “You can either try again or run,” he says. “But we will find you, Brett, or whatever the fuck your name is.”

They scramble back to the end of the hallway and duck down the emergency stairs. Toby and I follow, determined to get them while they’re on the move and not pointing those knives at us.

“Dammit!” I snap upon reaching the ground floor.

Toby looks around. “They’re gone. Son of a…”

I need a deep breath to gather my thoughts as I look at the building’s back exit. It’s unlocked. Anybody could easily come in and out of this place, and they knew we were here.

“Something’s going on here, Ash.” Toby matches my developing thoughts. “They were trying to scare us off, or worse.”

“But they underestimated us, so there’s that.”

“Fucking hell. That was him, wasn’t it?”

“Pretty sure, yes.”

Toby takes his phone out and dials Cole’s number.

 

15

I’m on the speaker phone with Jamie while driving back to New York from one venue viewing to another. The road ahead is mostly clear, but the hardened snow and the thickening fog make it a much longer journey than I anticipated.

“How was The Veneer?” Jamie asks. I can hear his computer keyboard clicking in the background. “Will it hold five hundred people?”

“It will. I wasn’t too crazy about the road accessibility, though,” I tell him. “The venue is gorgeous; don’t get me wrong. In fact, what we saw online doesn’t do this place justice. It’s a winter wonderland, hunting cabin chic. But damn, it’s hard to get to.”

“I thought the Hamiltons didn’t care about that.”

“They don’t; not really. But I had a look at their guest list and did a little bit of research. Some of the people are pretty old and feeble. If something happens, anything at all, and they get snowed in, or worse, emergency services won’t be able to reach them in time.”

Jamie chuckles softly. “Look at you, considering everything.”

“Well, let’s just say the whole Terrence and Katrina wedding fiasco added this health and safety layer to my planning agenda. Had Thornwood Manor been less accessible, they might have not made it in time to help you.”

A somber silence falls on the line. He’s not typing anything anymore, and I know I hit a sensitive topic. I intend to make sure no one has to go through such a traumatic event, not at any of the events I’m planning, anyway.

“Will, the Hamiltons are really set on The Veneer for their wedding reception, though,” Jamie says.

“They also had other options on the list. I’m on my way to see Carlotta’s Chalet as we speak. It’s closer to the city, just off the main highway. It’s nestled in the woods but with a good service road,” I say. “Let me have a look at that, at least, before I present the Hamiltons with my professional opinion.”

“The incident has made it really hard for us to find new clients, babe, just as we were picking up traction again.”

“I know. We’re hanging by a thread, but I need to make sure we don’t have any more incidents going forward. And choosing the right location, regardless of the client’s persistence, is part of the process.”

Jamie lets out a heavy sigh, but I know he agrees with me.

There’s barely any traffic at this hour. I’d expected mayhem with it being Christmas Day tomorrow, but I suppose the majority of jams are in the city, not outside it. It’s also still early in the day. Checking the time on my phone, I realize it’s not even noon yet. Christmas Eve chaos doesn’t usually kick in before three. I have plenty of time to make it back to the penthouse in time for dinner with the Morgan brothers.

My heart tingles with excitement.

“I’ve heard some great things about Carlotta’s Chalet,” Jamie concedes. “I mean, sure, go check it out, see how it feels. I trust your judgment, Will. Let’s just nail this Hamilton wedding, though. We need it—badly.”

“I’m well aware. By the way, I really hope you’re clocking out soon. It’s still Christmas Eve. Don’t you have an ex-boyfriend to get back together with?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m only sticking around for another hour, tops. I’m sending out the last handful of introductory emails before we close up shop for the holidays. How far from the Chalet are you?”

“Hold on,” I swipe across my navigation screen with one eye still on the road. Lights glimmer in my rearview mirror, but they seem far away. There’s nothing but open fields on both sides, cold, white, and empty. “About ten miles or so.”

“Okay, well, I’ll hold down the fort here until I’m done with these emails.”

“Then go home and rest, please. You’re still recovering, remember?”

“I doubt I will ever forget.”

We both laugh lightly and hang up. As soon as the call ends, music comes back through the sound system connected to my phone. It’s my jazzy Christmas playlist, and it soothes me. Christmas is supposed to be about peace and family, not my struggling business or the attempt on my life.

It’s supposed to be about me winding down with the three men who have changed everything for me, not about me driving around the frozen parts of the state to find the perfect wedding in a desperate attempt to make it into the new year without filing for bankruptcy.

I’ve come this far. I can’t lose it all now.

I frown as I glance in the rearview mirror. “What the hell is this guy doing?” I mutter, my hands tightening their grip on the wheel.

The lights I saw earlier are closer, and so is the pickup truck they’re attached to. I can hear its engine roaring furiously over the music, and I realize it’s rushing forward.

THUMP!

I cry out in shock and blood-curdling fear as my car is jostled by the impact. It takes all my strength and what’s left of my self-control to stay on the road. I push the pedal to the metal, flooring it with ragged breaths as I try to get away from this guy.

“Jesus Christ!” I scream when he rams into the back of my Prius again.

I can’t even see who it is, just that he’s coming after me. Flashbacks from the wedding return with a vengeance as beads of sweat bloom across my forehead, but I keep my eyes on the road, desperate to survive.

The pickup truck blows past me and darts ahead. I don’t know what to do. The taillights don’t turn bright red, though. He’s not stopping. He’s racing away from me while the honks get louder from behind. Finally, a smidge of clarity returns as I look around and say a blessing for still being on the road before I slow down and pull over to catch my breath.

“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Over and over again, I say it and will myself back into the present.

Deep breaths. Deep, deep breaths, Willow.

A dark figure emerges on my side of the car, which startles me, and I scream.

“Willow!” the familiar voice stops me from falling apart altogether.

“Oh thank heavens!” I exclaim as I recognize Cole and get out of the car.

Immediately, I throw my arms around his neck and hang onto him. I hang on for dear life, welcoming the warmth of his body, the strength of his embrace, and the sense of safety attached to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, holding me tight.

Steam rolls from my lips as I sob with relief and hide my face in his jacket collar. It’s so cold out here, it’s taking a bite out of my red cheeks. “I am now, thank you. That guy… he just… he just came at me out of nowhere!”

“He tried to drive you off the road. I clocked him from half a mile back, but I wasn’t sure if he was just going in the same direction as you or tailing you, so I kept a reasonable distance, just in case.”

The fear clears somewhat, and I remember where we are and what I was doing. I pull away from Cole and give him a troubled frown. “Wait, what are you doing out here?”

“Keeping an eye on you,” he says, his voice low, his gaze darkened with concern.

“You were following me?”

“So was that guy, apparently. Only I was doing it to keep you safe.”

“Wow,” I gasp, not sure whether to feel flattered or annoyed.

Cole nods slowly. “After the Hell’s Kitchen episode, my brothers and I agreed to keep an eye on you at all times.”

“Don’t you guys have your own businesses and lives to take care of?”

“We can delegate where needed as far as the business side of things is concerned,” Cole replies with a casual shrug. The wind rises, icier than ever, and I’m starting to shiver in just my jeans and woolen, cherry-red sweater. “As for our life, you’re a part of it now, Willow. Of course, we’re going to do everything in our power to keep you safe and happy.”

Tears prick my eyes, because despite the madness, this is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. To think I almost married Terrence. Not a day goes by that I’m not genuinely thankful for that debacle.

“Come on, let’s get you back into the city,” Cole adds, putting his arm around my shoulders. “Grab your stuff; I’ll drive you.”

“But my car…”

“It’s pretty busted at the back. We’ll call AAA.”

“I still have a venue to see today for the Hamilton wedding, though. I was on my way there when this⁠—”

“Willow, I’m taking you home.”

But I insist because my business and my career matter to me. All I can do is hope Cole will understand.

“I just need to see the venue and then we can go home. I’ll send my report to the Hamiltons and not touch my inbox until after Christmas; I promise. My agency needs this wedding now more than ever.”

I almost expect him to argue, but Cole just nods. “Go on then; grab your stuff and lock the car. I’ll get the tow truck on the phone.”

16

After a cozy, yummy dinner and a whole night’s worth of steamy lovemaking on Christmas Eve, the four of us attend Christmas Day lunch at Thornwood Manor.

The festive spirit is evoked by the red, gold, and green ornaments, the twinkling lights, the gilded bows, and mistletoe hanging from every fixture; the smell of cinnamon and hot chocolate, the roast beef and rosemary potatoes, the mince pie and yule log slices; the glass reindeer and vintage teddy bears resting on the windowsills everywhere. All this, paired with the majestic Christmas tree in the foyer, has created a warm and welcoming home.

Everything else, however, screams at me to go back to Cole’s penthouse as Sheila takes her seat at the head of the table.

“I’m so glad you could all make it,” she says, smiling at the brothers as she straightens the fashionable apron over her dark red, knee-length dress with a white, embroidered collar. “You, too, Willow,” she says but forgets to add the faux enthusiasm she had for Cole, Toby, and Asher. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

“We’re always comfortable here, Sheila,” Toby bluntly replies. “It’s still our home.”

That goes down with the bitterness of a lemon for their stepmother, but she smiles, nonetheless, determined to play the role of the gracious host.

“Where’s Dad?” Cole asks.

Katrina and Terrence sit next to Sheila. To her right, there’s an empty spot, presumably reserved for William, while the four of us are relegated to the other side of the table.

“He may or may not join us,” Sheila replies with a sad look on her face. “He wasn’t feeling too great this morning, so I asked him to rest for a little while longer.”

“Why don’t we just go upstairs and check on the old man?” Asher suggests with a raised eyebrow, not taking his eyes off Sheila.

She gives him a cold smile. “He’s sleeping. And given his poor health, it’s better not to disturb him.”

“Do you think I’m going to suggest he go sledding? I just want to say hello and Merry Christmas,” Asher says.

“Let’s just wait and see if he comes down,” she insists.

I don’t like the tone of this conversation, and the tension only serves to make things worse. For the sake of harmony, I choose to smile and play my part, shifting the focus to Terrence and Katrina, instead. They look tired and not at all the happy couple I thought they’d be, and part of me can’t help but wonder why that is. I thought they were perfect for each other, but I suppose two miserable halves can’t make a happy whole.

“So how come you two cut your honeymoon short?” I ask the newlyweds. “Weren’t you supposed to be in Switzerland until after New Year’s Eve?”

“We were, but Terrence had to come back for work,” Katrina sighs and pours herself perhaps a little too much wine. “We’ll try Switzerland again another time, I guess.”

“I wasn’t too happy about it either, babe,” he tells her. “But duty called.”

Sheila holds back a smile.

Cole looks between them. “Why? What happened? Last I checked, everything was fine at the office. The board is off until after the holidays. Most of our staff have already gone home.”

“Well, given your father’s worsening condition, I convinced him to let Terrence take over for some of his upcoming meetings and votes,” Sheila says.

Her matter-of-fact tone sets Cole off. “That’s what I’m here for. Terrence doesn’t have the clearance nor the experience, and not even the appropriate job title, to vote on my father’s behalf.”

“Yet Bill agreed. It’s a great opportunity for Terrence to learn more about the business he will one day inherit.”

Preemptively, I take Cole’s hand under the table to soothe his swelling anger because I understand how infuriating this must be.

“Terrence isn’t inheriting Morgan Enterprises,” he says, his tone clipped.

“We are,” Asher adds.

Sheila gives him a wry smile. “You and Toby will serve an advisory role at best. Bill and I agreed⁠—”

“See, it’s this whole ‘Bill and I’ part that doesn’t make sense,” Toby cuts in. “You’re not qualified to agree with anything pertaining to the company our father built. Until we get a chance to talk to him and to the family lawyer, no business decision should be passed without our approval.”

“Your father is sick, not out of his mind,” Sheila replies. “He knows what he’s doing.”

“And so do I,” Terrence chimes in with an arrogant grin. “I’m an asset to this company, whether you guys care to admit it or not.”

Katrina clinks her glass with a fork. “Alright. How about we leave the shop talk for later? Because I am positively starving.”

“Honey, stick to your wine,” Terrence berates her. “Clearly, I’ve got some issues to address with my brothers.”

“We’re not your brothers,” Toby snaps.

Sheila stands. “No, Katrina is right. This is supposed to be Christmas lunch. We’re supposed to sit down, eat and drink, and enjoy this day like a family. With a little bit of luck, Bill will join us by dinner, and you can address your concerns with him then.”

“You dragged me back from Switzerland for this crap,” Katrina tells Terrence, her voice tight, almost a hiss.

“Not here, honey. Not now,” he replies.

I almost feel sorry for Katrina again. She gives me a look, though—it’s heavy and poisoned with contempt, but I choose to ignore it as Toby gives my free hand a gentle squeeze.

“Fortunately, I have some good news to share,” I say, hoping to brighten the mood or at least distract everyone from this powder keg regarding the family business. “The Hamiltons have agreed to do their wedding with us.”

Sheila stares at me for what feels like forever. I can’t tell whether she’s angry or disappointed. “I’m glad to hear that,” she finally says. She’s disappointed, definitely disappointed. “So your agency is safe from bankruptcy following my son’s botched wedding?”

“Botched?” I gasp. It’s like she’s asking for a fight today, yet she’s the one calling for calm and unity. “Excuse me, what do you mean by botched? The ceremony went off without a hitch.”

“And then your business partner almost died after your plate was poisoned,” Sheila replies coarsely. “I don’t know what kind of shady people you’re involved with, Willow, but you brought that into my son’s wedding. You ruined their perfect day.”

“The perfect day that I organized and executed flawlessly until the unfortunate incident.”

“Seriously, Sheila?” Cole nearly growls. “We’re doing this now?”

She sits back down and takes a long sip of her red wine, swirling the ruby-colored liquid in her mouth like a professional sommelier before she swallows. The Morgan brothers throw daggers with their eyes, while Terrence and Katrina watch from the sidelines, wide-eyed and embarrassed, but at least they’re quiet for the moment.

“My whole purpose was to make sure that wedding turned out to be a great success,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “I’ve never had dealings with shady people of any kind. I’ve kept myself out of trouble always. So whoever tried to poison me, I’m not directly associated with him or her, that much I can tell you. And my business took a hit, too. On top of the damage you inflicted with your negative lobbying, I might add.”

“My negative lobbying?” She sounds insulted, but I see right through her act.

“We all know you talked smack about Willow’s agency to some of her former clients,” Toby says.

“You know nothing,” Sheila shoots back. “If I wanted Willow’s agency to go under, why would I ever push to have her plan my son’s wedding? If anything, what that poisoning incident did was prove that Willow has no business working in this industry. It was my mistake, unfortunately.”

“I find it fascinating how determined you are to turn this supposed family dinner into a colossal shitshow,” Asher tells Sheila. “It’s like you can’t help yourself. You see Willow, happy, thriving, and building her own business, and you can’t stand it.”

Sheila gives him a cold, quiet glare.

At the same time, Ian comes in with more wine while a maid adds a couple more platters of pastries to the table. We all sit back in silence, watching Ian as he smoothly uncorks the bottles and pours wine into our glasses, then refills the water. I steal a glance at him, and he responds with a subtle smile, as if to wish me luck for the remainder of this lunch.

Toby squeezes my hand again. Asher drinks some water and clears his throat. Cole never takes his eyes off Sheila, the hatred in his eyes burning brighter than ever. There’s a history here, pages I’ve yet to read. That much is obvious.

“On another note, I just wrapped up a merger with Nova Tech,” Asher says.

Terrence gasps, a smile crossing his face. “Whoa, the Swedish app giant?”

“Indeed. We’ve got projects in the pipeline for the next three years. And I’m expecting tripled revenues before the end of the decade, for sure.”

“Congratulations!” Katrina says. “I heard it through the grapevine that they were looking for an American counterpart to work with. I had no idea it was you who got their attention.”

Asher nods once in appreciation. “Thank you. I like to play my cards close to my chest in these matters.”

“If only you could do that with your private life,” Sheila quips.

My God, she is relentless. I

t’s so hard not to roll my eyes.

“Maybe we should just leave,” I whisper to Cole.

“I’m beginning to agree,” he says.

Toby isn’t ready. By the look on his face, I’d wager he’s just getting started, and my nerves are in a twist as I prepare myself for the worst, because I know he’s not backing down. This man will burn every bridge in sight to defend his brothers and me. It’s an otherwise admirable trait, except Sheila scares me when she’s out for blood the way she appears to be.

“What is your problem exactly?” Toby asks Sheila.

“Your disgusting lifestyle,” she flatly replies. “I mean, I’m not surprised you roped Willow into this. When you’re fat and desperate, you’ll take anything you can get, but you’re making the rest of us look bad.”

Cole straightens in his seat. “What did you just say?”

“The unpleasant truth, it seems.”

“Mom, maybe don’t—” Terrence is about to intervene, much to my surprise, but she raises a hand to silence him. And like the good boy he supposedly is only with her, he obeys, much to Katrina’s visible chagrin.

“The truth is, you’re making a mockery of the Morgan family and the Morgan name,” Sheila says. “I’ve heard it all over Manhattan and all over the Hamptons, as well, that you’re sharing a woman. And then you have the audacity to parade yourselves with her in public. And at my son’s wedding, too. I would’ve tolerated it better if you’d kept it in the family, at least, but you’re soiling our reputation.”

Cole’s grip tightens on my wrist as he looks at Sheila.

“Our family took a hit the minute my father brought you in. Everybody knew that you were after his money. To this day, they call you the Black Widow behind your back, wondering how long before your second husband drops dead, just like your first,” he says. “Unfortunately for you, Sheila, we’re here. And you’ll have to contend with the three of us. You’re not getting away with it again.”

“I don’t know what you think I’m getting away with, Cole. I married your father out of love. It’s time to get over it. Nobody likes a sore loser,” she replies.

The words hit me like rocks on the head. “A sore loser?” I mumble.

Terrence lowers his gaze, a smirk testing the corners of his mouth. “You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Terrence, don’t—” Cole tries to stop him, but it’s too late.

“Mom and Cole dated for a while before she met Dad.”

“Bill Morgan is not your father!” Toby snaps and gets up from his seat.

I, on the other hand, am stuck on what Terrence just said. “Wait… What? Sheila and Cole? When?”

Cole is about to get up and reach across the table to shut Terrence up for good, but Sheila shoots up first. I yank my hand from Cole’s grip at the same time. The confusion that follows brings a heavy, awkward silence to the table as I pull away, nausea unfurling in the back of my throat.

“Willow,” Cole starts to say, but I shake my head at him, then look at Toby and Asher. It’s written all over their faces. They knew, and they didn’t tell me.

“It’s true,” Sheila says, growing increasingly satisfied with my reaction. “Before I met Bill, the love of my life, I was with Cole. And it was good; it was really good while it lasted. It wasn’t my fault, though, that it didn’t work out.”

“This must be some kind of fever dream,” I mumble.

Asher gets up, but I take a few more steps back.

“Willow, hold on,” he tries to stop me.

I can’t be here another second. “It’s too much,” I say. “Too much.”

I register the smirk on Sheila’s face, a smug smile on Terrence’s. The conflicted look on Katrina as she watches me rush out of the dining room with tears in my eyes. I hear the Morgan brothers’ footsteps behind me, Cole’s voice rising like thunder against Sheila.

It’s too late.

The damage is already done.

17

Iwait outside on the manor’s steps for an Uber, courtesy of Ian, while I blink back tears and process the betrayal that eats through me like a disease. It’s cold, but I huddle under my coat and let the shivers stiffen me to the core because it’s the only way I can be at least partially numb to this heartache.

It looks so peaceful out here. Snow covers the ground and glitters in the trees surrounding the property. Above, the sky is a light grey. There’s a sun somewhere beyond those thick clouds. I can almost feel it on my face, trying to breach.

“Willow,” Cole says as he walks outside.

I look back and see him. His brothers stay inside, framed by the doorway but watching. “I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“I completely understand,” he replies. “But we do have to talk about this. You have to give me a chance to explain.”

“You never gave me a chance to hear the truth coming from you. What’s my incentive?”

“Willow, I’m sorry.”

My tears are getting harder and harder to control. One slips and rolls down my cheek, hot and salty, before it drips onto the stone edge of the step.

“It happened years ago, before she even met my father,” he says. “It wasn’t serious. She was a single mother; I was on leave during my military service. It was never supposed to lead anywhere.”

I whirl around, anger burning red in my cheeks. “Yet you never thought to mention it to me. I had to hear it from her in the middle of a family Christmas lunch, Cole!”

“Sheila does this all the time. She hurts people, she ruins moments just for kicks,” he says. “I was in a vulnerable spot. She saw an in with the Morgan family money and tried to take advantage of it. For a moment, it almost worked.”

“Cole, I don’t want to hear about it right now. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“I don’t care!” I snap and push him away, surprised by the ease with which he lets me. “I care about the fact that you kept it from me. You let Sheila blindside me in front of her son and his new wife, in front of your brothers.”

Cole lowers his gaze and takes a deep, heavy breath. I glance past him at Toby and Asher.

“They didn’t tell me either. You all just sat there and let that awful woman make a fool of me,” I add, anger making my voice tremble.

Behind me, I hear the Uber roll around the decorative fountain—now just a marble sculpture covered in snow.

“I was ashamed, alright? I was worried you might think less of me,” Cole admits.

“You kept it from me. That’s what makes me think less of you,” I reply.

The words hit him hard. I can see it in his eyes. It hurts me, too, but it had to be said.

“Willow, give us a chance to apologize,” Asher says, stepping out. “You’re absolutely right. Cole should’ve told you. We should’ve pressured him more; you’re right. But you should also try to understand why we hesitated, why we chose to keep it from you.”

“I mean, you’ve met Sheila, right?” Toby mutters.

She’s probably still at the table, kicking back with a glass of Pinot and laughing about it with Terrence and Katrina. I saw the smug looks on their faces. the pleasure they derived from hurting me, and it makes me sick to my stomach.

“I’m done talking right now. I need some space,” I reply.

My heart breaks as I climb into the back seat of the Uber and confirm my ride with the driver. At the same time, Cole rushes down the steps.

“Willow, don’t do this,” he calls out.

But it’s done. I close the car door and let the Uber take me away.

I dare not look back, sulking under my coat, as the cost of my decision soon comes crashing down. Before long, the tears flow freely, and I sob and whimper while the distance between the Morgan brothers and me grows bigger.

“Are you okay, miss?” the driver asks, giving me a concerned look in the rearview mirror.

I reply with a polite nod. “I will be. Thank you.”

“Family drama?” he scoffs and shakes his head slowly.

I almost chuckle. “You could say that.”

“It’s the holidays, miss. They either bring out the best, or they bring out the worst in people,” he says.

“You’ve got that right,” I agree.

18

The days following the Christmas lunch debacle are the hardest I’ve had to go through in a long time. My nerves are stretched, my patience running thin, and my anger bubbles just beneath the surface, waiting for the perfect moment to explode.

This brunch with our father isn’t making any of it easier. It was supposed to be a good time since the old man was able to come down to be with us for the first time in over a week.

“We haven’t seen you since the wedding,” Cole says.

“I thought Sheila⁠—”

“I did tell them,” she cuts in, pouring him another cup of tea.

For some reason, she’s joined us in the breakfast room, all dolled up, glowing, and insufferably pleased with herself while I’m still trying to get Willow to take our calls. No luck just yet, but Asher managed to get some updates out of Jamie to let us know that she’s at least safe and never on her own.

Cole gives Sheila a hard look. “You did tell us. And now, you’re excused.”

“I beg your pardon?” she scoffs, visibly insulted.

Dad looks at Cole, then back at Sheila. “What is going on with you two now? I thought I asked you all to put your skirmishes to rest.”

“Not for lack of trying, Dad,” Cole bluntly replies. “This is supposed to be a brunch between a father and his sons, though. I’m sure Sheila has better things to do with her time.”

“You mean other than doting on my husband? I think not.”

“Enough of this,” Dad snaps, his hand shaking as he tries to lift his cup. Gently, I stop him and give him a smile.

“You don’t need the aggravation,” I tell him. “Deep breath, you old coot.” I look at Sheila. “We would really appreciate it if you could give us a moment with our father.”

Her persistence brings me closer to the edge, along with that steely defiance in her green eyes. “I’m not leaving Bill’s side.”

“What are you afraid of?” Asher asks her.

I think I know what it is. After the fallout with Willow, it must’ve dawned on Sheila that one or all three of us might spill the beans about Cole and her to our father, just to get even.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dad gives her a curious look. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“She thinks we’re terrible people like her,” Asher replies with a cold grin, “which is pretty fucking rich at this point. She’s afraid we’ll retaliate after what she did to Willow.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“What’s wrong, Sheila? Are you afraid?” Cole chimes in, picking up on Asher’s energy. I’m not sure this is our best course of action, given our father’s heart condition, but the more Sheila tries to manipulate and lie her way out of this corner, the more tempted I am to add my own voice to the pile.

“Bill, honey, nothing’s wrong. Your sons aren’t thinking clearly. They’re letting their emotions get the better of them, as usual. They’ll never accept me; I’ve made peace with that.”

“Sheila knows that’s not what this is about,” Cole says, cool as a cucumber. “It bothers her that other people might do to her what she does to them.”

“Wasn’t it a verse in the Bible? Do unto others, yadda, yadda,” Asher teases.

I witness the color drain from Sheila’s filler-infused cheeks as she squares her bony shoulders at us. “Don’t do this. Your father’s health⁠—”

“I think our old man is stronger than you give him credit for,” Cole replies, cutting her off again. “Case in point, he’s been married to you for quite a few years, and he’s still kicking.”

“Barely,” Dad tries to crack a joke in a bid to defuse the tension, but even he can see it’s not enough. His silvery brow furrows as he looks at each of us with genuine, growing concern. “What’s going on, boys? Sheila, darling? What are you all holding back?”

“Something I should’ve told you a long time ago, Dad,” Cole says.

The whole time, he keeps his eyes on Sheila, feeding on her swelling misery as she squirms in her seat and tries to think of ways to stop this disaster from unfolding. But her fear only serves to fuel us.

“Cole… Enough,” Sheila says.

Cole is on a roll, and I understand his fury, his pain. Asher and I have been dealing with Willow’s absence as best as we could, but Cole has taken it hard. He’s out for blood. And Sheila had to run her mouth, the gloating, shortsighted fool that she is.

“Long before you met Sheila, she and I had a thing,” Cole says.

The entire breakfast room goes silent. The air stills. I hold my breath and carefully watch our father’s expression shift from concern to something heavier, something grey. Not shock, just discontent. It’s strange.

“Bill, don’t listen to him, he’s lying⁠—”

“No, he’s not,” Dad interjects, his tone clipped as he looks at Sheila. “I’ve known for a long time.”

My brothers and I are speechless. Sheila’s jaw makes a run for the floor as she sits back with a gasp.

“Oh, Bill…”

“I figured there had to have been something between you and Cole. He always hated you the most,” Dad says, sighing heavily. “I knew they’d never accept another woman in my life after their mother passed away, but I had the right to at least try and move on. When I met you, I knew it was you.”

This feels like a bomb that fizzled out, instead of going off with a boom. Even Sheila is surprised by his reaction.

“The past is the past,” Dad adds. “I figured Cole would get over it eventually.”

“It’s a shame he didn’t,” Sheila says and chuckles lightly. Of course, she couldn’t miss another opportunity to take a swing at my brother.

“You haven’t made it any easier,” I shoot back. “And telling Willow about it was a dirty play. You know it. We all know it.”

Dad gives Sheila an aggrieved frown. “You did what?”

“We had a heated argument during the Christmas lunch,” she replies with a defensive shrug. “But it’s like you said, honey, the past is in the past. Willow should have the maturity to deal with it like… well, like you did, my love.”

“Dammit, woman, that’s Cole’s past to share with the girl,” Dad snaps.

Cole nods slowly. “I’m sorry, Dad, for what it’s worth. I should’ve told you sooner. I just didn’t know how.”

“I was angry for a while after I put two and two together, I’ll admit. But life is too short for any of that. I found love again, and I didn’t want to let anyone or anything get in the way of that,” Dad replies, then frowns at Sheila again. “The boys are right, though. I adore you, honey, but you make it hard to be around you sometimes. And I’ve seen the way you treat Willow. It’s not nice.”

Sheila dismisses the entire argument with the flick of her wrist. “Oh, please, darling. Your sons are better off without that gold digger coming for their fortune. It’s bad enough they insist on sharing a woman. They might as well bring home someone worthy of the Morgan name, at least.”

I slap the table so hard, it startles everyone, including my brothers. Glasses fall. Water spills and seeps into the white linen.

“The only one who’s unworthy of the Morgan name is you,” I growl. “Willow always bothered you because she’s a self-made woman who never had to spread her legs for fortune and comfort.”

“Tobias!” Dad snaps. “Enough!”

I get up and toss the napkin across the table. “No, Dad, it needs to be said. I get it now. That’s why Sheila hates Willow so much, why she got Terrence to break off the engagement, though I can’t say I’m sad about that because it gave us an opportunity to step in and treat Willow the way she deserves to be treated.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Sheila huffs.

“And you’re projecting,” I reply. “Calling a self-made woman a gold digger because you never had the drive or the self-respect to do what she did. Willow doesn’t need our money or our name. She’s building her own despite your constant attacks, despite your negative press and numerous attempts to destroy her business.

“That’s what pisses you off the most, in fact,” I add, a cold smile stretching over my face as I recognize the simmering rage in those conniving green eyes. “That Willow keeps getting back up after every punch and every kick in the gut. You hate her because you could never be her.”

Dad gasps and sucks in a deep breath. He’s as white as a sheet of paper, his eyes about to roll in his head.

“Bill!” Sheila cries out.

Cole unbuttons Dad’s shirt to help him breathe better, while Asher calls the emergency services.

“Give him some room,” Cole warns Sheila.

She slaps his hand away. “Get off, you bastard! You and your brothers are the reason he’s getting sicker and sicker every day!”

“Dad, can you hear me?” I call out.

But the old man is close to passing out. His fingertips are turning purple, and his breathing is ragged, his chest struggling to rise.

“An ambulance is on the way,” Asher announces.

“Bill, honey, listen to me,” Sheila tries to keep him conscious, looking like she’s about to cry, but I can’t see any real tears.

Her words, however, linger heavily in the back of my mind. They plant seeds of dangerous doubt while the guilt works its way through my stomach. The last thing our father needs is more drama and bickering. My brothers and I agreed we’d attempt to be warm and civil.

But then Sheila decided to join us and refused to leave.

And we let our anger get the better of us. She dragged us down to her level and then beat us with experience.

“Hang in there, Dad,” Cole tells him.

If he makes it through this, I swear it will be the last time we allow Sheila to play us.

19

Jamie has been a caring, perhaps overly concerned, friend since he moved in with me. It’s supposed to be a temporary agreement until the cops resolve their investigation into the poisoning and the road incident, but I’m becoming more and more certain that Jamie likes looking after me.

He carries the groceries through the door, then leaves them on the kitchen counter before he comes over. “Will, you don’t look so good.”

“I’m okay,” I say, but we both know I’m lying.

I’ve been puking my guts out over the past few days and eating like a linebacker until late at night. Even coffee doesn’t go down as well as it used to. Coffee, my favorite thing in the world. I feel weak and deprived of what little joy I had left.

“Girl, you are anything but okay,” Jamie scoffs, then presses the back of his hand against my forehead for a temperature check. “Well, you’re not burning up.”

“I’m telling you it’s just a seasonal flu or something.” I groan and lean back against the sofa, eager to huddle under the plush, creamy white blanket.

Jamie sighs and goes back to the front door first, making sure it’s locked. He looks through the peephole, too, for good measure, making me chuckle softly.

“We’re safe, Jamie. The building manager is liaising with the police. Security staff is on the premises. There are cameras in all the public areas. The concierge knows what’s what, too,” I tell him. “Relax.”

“You can never be too careful, Will.”

I can’t blame him. He’s the one who almost died from a poison meant for me. I take a deep breath and try another sip of coffee, but as soon as the taste meets my tongue, I shudder and set the mug down.

“Are you hungry? I’m gonna whip us up a nice breakfast,” Jamie says as he takes the groceries out of their paper bags.

“Right now, I feel like I’m about to explode.”

“Bloated?”

“That’s an ugly word, but yes. It’s like I’m retaining water. I just have to look at a croissant, and I get puffy and heavy,” I grumble. “And everything pisses me off. The silence of the holidays. You know that lovely quiet period between Christmas and New Year’s Eve?”

Jamie gives me a confused look. “You used to love that. Your favorite time of the year. No emails or phone calls.”

“I know, right?” I’m just as befuddled.

But now, after the whole Christmas fallout, I could use some agitation, some last-minute engagement party or wedding to plan. We’ve got a few events in the pipeline for January and February, though the arrangements are already taken care of.

Jamie starts whisking the eggs first, occasionally throwing a curious glance my way. “Have you heard from them?”

“From whom?”

“Seriously?” He’s got that eyebrow up again.

I reply with an apologetic smile. “They tried calling again,” I tell him. “I let it go to voicemail.”

“Again. Will, come on, you should talk to them.”

“I’m mad.”

“And puffy. And pukey. I get it. But you were also the happiest I’ve ever seen you when you were with the Morgan brothers. Why let old history with Sheila, of all people on this wretched planet, ruin that for you?”

I take another deep breath. Nausea threatens to drag me back to the bathroom, but I honestly don’t think I have anything left to expel at this point. I pull my hair into a loose bun and secure it with a scrunchie, then haul my ass up from the sofa and join Jamie in the kitchen.

“Come on, let me help you,” I say and get busy unpacking the flour.

“Will.”

“You’re right,” I concede. “But it hurts, okay? They kept it from me. What kind of relationship was it if they kept secrets from me? Besides, what are we building together? How would it ever work in the long term? Me and three guys. Maybe it’s better it ended the way it did.”

Jamie laughs. “The way you keep trying to convince yourself that you did the right thing is almost endearing.”

“You don’t think I did the right thing?”

“I think you had every reason to get mad over the whole Sheila and Cole sitting in a tree a long, long time ago. But it’s the past. I think you’re so afraid this thing with the Morgan brothers could actually be real and beautiful and precisely what you need that you picked the very first chance you could to walk away from it.”

I stare at him in disbelief as he gingerly takes the flour bag out of my hands and adds some to his whisking bowl. Slowly but surely, the composition comes together, thickening under his care. A whiff of vanilla tickles my nose as he adds some along with a few other seasonal spices.

“Wow, Jamie, thanks for the free therapy.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? You’re used to fighting tooth and nail for everything you have,” he says with a shrug. “You’re used to getting your heart broken by men who never deserved you in the first place. Heartache of any kind is familiar territory for you.”

“What should I have done, then? Just forgive them?”

“Give them a chance to apologize, first and foremost,” he replies. “Then give them a chance to prove it was a one-time mistake. If they had any other skeletons in their closet, that would’ve been their opportunity to air them all out. You would’ve started fresh in a way. They’re human, Will. They’re not perfect.”

“Perfection is unattainable, anyway,” I mutter.

He does make a point, though. I’ve had the same thought running through my head. I let my emotions get the better of me, but I’ve yet to find much fault in my reaction.

“But can you blame me?” I ask Jamie. “It’s Sheila. Of all the women in the world, it had to be her.”

“It could’ve been anyone,” he says. “And frankly, with the rumors I’ve heard about that woman since we’ve been organizing weddings for the upper class of this city, I’m not that surprised either.”

“What do you mean?”

He adds cranberries into the mix while I turn the stove on and drizzle a bit of oil in a frying pan.

“Sheila Madison married young. She had Terrence when she was like nineteen or something,” Jamie says.

“I knew that.”

“Well, she didn’t grow up in society,” he replies. “She grew up in the Bronx. It’s a mystery as to how she and Mr. Madison got together in the first place.”

“What do the rumors say?”

“They supposedly met at an exotic dance club, though the locations vary. Some said the Bowery, others Upper East Side. It’s a little blurry, but apparently, she wooed him with her sexy dance moves.”

I feel green around the gills all of a sudden. “As if I wasn’t nauseated enough.”

“Point is,” Jamie laughs, “the woman was a gold digger. Still is. I’ll bet she got it on with Cole, thinking he was going to make a Morgan out of her: young widow, easy on the eyes, preteen son. She squandered the money she got from her dead hubby, that much I know for sure.”

“But Cole wouldn’t marry her.”

“Exactly, so what does the woman do?”

“She goes for the dad. He’s older and vulnerable, a widower himself,” I mutter. It tracks. Sheila did everything she could to keep her lavish lifestyle.

Jamie nods in agreement, then gives me another worried glance. “Cole would’ve been a steppingstone, at most. He turned her away. And given the hell Sheila gave you before and after your broken engagement with Terrence, honestly, I can’t blame the guy for not wanting to tell you about his past with her. She’s the devil.”

“But here’s the thing. I don’t think less of him because of her.”

“You just need to let it go. You’re in love with him, with all three of them. That much is obvious.” He pauses and guides me back to the sofa. “What’s also obvious is that you’re in no condition to be standing up right now. I’ll handle breakfast.”

“Okay, but… I don’t think I’m hungry.”

He takes a pregnancy test out of the coffee table drawer and drops it into my lap. “I don’t think it’s a hunger issue.”

I stare at it. Jamie’s back by the stove, flipping pancakes in the most awkward silence ever.

“It can’t be,” I mutter after a few minutes, but my mind is already doing the math.

“When was your last period?” he asks.

My cheeks turn red. “Oh, God, it’s late.”

“Ergo, you might wanna pee on that stick and see what it says.”

Half an hour later, we’re both on the sofa, staring at the plus sign on the pregnancy test. A plate loaded with pancakes that smell like wintry heaven is on the table, along with a bowl of fresh fruits just waiting to be devoured, but my stomach is furled into a tight little ball.

“No way,” I exhale sharply.

“What are you going to do about it?” Jamie asks. “The guys keep texting me. They’re worried about you. They care, Will, they really do.”

“I… I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t even know which one of them is the father. Oh, God…”

“Hey, you’re not alone in this.”

I shake my head slowly. “It’s not that. It’s everything. We weren’t careful. We didn’t give a damn about the possibility of this,” I point at the plus sign again. “I didn’t consider it. Everything was so intense, so out of control and so wonderful at the same time.”

“Are you going to tell them?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure what’s left of this relationship, if I can even call it that. I need some time to think things through, to process it.”

Jamie’s phone pings. He checks it, and I notice the frown darkening his face.

“What is it?” I ask, almost in a panic. “Not another event cancellation, I hope.”

“No, no, it’s Asher.”

“What does he want?”

“He just wanted to check up on you, actually. He’s letting me know that he and his brothers might not be able to answer any calls and texts for the next few hours. They’re at the hospital. Their dad had a heart attack. It’s bad.”

My throat tightens. I don’t have to imagine what they’re going through because I know.

“You lost your parents when you were just a kid, didn’t you?” Jamie asks, his voice low and soft as he gives me a concerned look.

“Then my aunt, yes.”

“Maybe now is a good time to put the whole Sheila nonsense to rest, at least for a while and⁠—”

“Go there, yes,” I reply, already up and headed for the bathroom.

20

Idecide to keep the pregnancy to myself for the time being. An OB-GYN consult is needed first, along with some more detailed tests, including blood work—I tell myself this to justify the secrecy after I chewed Cole, Asher, and Toby out over their secrecy regarding Sheila.

With a racing heart and enough electrolytes in my system to make me look and act like a functioning human being, I knock on the door of Bill Morgan’s private room at the medical center.

“Hi,” I say with a soft smile.

The Morgan brothers look up. They’re sitting a couple of feet away from their father’s bed. William’s eyes glow as soon as he recognizes me.

“Willow, what a joy to see you!” he says, genuinely thrilled.

“Mr. Morgan,” I reply and hold up a carefully selected gift basket. “I brought these for you, all heart-friendly options, of course.”

“That’s mighty sweet of you. Really not necessary, though. I don’t plan on sticking around this place for much longer.”

Asher chuckles softly. “They’re not letting you out of here until they make sure you’re okay, Pops, so cool your heels.”

I set the basket down on a table to my left, which is already home to a couple of other lavish gift baskets.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be back on my feet in no time.”

“It’s nice of you to visit,” Cole tells me, his gaze softening as our eyes meet. “I take it Jamie told you?”

I nod slowly. “He did, yes. It really was no trouble.”

“How’ve you been?” Toby asks.

It feels awkward between us. I don’t know why I thought it would be different or better. I’m the one who walked out.

“I’ve been fine, just resting through what’s left of the holidays. Come the new year, Jamie and I will be knee and elbow deep in new events,” I reply.

Bill’s gaze bounces from me to each of his sons, humor flickering in his eyes. “Boys, if I could have a minute alone with Willow, I’d greatly appreciate it,” he says, surprising everyone.

Cole, Asher, and Toby look at one another, then back at their father, before they settle on me for the longest and probably most uncomfortable handful of seconds. In my womb, there’s a life growing, and one of them is the father. The thought lingers in the back of my mind, haunting me and likely teaching me a lesson I’ll understand later.

For now, it’s a secret, and I need to keep my game face on.

“I don’t mind,” I tell them.

“We’ll be right outside,” Cole says.

I offer a faint smile and wait for them to leave. As soon as the door closes behind them, William points to the chair closest to his bed. “Have a seat, kiddo.”

“Sure.”

Once I’m seated, I get a better look at the great Bill Morgan. Photos from his youth show a man bearing a striking resemblance to Cole—or better said, the other way around. But he was bold and powerful, a presence that could not be ignored. Yet even in old age, and fresh off the heels of a heart attack, he still keeps his head up and his bluish-green eyes bright with a thirst for living like no one else. He gives me a warm smile, and it fills me with a strange sense of comfort. This man knows how to lead, both in his personal and his professional lives.

“Willow, the trouble with my heart isn’t the disease I’ve been living with. It’s not even the heart attack that damn near killed me the other day,” he says. “It’s that I haven’t let it take the reins more often.”

“Mr. Morgan, I’m not sure I follow.”

“Please, call me Bill.”

“Okay, Bill,” I reply with a soft smile.

“Most of my life, I was busy running the business, making friends, keeping my enemies close, putting together deals and strategies designed to turn a profit without hurting the people. It’s been a challenge. Sacrifices were made,” he says. “I wasn’t around as much as I would’ve wanted for the boys or for their mother. When Sheila came into my life, I felt like God was giving me a second chance to try and do better. I took it.”

I nod slowly. “I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to try and move on at the time.”

“Oh, I found comfort in work. My sons, not so much. But there is one thing I’ve always appreciated about them: The way they stuck together. As brothers, as friends, as men. I never quite truly understood their ability to share a lady, but I’ve accepted it. We all lead different lives, and I’m no saint either.” He chuckles dryly.

Underneath the pale green hospital blanket, he looks smaller and feebler than usual, but he still exudes a certain confidence. I’m in awe of this man.

“So when my sons decided that you are the woman they want to be with, I figured, let’s wait and see how it works out.”

I can feel my face reddening. “It wasn’t easy for me, sir, I assure you.”

“Oh, I’ll bet, especially after the way Terrence treated you. I’m sorry you got hurt in that whole affair. Terrence and his mother, they’re complicated creatures. I’ve learned to love them despite their issues. You, on the other hand, deserved better. I’ll be honest; I was glad when my boys stepped in.”

“You were?” I wasn’t expecting that.

He smiles broadly. “For all of their bickering with Terrence, I’ll give Cole, Asher, and Toby credit where credit is due. They’re right when they say they’re the real Morgans because a real Morgan would never do a woman wrong the way Terrence did. I had this talk with him, as well, after that charity gala debacle. I was so mad.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Bill.”

“No, but I saw the red flags and did nothing about it. It’s my cross to bear,” he says. “My point is, I know about the Christmas luncheon, the argument, the revelation about Sheila and Cole.”

“Oh…” I lower my gaze.

Bill shakes his head. “I knew about it. I chose to ignore it because it didn’t mean anything. The past needs to stay in the past. I’ll say this, though, I didn’t like it. And it tore me apart to see Cole struggling the way he did when Sheila became a part of our lives, a part of our family. I kept hoping he’d understand and that, eventually, he’d be happy for me, for us.”

“He couldn’t, could he?”

“Not because he didn’t try,” he says with a laugh. “He did, but Sheila—damn that woman—can be impossible to deal with sometimes. And she made every interaction twice as hard as it should’ve been.”

It’s my turn to shake my head. “If Sheila is so difficult, why are you still married to her, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Because I take my vows seriously. I promised I would take care of her and Terrence, and I intend to do just that, no matter what my sons might have to say on the matter. However, it doesn’t mean I will allow her or Terrence to hurt you any further. Give my sons another chance.”

I blink a few times. The way he slid that request right in there, I barely registered it. “Excuse me?”

“I know you’re upset about Cole and Sheila’s tryst. Just remember, it’s in the past. It belongs there.”

“Bill, I’m upset because he didn’t tell me, neither did Asher or Cole. Given my contentious relationship with Sheila, don’t you think they should’ve disclosed it?”

He cocks his head to the side, carefully weighing his answer. “Maybe. I can’t say I blame them for keeping it a secret, given their dynamic with my wife. They were terrified of losing you, which is why they held onto it for as long as they did.”

They were terrified of losing me. I know this isn’t something the Morgan brothers would’ve easily discussed with their father, so for Bill to be able to offer such an insight changes the way I’ve been looking at the entire situation.

“I’m not asking you to get back together, mind you. It’s not my place nor my decision to make,” he adds. “I just think they deserve a second chance. They’re good men, all three of them. They make their old man proud every single day.”

“I know they’re good men,” I reply, my voice wavering. “What hurt me was hearing the truth from Sheila, not from them.”

He waves the concern away. “Sheila’s got a fight to pick with anyone who crosses her. There was a time when I loved that spunk in her. Now, not so much. She can be a bull in a China shop, I know. But my sons, Willow, you’re it for them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them as happy as when they were with you.”

“I was happy, too.”

“Then why let Sheila ruin it? I’m just saying, if you love them, if you want to try and build something with them, maybe think about it?”

I give him a curious look. “How can I build something with three men? How would that even work?”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Everybody wondered how I’d manage with a new wife and a kid on top of the ones I already had. Everybody wondered how I’d pull Morgan Enterprises out of two recessions. Everybody wondered, but nobody stood in my shoes to do it. I did. And so should you. If no one’s ever done it before, it doesn’t mean it can’t be done.”

I sit beside Bill’s bed, his sons patiently waiting outside, while I think of a way to follow his advice. A second chance. In the midst of all this chaos and uncertainty, the Morgan brothers were the one thing I was always sure of. And despite the heartache, they still are.

“As for Sheila, just don’t mind her anymore, for your sake, not anyone else’s,” William continues. “She had it rough before she married into the Madison family, really rough. It left her with some scars on her soul, some unhealed wounds.”

I raise my eyebrows in genuine curiosity. “How so, if I may ask.”

“Oh, her folks were dirt poor, plain awful people. Her daddy left when she was just a little girl. Her momma loved the bottle more than anything else. All Sheila had was the boy next door. Perry was his name, I think.”

“I’m sorry she had to go through that. I just don’t think it’s an excuse for bad behavior.”

Bill chuckles lightly. “I agree with you there. I also reckon that a lot of her bad behavior she learned from that Perry boy. He’s the one who got her into dancing and hard drugs at one point, anything to numb the pain, I guess.”

“Sounds to me like she had terrible influence in her earliest years.”

“What else could she have learned from a guy who celebrated his eighteenth birthday by getting a snake heart tattoo on his wrist before he ended up in jail for a drunk and disorderly? But Sheila came a long way from those troubled times. When she met James Madison, she was already clean, applying for college. When we met, she was the closest thing to a goddess I’d ever seen.”

A goddess? Not the word I would’ve used, but I won’t fault a man for being in love.

What does persist like an echo in my head is the snake heart tattoo William mentioned. Somewhere in the darkest corner of my mind, a faint memory rises, a glimpse of a snake heart tattoo. I’ve seen one before, up close, not that long ago, peeking out of a white sleeve.

The hand was holding a plate.

I can almost smell the shrimp, the sauce.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, breaking into a cold sweat.

William gives me a worried look. “Are you okay, kiddo?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you so much for this whole talk. It really helped put things into perspective,” I say and get up. “I just need to talk to the guys now, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” he says, sounding hopeful.

However, I don’t leave his room to talk to the Morgan brothers about getting back together. No, there’s something else, something urgent and terrifying and disturbing as hell I need to discuss with them.

“What’s wrong? Is Dad okay?” Cole asks, quickly noticing my anxiety.

“Yes. Sorry. He’s good. He’s fine. I just remembered something.”

The more I think about it, the more missing pieces of the same puzzle return to the surface of my conscious mind, things I heard in conversation a long time ago. Terrence told me about the snake heart guy. I remember now. His mother’s first boyfriend, her true love, she called him.

21

The look on Willow’s face unsettles me.

From the moment she walked into Dad’s hospital room, I felt like something was different about her. That’s the trouble with good, honest women. They’re terrible at keeping secrets, at telling lies. She’s the complete opposite of me, in that sense. Maybe it’s one of the reasons I was so drawn to her from the moment we met.

“What is it?” Asher asks.

“I haven’t put it all together yet, and I think I might have some memories jumbled up in my mind,” Willow says, half smiling as she points to her temple. “It’s been a crazy couple of months, I guess. But Bill said something in there about Sheila’s past.”

Toby frowns and moves closer. To my relief, she doesn’t recoil or pull away. I take it as an encouraging sign that maybe, just maybe, all isn’t lost between us. There’s still a chance for us to bring her back.

“Give us the jumbled pieces then. We might be able to put them together,” Toby says. “What’s this about, exactly?”

“Bill mentioned Sheila’s first love. He was trying to tell me she had it rough growing up,” Willow replies. “But what really caught my attention was the snake heart tattoo the guy supposedly had on his wrist. I guess it stood out.”

I shake my head slowly. “Why are we revisiting Sheila’s past?”

“Because somewhere in my mind, completely disconnected, is the memory of a snake heart tattoo emerging from a white sleeve,” she says.

My stomach drops, and my mind starts racing. “I can’t put a finger on it. I can’t even precisely say where I saw it. Maybe it was at a different event, maybe it was at Terrence and Katrina’s wedding. I didn’t pay that much attention to the details.”

“The missing waiter, Brett Harvey,” I say.

Willow gives me a troubled glance. “Sheila’s guy. He was about her age. His name was Perry something.”

“It may not be connected at all,” Asher mutters. “The snake heart tattoo, even on the wrist, is pretty common.”

“I agree,” Willow replies. “But it doesn’t make the knot in my stomach go away either. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, overthinking the crap out of the situation because we don’t have any better leads, and the cops haven’t made much progress where the guy is concerned.”

The more I think about it, the less sense it makes. Brett Harvey is surely a fake identity, which is why the NYPD have had such a hard time tracking the guy down. Asher and Toby confronted him, though, in Hell’s Kitchen, so I turn to face my brothers.

“You saw him at that apartment building,” I remind them.

“Barely, vaguely,” Toby replies.

“Did he seem to be closer to Sheila’s age?”

Asher nods once. “I’d say yes.”

“Why would Sheila’s ex-lover do such a thing, though? What did I ever do to him?” Willow cuts in, entirely unconvinced.

I place a hand on her shoulder, feeling her tremor through the layer of fine wool. The grey sweater brings out the storms in her beautiful eyes. “Have you ever considered the possibility that Sheila might have a reason to do this? And this Brett or Perry, or whatever the hell his name is, just doing her bidding?”

“That’s insane,” she says. “She got Terrence to dump me. She then hired me to do the wedding. That whole poisoning debacle ruined said wedding, and I know for a fact that the event itself was the most important thing to her.”

“All of the meanness and foul character aside, I have to agree with Willow on this,” Asher adds. “It just doesn’t click. Sheila might not like Willow, but she’d never do something so heinous.”

I want to believe that. Sincerely, I do. Because our father still loves that woman. His heart is feeble enough as it is. The last thing he needs is for it to be broken again. I doubt he’ll survive another loss of a wife.

“The snake heart tattoo is a lead worth following, though,” Toby surmises. “We can reach out to our buddy in the department and tell him about it. We might as well mention that Perry guy, as well. Maybe there’s a connection, or it’s just a coincidence, but we should look into it.”

“Let’s keep Perry to ourselves for now,” I say. “There’s no actual link there. Like you said, the snake tattoo is a pretty common piece of ink, and we can’t have the cops asking Sheila for details either. We can’t stir this pot without something concrete.”

I steal another glance at Willow while my brothers discuss the following steps. It’s pretty cut and dry, and it will require some financial resources to do our own digging on the matter, but it’s worth a shot.

Her gaze lingers somewhere between us. I can see her pupils dilating as she looks up, eyebrows slightly arched, as if she’s surprised all my focus is on her. But she doesn’t mind it either. Her beautiful face softens, and I battle an urge to touch her cheek.

To pull her into my arms and tell her everything is going to be okay.

There’s no point in telling her.

I have to show her.

22

“This was the first New Year’s Eve I’ve spent at home in years,” Jamie says as we sit in the office.

He takes out a couple of more recent florist offers and lays them out on the table between us while I do the same with a decorations catalogue from one of our favorite wedding design specialists. each page displays sewn-in textile samples, so we can get a feel for the real thing.

“I liked it. I didn’t like the not-drinking-champagne part, but I’m glad you drank enough for the both of us,” I reply, running my fingers over a layer of satin with lacy borders. “Oh, this would do well for the napkins.”

Jamie reaches over and touches it, then smiles. “In a light lavender shade.”

“Here,” I say, turning the page, where there’s a sample precisely in that color, complete with a printed view of a wedding table setting to match. “We could pair the lavender with a soft citrus kind of yellow.”

“I didn’t drink that much champagne,” Jamie quips.

“You passed out before midnight.”

“I was a little sad because we couldn’t go out and celebrate in Times Square like we always do,” he admits with a soft pout.

I give him a sad look. “Well, I told you to go by yourself, or call your ex. I’m sure he would’ve taken you.”

“Yeah, but it wouldn’t have been as much fun without you.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Besides, until we find out who’s been trying to kill you, I wasn’t too comfortable with the idea of leaving you alone at the apartment either. Besides, we had our own kind of fun, didn’t we?”

I can’t help but laugh. “We did.”

“Oh, I’ll bet you a whole commission that the Hamiltons are going to love this,” Jamie quips and turns the floral catalogue over for me to see a stupendous display of flower arrangements. “Lavender, citrus blossoms, snapdragons, look at them.”

“They look gorgeous.”

“Paired with the napkins⁠—”

“Which we’d complete with gold filigree rings⁠—”

“Right on the money, sister!” Jamie exclaims. “Want me to whip out the Bohemian crystal glass models?”

“And the Preciosa plating sets, please. The Hamiltons have an insanely generous budget for us to work with.”

Jamie fetches a couple of more catalogues for us to peruse while I snap photos of our selected pages and send them to the printer for physical copies. A large whiteboard is mounted on the western wall, where we build the actual mood board for each of our events.

“We’re lucky they won’t be back from Switzerland until late next week,” I say, adding more printouts to the whiteboard. “They won’t be bothering us with micro-management until then.”

“They’re too busy drowning in mulled wine when they’re not breaking their necks on the ski slopes,” Jamie mutters.

“They don’t actually ski up there.”

“They don’t?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“Cole told me. They just hang around the slopes, take photos with their skis for Instagram, and that’s about it.”

“Rich people.” He shakes his head slowly, then narrows his eyes at me. “Speaking of, where’d you leave it with the Morgan brothers?”

I sigh deeply and go back to my desk for a moment. I made jasmine tea with honey that should be cool enough for me to take a generous sip from while I gather my emotions into a coherent thought.

“They asked me out for New Year’s Eve, but I politely turned them down,” I say. “Toby said they’d try again soon.”

“You love playing hard to get,” he replies with a laugh.

“I just don’t want to give in that easily. I’m still kind of mad about the whole Sheila thing.”

Jamie crinkles his nose. “No, you’re not. You’re scared out of your mind because you’re pregnant and you don’t know how to tell them.”

“Jamie—”

A knock on the office door interrupts our conversation. Sheila walks in without waiting for a response.

“Happy New Year,” she quips with a faux smile on her red lips.

Wrapped in a silvery grey fur coat, she wanders towards the office. Her leather boots have high heels that click across the hardwood.

“What brings you here?” I ask, my tone flat.

“Don’t say to bury the hatchet,” Jamie interjects, giving Sheila a wry smile. “You don’t wear that mink to peace talks, and you know it.”

Sheila laughs lightly and takes her matching leather gloves off. “Leave it to a man with refined taste to notice such details,” she says, then looks at me. “I understand you visited my husband at the hospital the other day, Willow.”

“Bill told you?”

“Oh, you call him Bill, now?” she replies, her tone as dry as the Arizona desert. “He did, yes. In a marriage, we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

I get the subtle, intentional jab, but I am too tired for this crap, so I let her rudeness roll off my back. “We’re kind of busy here, Sheila. State your business, then there’s the door.”

“My, my, you’ve grown bolder,” she scoffs. “I simply want to know what the two of you talked about.”

“Your husband didn’t tell you?” Jamie chuckles dryly. “I thought there were no secrets in a marriage.”

Sheila is not amused and glares at Jamie.

“If Bill didn’t tell you, it’s not my place to tell you. He must’ve had his reasons,” I bluntly reply. “Now, if you don’t mind, we have a wedding to organize.”

Sheila, however, isn’t done here. Her aggression comes off in subtle waves, but it’s there. I see it in her vivid green eyes, in her passive-aggressive smile.

“I don’t take kindly to any woman trying to insert herself into my husband’s close circle,” she says. “Just because it didn’t work out between you and his sons doesn’t mean you should give their father a try.”

“Oh, right, I’m sorry,” I snap, finally losing the last sliver of patience and civility I had left. “That’s your signature move. My apologies. It didn’t work out for you and Cole, and I’m guessing Toby and Asher weren’t even interested, so you slithered your way into Bill’s bed.”

“I advise you to be very careful about what you say to me,” she hisses. “Just because my husband is fond of you doesn’t give you carte blanche to forget who you are and who you’re speaking with.”

“I know exactly who I am, and I never once claimed otherwise. You, on the other hand, have been waging some kind of war against me from the minute Terrence and I got together. You won that battle; congratulations. I didn’t lose anything, truth be told. But don’t think for a second that I won’t defend myself going forward.”

She laughs. “So the kitten does have claws.”

“You may be able to control every aspect of Terrence’s life, but you have no hold over me,” I reply, more driven than ever. “I built myself up from the ground. Even when you tried to bring me down, I rose, I fought, I persevered, and here I am, taking on new projects and facing every challenge.”

“New projects, the Hamilton wedding, right?” Sheila says. “I’m friends with Eleanor. I’m sure she’ll⁠—”

“Eleanor Hamilton won’t be interested in anything you might have to say,” I say, cutting her off. “I know you badmouthed us to other people. You cost us a few contracts, but you won’t be able to do that anymore because even the city’s most elite are now aware of your machinations. In fact, I have an email from Trudy Van Stratten waiting for my reply.”

Sheila’s face tightens, which prompts a mischievous snicker out of Jamie. “You talked smack about the quality of our services, but then Trudy saw how gorgeous Terrence and Katrina’s wedding turned out, poisoning incident notwithstanding, and she decided to come back to us for her daughter’s engagement party,” he informs her.

“You pretty much shot yourself in the foot by giving us your son’s wedding. I assume you did it because you wanted to hold some kind of power over me,” I add. “Well, thanks. That’s one wrong you actually managed to right, though I’m certain it wasn’t your intention.”

She doesn’t say anything. She just stares at me with the coldest eyes and the cruelest smile I’ve ever seen, but I can tell my words have struck a chord somewhere deep inside of her, where all of her insecurities lie.

I raise my chin in defiance. “I’m sorry your scheme to ruin my business didn’t work. Your attempts to make me feel miserable in my own skin didn’t work either, and neither did your Christmas luncheon reveal. The guys and I have found our way back to one another. You don’t need to worry about me coming after Bill. I’d never take a page out of your book. Now you really should go before I call security. Jamie and I have work to do.”

Sheila isn’t just mad, she is shocked and livid. “Have it your way, Willow. I tried to be civil about it.”

Jamie stifles another laugh. Sheila gives him a deathly glare, but she doesn’t linger for more than a few seconds. The door closes behind her, and we both stay quiet, listening to the sound of her clicking heels as they recede toward the elevator.

“That lady is a fucking nightmare.” Jamie says and exhales sharply. “Honestly, she kind of scares me, Will.”

“She scares me, too. But I couldn’t let her see that; she feeds on it.” I take my seat and a long sip of tea.

“Are you okay?” Jamie asks, looking at me worriedly.

I nod once. “Just shaken. Also, I’m in no mood for that bitch’s drama. Where does she get the nerve to insinuate that I’m the gold digger in this equation?”

“She was projecting like crazy,” Jamie replies and sits on the edge of the table, comfortable beside the wedding catalogues. “But hold on, you just told her you and the guys⁠—”

“Sheila doesn’t need to know we’re still working on the reconciliation part. I just didn’t want her to walk out of here with any kind of satisfaction.”

“She hates your guts.”

I offer a shrug in return. “I wish I understood why.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I thought it was.” He pauses when I lift my brows in question. “Girl, you are everything she’s always really tried to be but never was: independent, self-made, naturally beautiful, kind, gentle, good. You’re a good woman, Will. And you started from scratch, just like her. Hell, you had it worse without your parents, but you rose above it. You built your own life. She’s relied on marrying for money for hers.”

“I wish I could feel sorry for her.”

“You don’t have to feel sorry for her,” Jamie replies. “Sheila made her choices, and you made yours. It’s not your fault she never once tried to better herself. You did, and it pisses her off. How can you be so successful and happy, if you didn’t whore yourself out to the first rich Hamptons guy you came across?”

I shudder at the thought. “I assume my having Cole’s affection didn’t sit well with her either.”

“Of course not. What, you think she rejected him?” Jamie laughs.

“I know he’s the one who put an end to it,” I reply with a heavy sigh. “It’s just too much drama, to be honest. I’ve got enough to deal with. The last thing I need is Sheila’s venom on top of everything else.”

“You handled her like a champ.”

“I guess I did.”

It gives me a smidgen of pride, I’ll admit. However, I don’t understand why she keeps poking and prodding me. What’s her endgame? Maybe there isn’t one. Maybe Jamie is right, and Sheila is just projecting her misery onto me because she doesn’t know how else to cope with her own decisions.

I have too much going on to let her bother me.

Like figuring out how to tell three men that one of them is going to be a father.

23

The next morning, Jamie and I walk into the office to find it flooded with flowers, so many beautiful flowers: bouquets of red roses with sprigs of lily-of-the-valley sprinkled here and there; lilies and gorgeous freesias in decorative baskets; and potted dahlia and chrysanthemum arrangements that fill the room with a complex yet remarkably delicate blend of fragrances.

“Oh, my days,” Jamie gasps. He goes in first, his eyes round and big as he tries to take it all in.

I’m breathless, but I already know who they’re from. I spot the note on my desk before him.

“When the guy at the reception desk downstairs said he let the florist delivery guy in, I thought he meant the florist delivery guy who was supposed to bring us the bride’s bouquet samples, not this. What is this?” Jamie croaks.

“It’s Cole, Asher, and Toby asking me out on a dinner date,” I reply and give him the note to read for himself.

My heart flutters with excitement. Their persistence may finally pay off. Most guys would have just given up, or worse, they’d show up at my doorstep. But the Morgan brothers have kept a respectful distance, and I know it hasn’t been easy for them.

Every night, I fall asleep thinking about them, with one hand between my legs, imagining I’m back at Cole’s penthouse, tangled with them in bed. Every morning, I wake up with a pang of sadness in my chest, their strong arms nowhere to be found. Tearing up, I sit behind my desk as Jamie finishes reading the note.

“Girl…”

“What?” I sigh deeply.

“How much longer are you going to torture yourself like this?”

“Torture might be too strong a word,” I say with a quiet giggle, but I’m not really laughing, and Jamie knows it.

He motions at the sea of flowers around us. “Look at this.”

“I kind of have to; they’re everywhere.”

“My point exactly. Most girls only dream of such grand gestures. You actually get it. Most girls only dream of a real man. You’ve got three of them, who are more than willing and happy to spoil you rotten. What are you so afraid of?”

That’s the real question, isn’t it? What am I so afraid of? Finding out about Sheila and Cole was the perfect reason for me to walk out of a relationship that most girls would never even dream of.

But I was there. I felt it. I saw what it could be like, and it scared me because I’ve been in a comfort zone of my own. Except it’s not real comfort, it’s just something I was used to: always being out of happiness’s reach.

“I was never really happy with Terrence,” I admit. “I thought I was, but I just wanted to feel chosen, and he made me feel chosen, so I hung on tight. I accepted the breadcrumbs, the bad behavior, his insanely toxic mother.”

“Oh, Will.”

“It’s true, and I got used to it, to not really having what I truly wanted. But then what I truly wanted came to me in triplicate, and I didn’t know what to do with that. I took it, I sank in it, and I was happy. Oh, Jamie, I was so happy. It was just too good to be true. I kept waiting for something to go wrong.”

His shoulders drop as he gives me a pained look. “Then you found out about Sheila.”

“And I walked away. It was the other shoe that I knew would drop. It was my cue to go back to being out of happiness’s reach, I guess. You’re right, Jamie, I am afraid of something. I’m afraid that if I let the Morgan brothers in, I’ll be so happy I won’t know what to do if I lose them for good. Being pregnant sure isn’t helping either, because now I’m terrified they’ll want to be a part of my life strictly because of the baby.”

“That’s not true,” he says. “You know that, right?”

I nod slowly. “But it doesn’t stop these feelings from messing with my head, with my resolve. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones? I don’t know. What I do know is that you’re right. Cole, Asher, Toby, and I belong together. I just have no idea how to say it to them.”

“You just said it.”

“Have you seen those guys?” I laugh bitterly. “Tall as oaks, fierce businessmen, lions with shares of their own, then there’s me: plump, self-made, little me.”

“Oh, honey, you are that and so much more in their eyes, as evidenced by every single frickin’ flower currently crammed into our office.”

This time, I laugh wholeheartedly. Leave it to Jamie to take the edge off and the seriousness out of my darkest thoughts. I’ve been overthinking everything. I should take a page from his book and just roll with the punches.

24

Adinner date at Cole’s penthouse isn’t just any dinner, it’s an event, and it was clearly treated as such. I recognize the food as made to order by Ernesto’s Steakhouse, Asher’s favorite place in all of New York—renowned for their exquisite Angus beef and to-die-for parmesan and rosemary potatoes.

The wine is from some remote but insanely expensive Moldavian cellar. A ruby red that I only admired in its glass while taking sips of water, blaming medication for a minor cold to justify my inability to drink wine.

“This place hasn’t been the same without you,” Cole admits.

We’ve just wrapped up dessert, and the New York–style cheesecake left me with a broad smile on my face and a yearning for another slice. Something tells me there’s another kind of dessert coming later, though.

The mere thought makes my core tighten. I knew what I was getting myself into when I agreed to this date.

“I haven’t been the same without you either,” I confess. “But I’m glad I’m here now. I really am.”

Asher gives me a soft smile, warmth exuding from his deep, brown eyes, his mother’s eyes. That is one woman I would’ve loved to meet. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“How’s work going?” Toby asks.

“Really well, actually. We’re already fielding new clients.”

“That’s great,” Asher says. His cologne meets my senses first: sea salt and the finest musk. It shatters my defenses as heat pools between my legs.

“What about you?” I ask. “Any new leads on that Brett/Perry dude?”

I may have struck them with a mood killer because the brothers simultaneously lean back in their chairs and take deep breaths.

“That bad, huh?” I murmur, lowering my gaze.

“No, not bad, just nothing yet,” Cole says. “I wish we had better news. Some people slip through the system’s cracks, and some learn to take advantage of that, staying off the grid, flying under the radar. This guy is clearly one of them.”

“New York is a big city,” I say. “Honestly, I wasn’t expecting a miracle. I’m just trying to understand why he came after me in the first place.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Toby replies. “No one is going to rest until we do.”

I believe him. It’s not just his assuredness that comforts me, but the fact that Toby, along with his brothers, always match their actions with their words, and it makes them insanely attractive on top of everything else.

“We owe you an apology,” Cole says after a long and heavy silence.

“Oh?”

“For the whole Christmas lunch thing. Well, I owe you the biggest apology,” he says. “My brothers were just falling in line with me. I’m sorry, Willow, for not telling you about Sheila. I just didn’t want to lose you.”

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I may have overreacted, as well.”

“No, you didn’t,” he says. “You were right. There shouldn’t be any secrets between us. There will never be any secrets between us ever again, that, I promise.”

I give him a soft smile. “I believe you.”

“And speaking of secrets, I need to get something off my chest,” Toby says. Every eye focuses on him in muted anticipation. “When I was eight years old, I stayed home sick one day. Asher and Cole were at school. Mom made me some soup and put me to bed.” He pauses for Asher’s chuckle. “Hey, it counts as a secret. Even you don’t know what I’m about to say.”

“By all means, go on, brother,” Asher replies.

Toby frowns slightly, scratching his salt-and-pepper beard. “I snuck out of my room that afternoon and went into Dad’s home office. I knew where he kept his cigars. S, I got one out and tried to smoke it.”

“Holy crap,” Cole gasps, his eyes widening with the realization. “The house fire.”

“What?” I ask, my gaze bouncing between them.

“That was you?” Asher doubles over in heavy laughter, and I absolutely love the sound of it. I have never seen them so at ease, so relaxed, and so vibrant.

Toby nods once. “I got sick from the first few puffs, and I tossed that thing in the trash can. I didn’t even think to double-check if it was out. Then I went to the bathroom to puke my guts out, and next thing I know, Mom’s screaming around the whole mansion that there’s a fire.”

“By the time we got home, the fire trucks were pulling out of the driveway,” Cole remembers. “Dad was fuming. They traced the source to his home office, and Mom chewed him out for smoking in there. He swore he only smoked on the patio, but that he did, in fact, keep the cigars in his office.”

“How much of the house did you actually burn down?” I ask Toby.

“Three rooms and the foyer,” he says, prompting another wave of laughter from his brothers. “But there you have it: One more secret out in the open.”

“On that note…” Asher interjects.

Cole rolls his eyes. “Buckle up, Willow, we’re not done yet, apparently.”

We laugh as Asher reveals another childhood secret from his past, surprising even Toby—which is rare, considering they’re twins and know everything about each other down to the tiniest detail.

“Mrs. Aycox? Really?” Toby gasps, one hand on his chest in dramatic shock.

“And now you know,” Asher replies with a cool grin.

Cole turns to me. “Anything you want to share with the class since we’re doing this?”

All eyes switch to my face with laser-point precision. I feel the heat climbing up my throat. My baby is still a tiny little thing, but I’m pretty sure it stirred just now, feeling unconsciously targeted. I should tell them, I should. We just picked this up again, though. We’re having fun. We’re focused on the present. I don’t want to ruin tonight. It’s the best time I’ve had since Christmas Eve.

“I do have a secret to share,” I say, then slowly get up from my seat.

“Oh?” Cole replies, looking a bit worried.

Smiling softly, I unzip my dress and let the layer of black velvet fall to the floor, revealing a full slip wrapped in black and gold-threaded lace. The straps are made of fine satin, and its deep cleavage turns the Morgan brothers’ gaze into something dark and hungry, and downright devastating.

“While I love this gift you sent me, along with an office full of flowers, I’m afraid you got the size wrong. I didn’t say anything because I felt bad for looking a gift horse in the mouth,” I say, then slowly turn around. “See? The back lace doesn’t go tighter than that.”

“Well, that is a shame,” Asher replies. His voice low and dripping with desire.

Cole is the first to get up and approach me. I don’t move. I just listen to his steps as he moves closer, his presence wrapping me in a pleasant sensation long before I feel his fingers running down my back.

“Then there’s no point in you struggling to wear this,” he says, his lips brushing my ear lobe. “Might as well get it out of the way.”

“I’ll say one thing, though,” Toby adds as he joins us. “Even tight, it looks sublime on you, Willow.”

“It does?” I whisper, closing my eyes for a moment as I rest my head on Cole’s shoulder, drunk on his cologne.

His hard cock pokes my buttock while his fingers aptly untie the satin laces at the back. Toby comes around to the front with a hungry look in his eyes as he gently removes the shoulder straps. His lips stretch as he reveals my breasts, which have grown tender since the pregnancy.

My nipples respond to his attention, perked and stiff and begging for his tongue. He obliges with a growing appetite while Cole rolls the lingerie down until it slips off my legs and falls to the floor.

Before long, I’m surrounded by my men. I help them out of their clothes while our mouths clash and our tongues wrestle. I taste faint hints of wine and whiskey on their lips. I’m drunk with arousal as their hands roam all over my body. Their ragged breaths make me smile as they knead and squeeze and pinch until I’m soaking wet and begging for more.

Toby and Asher lead me to the couch.

“I’ve missed this,” I breathe as Asher sits down and pulls me on top of him.

“And I’ve missed this, all of this,” Asher replies and squeezes my breasts, his cock stirring under my gaze. Toby climbs up on the sofa as his brother lowers himself slightly, allowing him to sit on the backrest.

In an instant, my mind makes the connection, and I understand what’s about to happen. I turn my head to see Cole settle behind me. He caresses my buttocks with a loving gaze, biting his lower lip as I feel the tip of his erection probing my entrance.

“I want you all,” I say the words out loud, then look up at Toby.

His cock is in his hand, and he’s stroking it slowly as he waits for me. I wrap my lips around the head, tasting him. He’s hot and slightly salty in my mouth. At the same time, I slide onto Asher’s monstrous member as he squeezes my breasts tighter and tighter.

When Cole joins him inside me, my pussy stretches in the best way, slick beyond my wildest dreams.

“I told you, Willow, you were made for us,” Cole grunts and pulls back, ever so slowly. I moan, my mouth full of Toby as I fondle his rock-hard balls with one hand and grip the base of his cock tightly before I let him go all the way in.

A rhythm begins to build. They ease me into it at first. My hips sway, our hearts beating faster with every movement.

“You are perfection,” Cole grunts and digs his fingers into my hips. “Every curve, every inch of you is perfection.”

“Your heart, your mind, your strength,” Asher says.

I lock eyes with Toby as he deep-throats me into oblivion, his brow furrowed as he unleashes his inner beast. I ride Asher while Cole fucks me from behind. I’m filled to the brim, and my cries of raw pleasure are muffled as the heat rises and the rhythm intensifies.

My clit presses against Asher’s groin, and it triggers a mind-blowing orgasm. I shudder and writhe in their grip. I come, gushing, as they take me harder and deeper and further than I’ve ever been.

And when they come, I welcome every drop. I drink Toby whole, unraveling at the core as Asher stiffens and fills me with his seed. Cole holds out for last, pounding into me like there’s no tomorrow. I love the sound of skin slapping skin, and when his hand comes down to smack my ass, I come again, screaming in sweet ecstasy, until he joins me.

“Oh, yes!” I cry out, and Cole wraps his arm around my neck.

Colors explode before my eyes as I soften, and I collapse on top of Asher for the longest minute. Soon, they carry me off to bed, where more lovemaking awaits. I surrender over and over until the sunrise finds us spent and sleeping.

25

The way she gives herself to us is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. She’s putty in our hands, complete and unbreakable trust. Willow is the woman my brothers and I have been waiting for. There’s no doubt about it anymore.

There’s only the question of how far the three of us are willing to go in order to keep her, to make her ours, so we can build a future together.

“Willow is still sleeping,” I tell Cole and Toby as I join them in the kitchen.

We’re tired but energized at the same time. It’s the Willow effect, and I love it.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee fills me up before I take the first sip and sit next to my brothers at the table. A lazy January sun sneaks through broken clouds, casting its shy light over the city.

“Does she seem different to you?” Cole asks, a slight frown fluttering across his forehead.

“She’s bolder, for sure,” Toby chuckles, “but I’m not complaining.”

“No, it’s something else. Something she’s not telling us. I told you, the mark of a good woman⁠—”

“Whatever it is, she’ll tell us when she’s ready,” I say, cutting him off. “You, of all people, should know what that means.”

He shakes his head slowly. “I have no intention of coaxing it out of her. I was only making sure I’m not the only one who noticed it.”

“You’re not,” I say. “We have a bigger issue to deal with, however.”

Toby nods in agreement. “Her safety.”

“That’s right,” I reply. “There haven’t been any more threatening messages. She’s been safe, probably because Jamie has been staying with her. The guy won’t let her out of his sight.”

“He’s the definition of a good friend,” Cole smiles.

“We can’t put her safety all on him, though.” Toby sighs and pours himself another cup of coffee. “We need to get ahead of this before another surprise pops up, because the next surprise might end up hurting Willow, or worse.”

“They tracked the pickup truck to an abandoned car lot,” I say.

Going over the last handful of texts I got from our friend, Detective Hornby, it’s clear the police don’t have enough information yet. They’re picking up leads, but none of them had led anywhere concrete.

“No prints, nothing usable, right?” Cole replies.

“Nothing.”

“Of course. Brett Harvey, or whatever his name is, is annoyingly cautious.”

“Hornby is still looking into it,” I say. “They don’t have any recent photos of the guy to compare. An age approximation did show uncanny resemblance, but Hornby isn’t convinced yet.”

My phone rings. The detective’s name pops up on the screen.

“Speak of the devil,” Toby mutters.

I take the call and find myself breathing with strange relief upon finally hearing something useful for once. When I put the phone down, I find Cole and Toby staring at me, each on the edge of their seat, gripping their mugs so tightly the ceramic might crack in their hands.

“Facial recognition software turned up a few more leads,” I say, “for Brett Harvey. Nothing for Perry Jackson. The latter is a ghost. The former, not so much.”

“They’ve got recent stills of the guy?” Cole asks.

“Yes, in Hoboken from two nights ago. Apparently, he’s a regular at Lucky’s Irish Pub on 67th and Braeden Avenue. The cops struck out with the patrons there, probably because they’re cops. He thinks we might be able to get more intel.”

“As civilians, sure,” Toby says, then raises an eyebrow at me. “But I’m not letting you walk into Hoboken like you did in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Mock my style all you want,” I shoot back.

Cole chuckles lightly. “We’re all going this time. I’ll text Jamie to come pick Willow up when she wakes up.”

A few hours later, my brothers and I dress down and head into Hoboken in a rental car, a dark blue sedan that fits in a little better with the other cars parked along the sidewalk. Hornby’s advice was pretty clear—don’t attract attention, blend in, keep it short and sweet with everyone we talk to.

That turned out to be easier said than done, because as soon as we walk into Lucky’s, I feel the tension rising in the air. The sour, suspicious looks on the handful of patrons who grace the bar just before noon on a Saturday are all directed our way.

“And you said the Terrace at Charleston’s Lounge was too raggedy,” Toby says.

His jab makes me smile. “Pardon me for having discerning tastes.”

“Discerning or elitist?”

“Look alive, you two,” Cole cuts in. “There’s room for us at the bar.”

Clad in jeans and dark leather jackets, we each take a seat at the high counter and order beers. I barely sip from mine since I’m the one with the car key in my pocket. All we need to do is hang around, immerse ourselves into the local flora, and let the fauna come to us.

We watch the rerun of a game on the large LCD screen mounted just above the bar. I reacquaint myself with the smell of stale booze and open bags of peanuts and chips. It reminds me of much younger days, when we roamed free throughout the city, wide eyed and bold, reckless and dangerously curious.

Before long, the bartender notices I haven’t touched my drink. He scowls at me through a pair of milky blue eyes. “Something wrong with our house beer, buddy?”

“No, I’m the designated driver. I’m just being responsible,” I reply.

He looks at my brothers with a suspicious frown. “You’re not from around here.”

“No, sir, we’re not,” Cole replies.

“I could tell. You’re all so clean.”

“Clean?” Toby sounds confused. He thought he’d blend in easier on account of his thicker beard and tattoos.

I glance around and take in the details, realizing that our new friend is right. We’re men with a mission and a purpose. The others in here—they look worn out, careless, tired and eager to drown their sorrows in alcohol. The stubbles and the scruffy beards aren’t intentional. Their shirts are stained or crumpled or both. Their body language exudes self-abandonment and self-pity.

We shine like fucking diamonds in this place, even when we’re trying not to stand out. I know there’s a joke in there, somewhere.

“We’re looking for work,” Toby says. “Our boss laid us off recently.”

“Recently, for sure,” the bartender quips. “Recently, like an hour ago?”

“What’s wrong with being proactive?” I ask. “I don’t enjoy being poor, so why let that happen if I can land a job or a gig anywhere in town?”

He gives me a wry smile. “I like your spirit.”

“What’s your name?” Cole asks him.

“Randall.”

“Randall, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Cole replies and offers to shake his hand.

Randall shakes it, then offers to refill his glass. “Want another?”

“Might as well. So, do you know anyone around here who’s looking to hire?”

“Not off the top of my head, but if you come in later tonight, there are a couple of managers from up the block who like to wet their whistles here on the weekend. We’ve got a live game on TV at eight.”

Looking around again, I realize that Randall is sharper than we gave him credit for. He took a run at us for being “cleaner” than his other patrons, but he’s quite the bright spot himself.

“You must make a lot in tips here,” I say to him.

He puts on a cool grin. “Maybe.”

“What’s your secret? Come on, share with the class.”

“I take side jobs on my days off. Nothing fancy, just stuff that needs to get done for folks who can afford it.”

I lean in closer. “What if I were to find myself in need of stuff that needs to get done?”

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether you can afford it.” Randall chuckles dryly.

Cole follows my gaze, then nods once and takes out a wad of cash. He places it on the counter right under Randall’s nose, and the man’s eyes widen in surprise.

“You’re not looking for a job, are you?” he mumbles.

“Would you be interested in the one we’re offering?” Cole replies.

“It depends.”

“On what?” I ask, my tone clipped with thinning patience.

Cole makes a move to withdraw the money. With lightning speed, Randall puts his hand on top of it and gives us another, more compliant smile. “On the complexity of the job, that’s all. Whatever it is, I’ll do it. I just need to make sure the pay is worth it.”

“We want information,” I say.

Randall pauses, his eyes darting all over the room. “Are you cops?”

“No,” Toby replies. “Do we look like cops?”

“You look like men who’ve seen some shit,” he says.

Cole cocks his head to the side for a moment. “I’m not going to argue with you there, but no, we’re not cops. We just need to find someone.”

“Who?”

“Have you ever heard of Brett Harvey?” I ask.

Randall takes a moment to think about it, while my gaze wanders across the back bar. Most of the bottles aren’t top shelf—just the regular stuff one finds in any affordable dive. But below the counter, in glass cabinets, I see the more expensive stuff. Eighteen-year-old whiskey, French cognac, high-end artisanal gin, all under lock and key and not immediately visible. It makes me think they’ve got a handful of wealthy patrons who come in regularly, high rollers with money to burn. Randall keeps their bottles down there like spirited little secrets. And looking at Randall again, his micro-expressions tell me I’m right. Expensive booze isn’t the only secret he’s keeping.

“You’ve heard the name before,” I say, picking up on his hesitation.

“Maybe,” he concedes.

Cole scoffs and slaps Randall’s hand away from the money. “I’ve had enough.”

“Cops were asking about him the other day. They showed his photo around,” Randall rushes to say, and Cole picks up on his greed, sliding the money toward him.

“Okay, and what did you tell them?” Toby asks, his voice low and rumbling.

“Nothing. I don’t know any Brett Harvey,” he says.

Cole tries to take the money away again.

Randall catches his hand. “But I do know the guy in the photo.”

“You mean this guy?” I say and slide the same photo over the bar counter, leaving it next to the cash. Randall nods with newfound enthusiasm, his gaze constantly darting back to the money. “This is Brett Harvey.”

“That’s not his name.”

“Then enlighten us. What is his name?” Cole is at the end of his rope.

“Perry. That’s all I know. He’s been coming around for years, like clockwork, Wednesday and Friday nights. He orders the same drink and the same food every time.”

“Perry,” Cole repeats, then steals a knowing glance at me.

The name doesn’t just ring a bell, it hits me like a punch in the gut because it makes the one connection we didn’t want to make, the one connection we hoped never to have to make. It unravels deeply unpleasant and dangerous implications, not just for Willow, but also for our entire family.

“That’s right,” Randall says. “I don’t know him that well. We just talk once in a while when the bar isn’t too busy. He gave me a couple of odds jobs, too, one last year and another before Christmas.”

“What was the job before Christmas?” Toby asks and adds another wad of cash next to the first one.

We’re on to something, and we’ve got plenty of cash to spare. All we need is self-control and composure, because I have a feeling it’s about to get uglier and uglier as Randall tells us more.

“Oh, wow,” the bartender gasps. “I have to ask. Why do y’all wanna know?”

“Do you care?” I reply.

“I just don’t want to get the guy in trouble. He was good to me. I needed money to get my teeth fixed. He paid me for an hour-long job, staking out somebody’s office in the car. It was that easy.”

“You can’t get him in trouble; he’s already in trouble. The best you can do is keep yourself out of trouble,” Cole warns him.

Randall thinks about it for a moment. I’m sure he understands the consequences. They’re written all over our faces. And as I offer another wad of cash on top, he laughs nervously, then starts singing like a bird.

“That was the job. One hour. All I had to do was sit in the car and give him the plate number on a chick’s Prius,” he says.

Cole shows him a photo of Willow on his phone. “This chick’s Prius?”

“Yeah, he wanted the plate number. That’s it. I sat around, waiting, thinking I’d spend the whole day before she got out of the office. He knew where she worked, but he said he couldn’t be seen around the area on account of the surveillance cameras.”

“And you didn’t think that was shady?”

“Do you think I fucking cared? He paid a lot of money for that gig. I didn’t hurt anybody. All I did was get him the information he wanted,” Randall replies.

“Did he tell you what he wanted with the woman?”

He shakes his head. “No, but he came in last night. He was in a bad mood, so I poured him a double, then told him the cops were looking for him, except they thought his name was Brett whatever. He didn’t seem surprised, but he got really, really mad.”

“What did he say?”

“That he was ‘this close’ to getting this big job done. He almost had everything in place and couldn’t let the cops or anybody else ruin it for him. He gave me some money to keep quiet.”

I give him a curious look. “Yet you just told us.”

“You paid me more,” he replies with a shady grin. The man has no honor. I couldn’t care less. At least we outbid that fucker for Randall’s loyalty.

“What was the big job about?” Cole asks.

I have a feeling we already know the answer, but we let Randall give us every detail he can remember. The more he speaks, the more worried I get, however.

“He’s supposed to take out some lady,” he says, then points a finger at his head and mimics the sound of a gunshot. “You know what I mean? It’s a complex job, he said. Lots of eyes on him. He almost got her at some fancy wedding, but things got mixed up. He wouldn’t tell me much about that, but he did mention he was about to do something even wilder. He was excited about it.”

“I’m assuming he’s getting paid for this. Did he tell you who his employer was?” Cole asks, his foot nervously tapping the barstool’s weathered steel leg.

“He’s not doing it for the money,” Randall says. “That’s the thing I remember. It’s what struck me the most. He said he’s doing it out of love.”

And there we have it: means, motive, opportunity.

Willow’s instinct was on point long before she knew it. There was a reason she remembered the snake heart tattoo when Dad mentioned Sheila’s ex-boyfriend to her. It’s not some unknown dude named Brett Harvey who we’ve been dealing with, the ghost without a past or a footprint, it’s Perry Jackson, Sheila’s first love, and he’s determined to kill Willow for some unknown reason.

Toby and Cole turn to face me, and I see the dread imprinted on their faces. I see it, and I feel it burrowing deep inside me, too, because I understand what this means.

And where it will lead.

26

Afew hours go by between my waking up to read the thoughtful note in the kitchen and my decision to stay home and not to go into the office, so I can tell the brothers about the baby. Emboldened by last night’s intimacy, comforted by their determination to make me feel safe, to make me feel like I belong with them, I feel like it’s my turn to share a secret of my own.

According to Jamie, their father was brought back to Thornwood Manor earlier that day. I decide to surprise them and head up there myself.

“You shouldn’t be out on the road on your own,” Jamie insists.

I’m just about to get behind the wheel of my car when he gingerly pushes me out of the way and motions for me to take the passenger seat.

“Are you serious?” I laugh.

“Hey, I promised Cole I’d look after you when they’re not around. I intend to keep that promise. Now get in.”

“Don’t you have a mood board to complete today? We made all those printouts and color scheme options,” I reply, but I’m already walking around the front of the car to ride shotgun, touched by my best friend’s loyalty and devotion.

He shakes his head. “That can wait. Come on. I’ll stay in the car and take some calls or answer some emails while you talk to them.”

“You’re amazing, Jamie.”

“And don’t I know it.”

The ride to Thornwood Manor is rather quick and uneventful, but my enthusiasm is cut short when I walk into the house, and Ian regretfully informs me that the Morgan brothers aren’t here.

“I thought they’d be the first through the door to see their dad,” I reply, somewhat confused. I briefly check my phone.

“They’ve been notified,” Ian replies. “Would you like to wait for them? I can call them and let them know.”

“Ah, no, don’t call them,” I chuckle lightly. “I’m trying to surprise them. Did you speak to them at all today?”

Ian nods once. “Earlier, yes. They weren’t sure when they’d be able to pop in. They only mentioned that they had some work to do in Hoboken.”

It has to be something personal or perhaps related to Toby’s projects. I know one of his bike shops is in that area.

“You’re welcome to wait for them here, though,” Ian insists with a soft smile.

“I might…”

But I lose that thought quickly when Terrence and Katrina come down the main stairs, looking like something out of a modern rendition of The Great Gatsby. Katrina glows in a wintry sequined cocktail dress, while Terrence looks sharp in his dark grey suit, both casting different sets of smiles at me.

“Ah, look what the cat dragged in,” Terrence quips.

“On second thought, Ian, I think I’ll head over to Toby’s bike shop. I’m pretty sure I’ll find them there,” I mutter and give Ian a curt nod before I head for the door.

The last thing I need is an interaction with the most miserable couple on earth. No amount of sequin or glitter or Italian leather can mask their unhappiness. It’s written all over their faces, whether they wish to admit it or not, and I’m too happy with what I’m about to do to let them ruin my day.

“So we’re not on speaking terms anymore,” Terrence laughs.

“Leave her, honey,” Katrina replies. “She’s probably busy running around with her business and whatnot.”

“Willow? Running? Hah, that’s rich.”

And there it is. The one aggression that stops me in my tracks, just as I was about to head out the door. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones, maybe it’s the fact that I no longer can stand Terrence, not even a little bit. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make me spin on my heels to face the couple.

“Say that again, Terrence,” I challenge him.

“Say what?”

He seems surprised, almost as if he doesn’t know what to do next. He wasn’t expecting a rebuttal. I guess he thought he was going to laugh some more while I walked out the door.

“What you just said, you coward. Say it again, but to my face and not hiding behind your wife’s skirt,” I reply bluntly.

Katrina frowns. She looks like she’s about to say something, but my glare advises her to stay out of it. To my relief, she chooses silence and takes a step back while Terrence steps closer, cocky and self-assured as ever.

“You’re not the running type. What’s wrong with that?” he says.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s something wrong with the way you said it,” I shoot back. “And I think it’s time we had a chat on this topic.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not excused. Here’s the thing, Terrence. I get you now; I really do. You like plump girls like me, you do. More than you care to admit. That’s why you were drawn to me, why you proposed to me, why you wasted a year of my life with what turned out to be empty promises.

“Because you knew your mother would never let you marry me. And you’re mommy’s good little boy. You’ll marry whoever she tells you to marry, a pretty New York debutante.” I pause and give Katrina an appreciative smile. “Case in point.”

“You sound bitter,” Terrence sneers.

I laugh from the bottom of my belly. “Oh, I love that you mistake bitterness for absolute relief. I am thankful for the way things turned out. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’re the miserable and bitter one, not me, because deep down, I really am the woman you wanted to marry.

“So what do you do to soothe your misery?” I add, a grin slitting my face as I watch his silent rage unfurl beneath the surface. “You try to take it out on me. You try to make me feel like I wasn’t good enough for you, when you know you were the one who wasn’t good enough for me. You’ll never be good enough for me because you’re not a man, Terrence. You’re Mommy’s good little puppet.

“Don’t think for a second that your words hurt me. I don’t give a rat’s ass, but I had to let you know. I had to do you this one solid favor because you clearly need to hear the truth for once.”

“I married the perfect woman,” he says, absolutely seething.

I can tell from Katrina’s disappointment that she doesn’t believe him. It’s okay. He doesn’t believe himself either. It’s obvious from his high-pitched tone.

“Then why are you still trying so hard to hurt me?”

“Because you got it into your head that you’re something special. You think you’re something else now that my brothers are passing you around, and you don’t even realize it’s not a privilege to be a Morgan whore⁠—”

My fist flies out before my brain can process the movement. Terrence doesn’t see it coming. I get him right in the nose, and blood gushes out.

Katrina lets out a scream, then rushes to his side. Reluctantly, Ian produces a handkerchief and hands it to Katrina, so she can use it to stem the blood flow.

“Oh, my God!” she croaks. “Willow, are you insane?”

“No, I’m just tired of his bullshit,” I say, though I’m shaking like a leaf. I can’t believe I just did that. However, I show no sign of regret. My only option is to double down and point a warning finger at a traumatized Terrence.

“Let that be a lesson to you, Terrence. The next time you try to put me down or address me in any way that isn’t considered polite or respectful, I will break your nose again. And then your stepbrothers will break every other bone in your body, too, for good measure.”

“You crazy bitch!” he snarls, on the verge of tears.

At the same time, Ian stifles a laugh. “Shall I call you an ambulance, Mr. Madison?”

“No!”

“And by the way,” I add with a dry chuckle. “I hope you noticed the irony of calling me a Morgan whore, considering your own mother’s history with this family.”

I leave them all behind, eerily satisfied with my reaction. Perhaps violence wasn’t the best answer, but damn, it felt good. It felt liberating. It was as if I was released from all the anger and the pain that Terrence caused me when he dumped me.

“What happened in there?” Jamie asks as I get back in the car.

“Drive; I’ll tell you all about it,” I say with a sly grin.

Jamie is still laughing as we pull up outside Toby’s bike shop in northern Hoboken. It’s closed, though. The main door is shuttered, the office door is locked, and the lights are off inside.

It’s just a little after noon.

“Maybe they’re on a lunch break?” I mutter, turning around to look at Jamie.

He’s out of the car, joining me by the office door with a frown of his own. “Maybe we should just call them.”

The prospect sort of disappoints me. I was angling for a grand gesture, to surprise them, and then, the big reveal. I’d brace myself. I’d hold my breath for a moment, but know that they’re in this with me, all the way through to the end. I felt it for sure last night: the commitment, the desire to be a part of my life.

Jamie notices my hesitation, his lips curling up into a cute smile. “I get it,” he says. “It’s your way of flipping the script, isn’t it?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

To our left, there’s a narrow gangway leading to the back of the building. I can’t see much from where we’re standing, just the large dumpsters and deep shadows. Suddenly, a movement catches my eye.

“You’re trying to take back control of the situation,” Jamie says, though I keep staring at the end of the gangway, waiting to see movement again. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“You had no control over the pregnancy happening. You’re terrified of the change it’ll bring with it, so you owning it like this, you going up to the guys to tell them about it, it’s your way of keeping control over the situation.”

“You read me like an open book,” I mutter.

“I know you well, always the independent warrior woman,” he chuckles softly, then pauses. “What are you looking at?”

“Someone’s over there,” I reply.

He follows my gaze, not entirely convinced. “That’s the back of the shop, isn’t it?”

“I think so.”

“They have a loading dock back there most likely. It’s where they receive all the big parts and whatever supplies they need to build Toby’s badass and ridiculously expensive bikes,” Jamie says. “Maybe someone’s unloading stuff.”

“They might be able to tell us when Toby’s coming back, at least,” I reply. “If I get him, he can get Cole and Asher over, too.”

“Worth a shot.”

Jamie follows me into the alleyway. The deeper we go, however, the more unsettled I am, though for no apparent reason. It’s just darker here than out in the street. It’s the middle of the day, yet my instincts keep flaring, my temples throbbing with a sense of foreboding.

With a tight stomach, I reach the end.

A black SUV is waiting, the engine rumbling softly, but I don’t see the driver anywhere. The loading dock is shut and locked down, too. Jamie’s yelp of pain, followed by a sudden thud, scares me, and I jump and turn around.

“Jamie!” I cry out.

My best friend is on the ground, bleeding from the back of his head and moaning as he struggles to stay conscious. Standing above him and with a gun pointed at my head is Brett Harvey.

“You,” I whisper, dread taking over with an icy, sharp grip.

I recognize him from the police photos and from the few glimpses I got at Terrence and Katrina’s wedding. Only now, I am able to connect the last few dots, to remember the moments before Jamie collapsed from the poison. Again, Jamie takes the brunt of violence meant for me.

“Shut up. Don’t make a sound,” Brett says.

He aims the gun at my face. My blood thickens. My stomach shrinks to the size of a pea, tight and painful as hell as sweat trickles down my neck. I’m shaking, unable to move without my knees caving in. All I can think of is my unborn child.

27

“If you scream, I will hurt you,” Brett says. “Get in the car.”

I look at the SUV again, then at Jamie. He’s breathing, but he doesn’t look anywhere near fine enough to be left behind like this.

“You hurt him,” I say, my voice trembling.

“I’ll hurt you more,” he replies. “Get in the fucking car.”

“Why? What do you want from me?”

I try to stall him. It’s the only thing I can think of while I desperately glance around, hoping to see someone or something that might help me free myself and my best friend from this situation. But we’re alone in this back alley. There’s no movement at the end where it meets the main street. There’s no sound, except for Jamie’s ragged moans and the SUV’s engine idling. I’m terrified. My phone rings, startling me and Brett at the same time.

“Oh God,” I gasp.

“Give me the phone,” he hisses and holds out his other hand.

“I… I…”

“Give me the phone now!”

By some miracle, I manage to stick my hand in my coat and retrieve the phone. I see Cole’s name across the screen. My thumb moves to slide to answer, but Brett snatches it away before I can open the line.

“Figures,” Brett mutters and tosses the phone away.

I watch it land with a crack on the cement. It’s no longer ringing.

“I’m not going to say it again, Willow. Get in the car.”

“You know my name,” I reply.

“I know a lot about you, you little bitch, now move.” He aims the gun at my head for good measure.

I have no choice but to do as I’m told, yet I’m not ready to go down without a fight either. I take a deep breath and nod at Jamie. “What about my friend?”

“He’ll live. I just conked him on the head.”

“You have to call 911 and⁠—”

“Did I stutter?”

This is the end of the line.

Cautious with every step and every movement, I walk over to the black SUV and attempt to get in the passenger seat.

“Oh, no, you’re driving,” Brett says. “Key’s in the ignition.”

I give him a startled look. “What?”

“Get in the driver’s seat.”

Brett rides shotgun, weapon pointing at me.

“Seat belt,” he says, and I calmly obey.

Strapped in, I look at him and ask, “Why are you doing this?”

“Hands on the wheel,” he says, then shifts the gear into Drive. “Now, move.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine. I’m having you drive because that way I know you won’t do anything stupid to escape,” he replies. “Follow my instructions, and I won’t hurt you.”

“Hurt me,” I notice the repetition, “not kill me, right?”

Brett groans softly, clearly displeased with the situation. My interest is further piqued as to the reason he’s holding me at gunpoint like this.

“Just drive,” he says.

“No, I deserve to know that much. Are you going to kill me?”

“I’m not the one who’s going to kill you. I’m supposed to take you in alive. Now fucking drive, Willow.”

Oh God.

I don’t know where we’re going or what’s going to happen next. I can’t scream or signal anyone for help. All Brett has to do is hit me or shoot me in order to subdue me or worse, and I can’t risk it, not while I’m pregnant. My only choice is to play along until I find a way out.

28

The fact that we can’t get hold of Willow or Jamie doesn’t sit well with me. We’ve been trying to reach them for almost half an hour as Asher drives us across town. Ian’s text message said our father was back at Thornwood Manor and Willow had just arrived there.

“Ian!” Cole says into his phone. “Is Willow still there? We’re coming over now.” He pauses, his frown deepening as traffic ahead thickens and cars block the upcoming intersection.

Asher is restless behind the wheel, cursing under his breath. “Fucking hell, there’s something wrong here; I know it.”

“Ease up, brother,” I say, trying to calm him, but I’m virtually helpless, too, relegated to the back seat and seething with impatience.

“She left?” Cole groans in frustration. “Did she tell you where she was going? Okay. Okay. Thanks, Ian. We’ve got it from here.” He pauses again. I can’t hear Ian over the phone, but I’m willing to bet he just asked my brother if everything is alright. “Everything is fine,” Cole says, “I hope. I’ll call you later. Give Dad our best, please.”

He hangs up and glares darkly. “Willow was headed toward your bike shop in Hoboken. She had a surprise for us, apparently.”

“That’s why she didn’t call us first,” I reply.

Asher scoffs. “She knew Dad was coming back to Thornwood Manor today. She must’ve assumed we’d go over there to see him.”

“She still isn’t picking up,” Cole replies and tries calling her again. “All I’m getting is her voicemail.”

“Fuck this,” Asher hisses and makes a sudden U-turn.

Incoming cars skid and screech to a halt. Honks fill the tense silence as Asher steers the car safely in the opposite lane and speeds up. My heart jumped out of my chest for a hot second.

“Are you okay there, buddy?” I manage, my voice uneven.

Cole is speechless, pale as a sheet of paper, in the passenger seat.

“Yes,” Asher replies. “I just didn’t see the point in going to Thornwood right now. Your shop is in the opposite direction.”

I don’t remember the last time I saw this side of him, raw with worry, darkened gaze, tense shoulders, ready to kill anyone who stands in his way. Asher always found comfort and focus in the business side of things, in fine clothes and rare watches, in good whiskey and constructive conversation. Not that he lacks a practical, more brutal side. He just doesn’t like to unleash it upon the world.

I barely register the minutes that pass until we arrive at my bike shop. Willow’s Prius is parked outside, and for a moment, I breathe a sigh of relief. We jump out of our rental sedan and head to the front entrance first, anxiously looking around.

“Where the hell is she?” Cole asks, increasingly more aggravated.

My relief is short-lived, as I, too, try to call Willow on her cell phone. No answer. Asher heads down the street, then comes back up, shaking his head.

“I don’t see her anywhere,” he says.

“This can’t be right.”

“Jamie was supposed to be with her,” I say and call him instead.

It keeps ringing until the voicemail takes over with his supposedly upbeat but actually slightly snarky message.

“Hi! I can’t be reached right now because I’m doing something awesome with my life, but feel free to leave me a message and tell me about yours! Unless you’re calling about a wedding or a fabulous event, in which case, leave your name and phone number, and I’ll call you right back.”

“Fuck,” I hang up.

“Wait, call him again.” Cole stops by the office door.

The cold winds of January rise, throwing specks of snow in the air.

I call Jamie again, and Cole motions Asher to stay quiet for a moment. Finally, I hear a faint, distant ringing. Voicemail again, so I hang up and redial.

We follow the sound into the gangway leading to the back of my shop. The closer we get, the clearer the picture becomes. Asher sees Jamie first and rushes to his side while I slip the phone back in my pocket and run over.

“Oh fuck,” Cole grumbles as he helps Asher turn Jamie over. He takes off his jacket and wraps it around Jamie’s shoulders.

The poor guy is in and out of consciousness, blood congealed on the back of his head and his lips purple from being out in the cold too long.

“Jamie, can you hear me?” Cole calls out while Asher holds him in a sitting position.

I’m on the phone with emergency services, requesting an ambulance for Jamie and a squad car for us. I name drop Hornby into the conversation to make sure we get reliable fellas on board while we try to figure out what the fuck happened here—and where Willow went.

“Jamie!” Cole taps him lightly across the face.

“Holy shit!” Jamie cries out, snapping into full consciousness, stuttering and shivering. “What the fuck happened? Where am I? Where’s Will?”

“We were going to ask you the same thing. What happened?” I reply.

Jamie needs a moment to gather his senses. My blood boils, my nerves jangle louder in the back of my head. “I… We… We came over. Will wanted to talk to you. She figured we’d find you here.”

“Okay, what happened next?”

“We came around the back. She said she saw someone, probably some delivery guy unloading something,” he says.

I slip into my phone to check out the shop’s CCTV feed. Thank heavens for surveillance apps and cloud storage.

“And we got here and… that’s all I remember. Just… this sharp pain…”

“You’re okay,” Asher tries to soothe him.

“You don’t remember seeing anyone?” Cole insists.

Jamie shakes his head, then winces from the pain. “I’m sorry, no…”

“What did Willow want that it couldn’t wait until later?” Asher wonders aloud, giving Cole and me a curious glance.

“Oh God, where is she?” Jamie is finally catching up, looking around in understandable panic. “She was right in front of me. There was a big black car here, an⁠—”

“An SUV,” I interject, staring in horror at the video recording on my phone from less than half an hour ago. “A black SUV.”

Sirens wail in the distance, getting louder with each passing minute. I turn the phone around and show it to my brothers and Jamie. They get a clear view of Perry Jackson waiting on the corner, conking Jamie on the head, and knocking him out. We see him shoving a gun in Willow’s terrified face before he forces her behind the wheel of that black SUV. My blood runs cold as I realize what happened and how narrowly we missed it.

“That can’t be.” Asher murmurs, his eyes round with shock. “He didn’t…”

“He did,” Cole says. “He must’ve been following them around, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

Jamie frowns from both pain and fear. “Who is that guy? Is he the bastard who poisoned me? Brett whatever?”

“That’s not his real name,” I tell him.

“Then what is his real name?”

“Perry Jackson,” I reply.

Jamie’s face drops. “Wait, Will told me about him. Sheila’s ex? You weren’t sure that there was a connection based solely on the… ow, my fucking head! Based solely on the snake tattoo. She said you guys were still looking into that.”

“We were until earlier this morning when we got confirmation.” Cole sighs deeply, then looks at me. “It was her. It was Sheila. She’s been behind this the whole time. Nothing else makes sense.”

“Oh God, guys… There’s something you need to know,” Jamie gasps. The sirens get louder, and I hear the ambulance pull up just at the other end of the gangway, its last wail echoing through the air. “She was coming to see you to tell you something.”

“You mentioned that,” I say.

“Something important,” he replies.

“Well, out with it,” Asher snaps.

“She’s pregnant.”

That’s all it took to send the three of us practically flying across the city. Detective Hornby is in charge at the bike shop scene, interviewing Jamie before they take him to the hospital to get him the care he needs.

“She’s pregnant,” I say it out loud, making everything all the more real.

I don’t even know when we got there, but my brothers and I make our way up the steps of Thornwood Manor with lightning snapping at our heels. We walk past Ian and go straight into the tearoom, where Sheila usually lingers after lunch.

It takes every inch of willpower to keep myself in check and not smash everything around me when we only find Terrence and Katrina sipping their tea by the window. Terrence’s bloody nose catches my eye, but Cole beats me to the punch.

“What happened to your face, dipshit?” he asks.

Terrence scowls at him, then whimpers from the pain from the two rolled up bandages stuck up his nose. “Nothing.”

“Willow hit him,” Katrina sighs. “And he refuses to go to the hospital.”

“I’m fine. She didn’t break my nose, that bitch.”

I reach him in the blink of an eye and grab him by the collar while his wife screams in horror. I toss him across the room, like he’s no heavier than a straw doll ,and he lands on his side with a pained grunt.

Asher holds Katrina back. “You don’t want to get involved, take it from me.”

“Where’s your mother?” Cole asks Terrence as I threaten to toss him again. I’m not done with his sorry ass yet.

Terrence sees me coming and scrambles backward, pale and sweating and scared out of his mind. “What are you doing? Stop it!”

“Stop him!” Katrina cries out.

“I’m not going to kill him,” I calmly reply. “I’m just going to make him suffer until he tells us what we need to know.”

I’m just about ready to grab him off the floor again when Terrence puts his hands up. “I don’t know where Mom is! She’s not home, okay? She was supposed to be here when they brought Dad home, but she wasn’t. She asked me and Katrina to stick around.”

“He’s telling the truth,” Katrina adds, her eyes filled with tears. “We were supposed to go to Nobu for brunch, but we stayed here. Sheila said she had some business to attend to.”

“Did she say where?” Asher asks.

Terrence shakes his head slowly. “No, she didn’t. What the fuck is wrong with you?” He looks at me with a pained scowl.

“Turns out the guy who poisoned Jamie, who tried to kill Willow, is your mother’s ex-lover,” I reply through gritted teeth. “So you’d better think twice before you do or say anything meant to steer us away from Sheila, because I know for a fact that she had a hand in this entire fucking mess.”

“Wait, I thought it was some waiter—” Terrence tries to say, but I kick him in the leg. “Ouch!”

“It’s Perry Jackson, snake heart tattoo on the wrist.” I pause for the realization to sink in, and I see it spread across his face, turning it the whitest shade of white possible. “That’s right, so think hard, Terrence. Time is of the essence here because Perry has Willow.”

“He what?” Katrina gasps.

I give her a hard look. “I have CCTV footage. He took her at gunpoint. If anything happens to her, you’ll become a widow. That, I can promise you.”

And she believes me. I don’t need to say anymore to drive that point home.

“Listen, I don’t know what my mom did or said⁠—”

Katrina flips out, stomping her feet in a sudden bout of hysteria. “Just tell them the truth. Tell them everything you know, you vain, stupid, spineless bastard! Just tell them!”

“I… I had no idea,” Terrence says, caving in, occasionally stealing a worried glance at his wife. He can’t not see the hatred in her face. It’s imprinted on her features whenever she looks at him, and she can’t disguise it anymore. I suppose this is the last straw for her in a long line of straws.

“I mean, I knew Mom was up to something. She had this issue with Willow since before we broke up. I don’t know why, she just hates Willow.”

“Sheila doesn’t just hate Willow. There’s a reason somewhere in that sick fucking mind of hers!” Katrina snaps, then pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Good lord, Daddy did warn me. He told me, ‘Be careful, Katie, honey, I don’t like that boy. He still has his umbilical cord, and his mother’s wearing it around that bony neck of hers.’ I didn’t believe him.”

“Jesus,” Terrence gasps.

I hit his ankle with the tip of my boot. “Think, Terrence. Just think. Willow’s life is at stake. I’m not playing. None of us is.”

It’s not just Willow’s life. There’s another growing in her womb, a life we created, a life we should be able to bring into the world. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m letting a sick monster and her ex take that away from us. There isn’t a chance in hell I’m letting them take Willow away from us.

“Sheila is behind this. Perry has no reason whatsoever to do this to Willow, but Sheila does,” Cole adds.

“She hates Willow,” Terrence concedes, “for her figure, for the way she carries herself, for the way she built her career, her success.”

Katrina scoffs and crosses her arms. “That woman is awful.”

“She’s still my mom,” Terrence mumbles, then gasps and lifts his hands when I move to hit him again. “I don’t know what else to tell you, I swear! Mom was cooking something up. She was determined to make Willow suffer, but she wouldn’t tell me more. I kept asking, and she kept saying it was no longer my concern. She got Willow out of my life. I’m a married man, so I’m supposed to move on with my life.”

Cole shakes his head, and it’s clear to me that we’re not leaving until we get some answers, the right answers.

“Where can we find Sheila when she doesn’t want to be found?” he asks Terrence. “There has to be a place somewhere in this fucking city.”

Terrence thinks about it for a moment, realization flickering in his green, scared eyes as he looks up at me. “Our old place,” he mumbles. “Mom was going to sell it, but then she met your dad and decided to keep it. She just liked to go there sometimes.”

“The old Madison mansion,” I reply.

He nods once. “Yes, in North Hampton.”

I’m not surprised. Sheila has many secrets of her own, and I’ve always wondered where she might go to hide anything she didn’t want found—including herself during the more dire times. I can almost see her retreating to North Hampton in the back of a black cab, sunglasses and scarf on, as she tries to keep a low profile while sneaking out there.

“Are you sure my mom had something to do with this?” Terrence asks, then clears his throat. “I mean, it’s a little extreme.”

“Yet it happened,” I bluntly reply. “Just pray we get to Willow in time.”

It’s a promise, not a threat.

Terrence had an inkling that something was about to go wrong, but in his animosity toward us and Willow, he chose to keep quiet. I have no mercy for anyone who had a hand in causing my love any form of suffering.

Because that’s what Willow has become.

My love. Our love.

The love of our lives, of all the lives we’ve lived before, and all the lives to follow.

29

I’m tied to a chair on the ground floor of an old mansion somewhere in the Hamptons. North Hampton, to be specific. I followed Brett’s instructions, I obeyed his orders. I tried to get him to talk, but he wouldn’t tell me anything.

At least I’m still alive.

I’m scanning every inch of this living room until I can figure a way out. It’s quiet and not as cold as I thought. Heat is coming up through the pipes, keeping the frost away from the windows. Outside, a cold wind howls, carried by the sea. The eastern tip of Long Island is awful during the winter.

It feels sort of fitting, given my current circumstances.

Brett sits quietly by the window, waiting.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re doing this,” I say, trying to strike up another conversation, but he doesn’t say anything. I notice his jeans, his black t-shirt, the aviator jacket with the woolen collar, the silvery stubble and almost white hair. The wear and tear of time passing and a life spent drowning in a bottle of scotch is apparent on his face. “I just hope you’re being paid handsomely for it, otherwise, I don’t see the point. You don’t strike me as some sort of psycho.”

“I don’t?” he shoots back, then glances at his gun. It rests on the windowsill, silent and potentially deadly, just like him. “You just don’t know me well enough.”

“I just don’t understand. Please, make me understand. I deserve that much.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me. How much are you getting paid? A hundred thousand dollars? Two hundred?”

“It’s not about money,” he scoffs. “You haven’t got a clue.”

“Clue me in!”

“Perry won’t tell you anything; he’s too loyal,” Sheila says as she walks into the living room, like my being tied to a chair is no big deal.

I’m breathless, stunned, as I stare at her. “Perry,” I gasp. “You’re Perry,” I whisper. “Her ex…”

“Never her ex.” He chuckles dryly, then gets up and walks over to Sheila. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her into a greedy, fiery kiss. It causes my stomach to turn inside out as I put the pieces together. Finally, the puzzle makes sense. “Her first and only true love.”

“Perry has been my rock from the moment I stepped outside my parents’ apartment,” Sheila says, resting her head on his shoulder and giving me a cold smile. “He would do anything for me because he knows I would do everything for him.”

“Everything?” I ask. “While you’re married to another man? While you were married to another man before him? While you had another man’s child? Is this the everything you imagined, Perry?”

Perry shakes his head and gently pulls away, going back to his seat by the window. “Sacrifices were made for us to get to this point. We’re almost across the finish line now, though.”

“What’s the finish line, exactly?”

Sheila takes a seat in the chair across from me and crosses her legs. The skinny jeans and deerskin boots aren’t her usual style choice, but I’m guessing she opted for something more comfortable for this part of the plan, because this was always the plan; it’s written all over her face. When the poisoning failed at her son’s wedding, she and Perry had to think of something else.

“Why do you want me dead?” I ask her. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Do you know what the hardest part is about raising a child?” she replies with a question of her own, though she doesn’t wait for me to answer. “It’s making sure he goes on to have a better life than you and has the freedom of choice. I never got my freedom of choice, you see. I didn’t choose to marry Terrence’s father; I had to.”

My frown has her rolling her eyes.

“I was dancing at his favorite club,” she adds. “I took him to the back room and let him have his fun. He paid well. It helped us get Perry’s Mustang at the time.”

“What a great ride that was,” Perry says with a laugh.

Good grief, he’s as crazy and as delusional as she is. It’s a match made in hell, and I’m smack in the middle of it and at their mercy.

“But then I got pregnant. I knew it wasn’t Perry’s.”

“I’m shooting blanks,” Perry feels the need to clarify, prompting a scowl out of me.

“I loved Perry, but I wanted a baby, too. James gave me that. It landed me in the Madison family, though. I’d hoped he’d just pay me off and leave me alone, but no, James had honor,” Sheila scoffs. “I played along for a while, but I never left my Perry behind.”

“And Perry made sure we’d be together again,” he says, oddly referring to himself in the third person.

“Then I met Cole. Perry didn’t like him much,” Sheila adds. “And it turns out Cole’s brothers didn’t like me much either.”

“So you married the father. You want a chunk of the Morgan fortune. That’s what it has always been about then.”

“As far as Perry and I are concerned, yes.”

“You squandered Madison’s fortune,” I say.

“It wasn’t that much to begin with,” she replies with a casual shrug. “My lifestyle demands a certain amount of money. In the long term, I suppose we made some bad investments, but none of that matters anymore. We’re about to come into a new fortune soon enough,” she adds, giving Perry a playful wink.

I shake my head in genuine dismay. “The sad part is that Bill already knows what an awful person you are, yet he chose to respect his vow to you. That’s the promise he made to you and Terrence. Does Terrence know about all this?”

“Oh, no. I spared him,” she says. “He’s better off not knowing. He’ll meet Perry soon, though. It’s time.”

“We’re just waiting for the old man to die. Can’t kill him, too,” Perry replies.

Too?

I stare at him in disbelief, quickly putting two and two together. “You killed James Madison.”

“All I did was fix the brakes. He got himself killed,” he says.

Ice trickles through my veins as I understand precisely what kind of monsters I’m dealing with—the worst kind, capable of deceit at the highest level and in the long term, people with masks who have almost everyone fooled, people so awful, you can’t even imagine what worse things hide beneath the surface.

“Sheila, what do you want from me?”

“Ah, yes, that was the original question, and I got sidetracked.” She laughs lightly, but her humor drops into a cold glare as she looks at me again. “I swore I wouldn’t let Terrence suffer the way I did. You weren’t the one for him. I knew it from the moment I met you. You’re too much for him.”

“And you went and found him less. Why try to kill me, then?”

Sheila slaps the armrest of her chair in a flash of rage. “Because your mere existence sickens me, you fat bitch! Because you get to strut your lard around like you belong in my world, the same world I sacrificed so much to be a part of! Because you never had to sell yourself the way I did in order to get somewhere! Because I fucking hate you so much, I will do anything to live in a world where you no longer exist.” She pauses for a deep breath. “That’s why.”

The words come out so naturally, the hate is so visceral.

Jamie was right. Sheila is just psychotically jealous of me and of everything I’ve built on my own. She made her choices, yet she pretends to be a victim of her circumstances.

“Tell me something,” I say, stealing a peek at Perry. He doesn’t seem too fond of this part of the conversation, choosing to stare out the window instead. “Did James Madison force you to marry him?”

“Well, no, but he didn’t give me any other choice,” Sheila replies.

Perry’s doubtful look is hard to miss when he looks at her. The thought must’ve crossed his mind so many times, I’m sure of it.

“You did have the choice not to marry him,” I say. “Wait, that would’ve meant raising Terrence on your own. Oh no, it would’ve meant raising him with Perry, in poverty, I suppose. I mean, who wants to hire a pregnant or a postpartum exotic dancer, right?”

“I would’ve gotten a job,” Perry mutters.

Sheila scoffs and waves his concern away. “She’s just trying to get into your head, the fat, scheming bitch. Don’t mind her.”

There’s so much I want to say to her, but I’d only end up dying sooner. I can’t get her to back down; it’s clear she wants me dead. But she also made sure I’d be here, awake and alive, to listen to her motives. I still have one option left to try.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say.

“Oh, but I do. There’s no other way,” Sheila replies. “As long as you’re alive, you’ll be a thorn in my side, and the Morgan brothers will keep getting in my way. With you out of the picture, however, they’ll be too distraught to notice.”

“God, Sheila, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to convince Bill to finish updating his last will and testament, like he promised. My son and I deserve the lion’s share of everything he has. You said it yourself, didn’t you? Bill promised he’d take care of Terrence and me. I intend to hold him to it.”

Perry frowns as he looks outside. It catches my attention, that lingering concern over something that moves somewhere out there. It’s probably a car or a neighbor. Either way, it stays with him long after the distraction has passed. He’s hypervigilant, and prone to fits of anger and unpredictability, but he is obsessed with Sheila, foolishly obsessed.

I can either cast more doubt over their insane relationship, or I can appeal to whatever morsel of humanity she might have left underneath that honey-mustard-colored cashmere sweater of hers.

“You can’t kill me, Sheila,” I say.

“Says who?” She laughs, a truly terrifying sound.

“I’m going to be a mother soon. I’m pregnant,” I reply, hoping for the best while my stomach tightens, my body somehow preparing for the worst. “I just found out.”

Sheila stares at me for what feels like a wretched eternity, her face expressionless, just cold, green eyes and red, glossy lips pressed into a thin line. Perry, however, seems troubled by the revelation. I’m guessing he might draw the line at killing a pregnant woman.

“All the more reason to end you,” Sheila decrees.

“Sheila, please.” I burst into tears. I’m tied up and helpless. There’s only so much more I can do, and despair is quickly settling in and making my heart crumble. “My baby…”

“Perry, it’s time. I’ve had my fun.”

I look at Perry and shake my head, hot tears streaming down my cheeks. “Please, Perry, don’t…”

“Sheila, baby⁠—”

“Oh, give me the fucking gun. I’ll do it!” she snaps and gets up, then walks over to the window with a frustrated huff.

Perry tries to stop her, but she boldly pushes him aside and reaches for the gun.

I struggle against the rope. It’s wound tightly around my wrists.

I can’t get away.

She’s going to kill me.

30

Istare down the barrel of that gun.

It feels cold, impersonal, as if fate itself is trying to tell me it wasn’t supposed to end this way.

“Sheila, honey, come on,” Perry says, trying to reason with her. To my astonishment, he has more of a conscience than she ever will. “She’s pregnant. There’s a kid in there.”

“Another heir to the Morgan fortune,” Sheila replies, gripping the gun fiercely as she shakes her head and glares at me with boundless hate. “I refuse to share. I didn’t put up with Bill Morgan’s pasty old ass for all these years just to get a smaller slice of the fucking pie.”

Ah, there she is, the girl from the Bronx with questionable morals and nothing but a pretty face to show for it, the monster with red hair and green eyes that few ever see, the real Sheila.

“Please,” I say, trying one more time, my body going limp as it prepares for the cold embrace of death. I don’t think Perry is mentally strong enough to take over, to stop her. “Please, Sheila, my baby…”

“Fuck you and your⁠—”

The front door blasts wide open with a terrifying bang. The noise startles Sheila so badly that she drops the gun on the floor and screams in genuine shock. Perry whirls around just in time to see the Morgan brothers as they storm into the room. Everything happens so fast.

All I can do is watch it unfold, one second at a time.

Cole lunges at Perry, just as he’s about to retrieve the gun. He knocks Perry down and starts landing punches—hard blows to his head and body. I hear bones cracking and Perry’s grunts of pain.

“Don’t move!” Toby snarls as Sheila tries to flee.

Asher reaches her in a matter of seconds and secures a zip-tie around her bony wrists, then rushes to where I’m still bound and helpless and crying from genuine relief. My entire body feels like it’s made of jelly.

“We’re here, baby, we’re here,” Asher says.

Toby helps Cole turn Perry over, then they tie him up, as well.

I hear the sirens wail as they race up the road, disturbing the entire neighborhood. I see the squad car lights flashing, red and blue, before I look up at my men. The ropes fall from my wrists, and I throw my arms around Asher.

“Oh God, I thought this was it,” I cry over and over in Asher’s embrace.

“You’re safe, baby,” he says.

Cole takes me in his arms, showering me with deep, wet kisses, while Toby gives me a quick once-over.

“Are you okay, my love?” Cole asks.

I nod enthusiastically. “By some miracle, yes. Oh God.”

“It’s okay,” Toby whispers as he plants a kiss on my temple. “You and the little one are going to be okay.”

“The little… oh…” I soften as I feel his hand resting on my lower belly.

They know.

They must’ve found Jamie. I breathe the heaviest sigh of relief, my whole body shuddering, as I lean into Cole, breathe him in, and hold onto him and his brothers for dear life.

Cradled in Cole’s arms, I give Detective Hornby my statement as his officers secure the scene and put Perry and Sheila in cuffs. Lights flash outside—not just squad cars and ambulances, but also a plethora of cameras from a swarm of reporters. I guess the neighbors were alerted by the sound of the door being busted down as the Morgan brothers stormed the Madison mansion.

“She told me all about how she and Perry orchestrated James Madison’s death, as well,” I say to the detective.

“I’m sure Willow can give you a full statement later,” Cole says. “She needs to be physically checked out.”

Hornby gives me a curious look. “You were smart to keep them talking, Miss Bennett. You bought yourself valuable time, except the Morgan fellas beat me to the punch by exactly two minutes.” He pauses and scowls at Cole, Asher, and Toby. “You called it in when you were already close, didn’t you?”

“We wanted first dibs,” Toby replies with a casual shrug.

“That was insanely reckless,” Hornby says.

Cole shrugs. “You forget what I used to do before I came back to work for my father.”

“Ah, yes, you were a Marine,” the detective mutters. “It was still reckless, in my book, but a clean takedown, I’ll give you that. He looks pretty banged up.”

We all look at the bloodied face of Perry Jackson as they take him out in cuffs, the white lights of cameras making him look even more washed out.

“He was resisting,” Cole mutters, prompting a dry chuckle from his brothers.

Even Hornby can’t stop himself from smiling. “This is going to be a messy and highly publicized case, that’s all I can tell you right now. It’ll be the trial of the century, I’m willing to bet: a sociopathic gold digger, her murderous boyfriend, James Madison’s accidental death turning out to be murder, the press is going to milk this for months.”

“I don’t even care,” Cole replies and plants a kiss on the top of my head. “I’m just glad we have Willow back safe and sound.”Safe and sound.

31

“Clean bill of health,” Asher declares as soon as the emergency doctor leaves us in one of the exam rooms after a full and thorough examination. “You were so, so lucky.”

“Don’t I know it?” I say softly and sit up on the edge of the bed.

He kisses me deeply, and I feel his emotions flowing through my core: concern, relief, longing, fear, excitement—all wrapped up in this handsome package, this dashing balance of brains and brawn that makes me feel like I’m the luckiest girl in the world—because I get my man in triplicate.

Cole kisses me next, then takes a moment to let his eyes search my face while Toby caresses my back.

“You gave us quite the scare back there,” Cole whispers.

“I know, and I’m sorry. But Sheila and Perry were going to get to me sooner or later. That much they’ve proven,” I reply. “I’m just sorry about Jamie.”

“He’s fine,” Toby assures me. “You’ll be able to see him soon. I think he’s getting an MRI, just to be sure.”

“Just to be sure?” I ask.

The brothers exchange amused glances before Toby explains. “The doctors already did a thorough check on the guy. It was just a nasty bruise and a mild concussion, plus he needed a couple of stitches for that gash, but overall it was nothing serious. It looked worse than it actually was.”

“I completely understand where Jamie’s coming from,” I say. “Also, believe me, you don’t want to be anywhere near him when he’s throwing a hissy fit. He’ll make a grown man cry.”

“So, yes, he’s fine, and so are you and the baby,” Asher cuts in with a soft smile. “The baby…”

“I was coming to tell you about the pregnancy,” I reveal with a sigh. “I guess I lied to you last night. I should’ve told you then.”

“You shared a different secret,” Cole replies with a raised, playful eyebrow. “Which, by the way, I didn’t mind, none of us minded it.”

Neither did I. Good grief, my heart starts galloping from the mere memory of last night. I want to go back there. It was warm and sweet and safe, away from these troubles, away from Sheila’s hatred, her poison.

“I wanted to surprise you,” I say, cradling my belly. “Maybe if I’d called you, none of this would’ve happened.”

“You said something earlier, and I’m inclined to agree. Sheila and Perry would’ve gotten to you sooner or later,” Asher says, shaking his head. “It’s better that it happened now and that it happened this way. You bought yourself some time, we found you… it worked out. That’s all that matters right now.”

Finding solace in his reassurance, I give Asher another kiss on the lips, followed by a worried look. “I’m pregnant, though. I mean, I know we didn’t plan for it, and I don’t know what your intentions are, but⁠—”

“Willow,” he stops me and cups my face in his hands. “Relax. It’s the best news you could’ve given us, babe.”

“We’re putting together a family,” Toby adds with a bright smile.

“You’re not getting away from us— ever again,” Cole adds, his voice low and deep. “Ever.”

“We’ve got you,” Asher says and kisses me again.

I feel it in every fiber of my body, in every sliver of my soul. I feel their promise, their oath, their devotion.

“I love you,” Cole says. “We love you, Willow. There’s no doubt about it. There’s no decision to make, no path to choose. This is us.”

I feel that, too.

And I’m more than eager to reciprocate. “I love you, too. I never thought it would lead us here… that night at the gala. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine any of this.”

“Despite the bumps along the way, I can’t say I’m unhappy with where it took us,” Cole says. “On the contrary, this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

It’s the one thing we’re all agreed upon. I welcome their arms wrapped around me, the warmth of their bodies, and the intensity of their souls as they hold me close, as they keep me safe and prove, yet again, that I don’t have to do it on my own, not anymore. The Morgan brothers are here now.

They’re here to stay.

32

In the days that follow the North Hampton incident, life as I know it comes to an end. Our father makes an almost miraculous recovery from a near-crippling heart attack. I think there was just enough rage left in him to get him going after he learned the truth about Sheila and Perry. It worked in our favor.

Terrence walks into the boardroom wearing one of his best suits, but uncertainty and shame draw deep shadows across his face. This is the first time we’ve all seen him since Sheila’s and Perry’s arrest. Somehow, the little weasel has been remarkably successful at evading us. He couldn’t skirt the cops, though.

“Those interviews at the precinct really wore him out,” Asher comments, getting a light laugh out of Toby.

The three of us are seated next to our father, along with the other six board members and an empty chair—where Sheila would’ve been.

“Come in, Terrence, have a seat,” Dad says, pointing precisely at Sheila’s chair.

“Thank you,” he mumbles. He knows exactly where he’s being asked to sit, and given the circumstances, it makes him even more uncomfortable. Good. I love watching him squirm. “You look really good, sir,” he tells Dad.

Sir. Not Dad anymore? Interesting.

“Recent events have made me want to fight a little bit harder for what’s left of this life,” Dad says, “which is why I wanted you here today, Terrence.”

“For what it’s worth, I had nothing to do with my mom’s⁠—”

“I’m letting the police handle that aspect,” Dad says, cutting him off. The rest of us stay silent, watching the old man as he straightens his back and reclaims the power he almost gave away to the wrong people. I’m so goddamn proud of him right now. “What they conclude whether you were involved in your mother’s actions or not— is entirely up to them. However, that being said, I can no longer allow any negative press to affect my company and my family.”

“But I’m family,” Terrence murmurs.

Dad nods slightly. “By marriage. And I’m doing my best to be fair and square here, which is why I have amended my last will and testament to reflect your and your mother’s actions. Obviously, Sheila is off the company board and out of my will entirely. I tried to look for a reason to keep you in the company, but I’m afraid I haven’t found one.”

“What?” Terrence sounds offended.

I wait for Dad to signal for my input. He taps his fingers on the table. It’s my turn, so I slide a file across the table. It reaches Terrence, and he opens it with trembling hands.

“This is a full report of your company activity and a detailed track of your performance,” I say. “It’s not just bad, it’s dismal. Some of your decisions have cost the company a substantial amount of money, and your personal actions have resulted in negative attention from the press. It’s all detailed in there. Long story short, we’re going to have to let you go, Terrence.”

He stands up, red-faced and furious. “I had a seat on this board, dammit!”

“No, you were promised a seat on this board, but that was before you taunted my girlfriend and before you caused considerable losses to Morgan Enterprises with your reckless spending. There’s a full report in there for that, too,” I reply. “Mommy’s not here to coddle you anymore, so I suggest you start looking for a real job.”

“You can stay at Thornwood Manor until you resolve your professional situation and can afford to rent something elsewhere,” Dad adds. “I believe the Madison mansion was seized as part of the police investigation, and there is a lawsuit pending against your mother filed by the surviving members of your father’s family.”

Terrence shakes his head in genuine disbelief, his whole world crashing down on him without a hint of mercy. I almost feel sorry for the guy, and I assume Katrina is probably already filing for divorce. But then I see the bruising around Terrence’s nose and remember how he got it.

And my mercy withers into a wry smile.

“You drew the short straw, sport. It sucks, I know. But you’re still a Madison. I’m sure your dad’s family will let you work something out as far as your living arrangements are concerned,” I tell him.

“Sheila is going to prison for life,” Dad continues, shaking his head slowly. “That Perry fella has been singing like a bird after she tried to make him out to be the sole mastermind. Fortunately, he kept enough evidence to secure himself a decent deal. Part of his interview disclosure was a few items of concern to me regarding Sheila’s actions as a Morgan Enterprises board member, which is why I’ve put together an investigative committee. My three sons will be heading the investigation into the board… Cole?”

I nod once and get up to address the board members, while Terrence stares at the file in front of him with genuine disbelief. Reality has yet to kick in for the guy, but I don’t have the time or the patience to wait until he starts sobbing and leaves the room. He’ll do it when he’s ready.

“Sheila may have engaged in some unethical behavior while serving on the board,” I say. “My brothers and I will have an in-depth look at every file, every folder, and every memo mentioning her name to identify the issues and repair them accordingly. While Toby and Asher are not employees, they still serve the board in a consultative capacity, and their own business experience makes them more than qualified to assist me in this endeavor. Does anyone wish to object?”

All around the table, heads shake, giving us a green light to go ahead.

I dive into the issue with confidence, honored that my father was so swift in his decision to purge the company and the family of Sheila and Terrence altogether. Whether or not Terrence was involved in Sheila’s actions, he still proved himself to be a liability to the company, and that’s where Bill Morgan draws his line.

“Now I kindly request that all of our board members send over their memos dating back to January of last year, for starters,” I say.

Terrence stands up and leaves the boardroom without a word after I’m finished speaking. My father gives me and my brothers a long, genuine smile. The pride in his eyes is the beacon I’ve been waiting for.

It feels damn good to be able to close this ugly chapter of our lives.

A new one is about to begin, and Willow’s a central part of it.

33

Months pass in chaos and police interviews, followed by trial preparation sessions and OB-GYN visits to make sure my baby is developing safely in my womb. With green lights everywhere, new events pouring into our agency, and Jamie growing more and more eager to take the proverbial bull by the horns, I take a day off to just be with my men.

The past feels so distant now, that near-death experience merely a memory, something I hope I never have to endure again. The aftermath, however, has brought so many wonderful resolutions, it almost makes me feel like the ordeal was worth it.

“This is beautiful!” I exclaim as we pull up outside a cozy-looking cabin nestled at the top of the mountain somewhere upstate.

“I knew you’d like it,” Cole says, helping me out of the passenger seat of his SUV. “It looked like something out of a fairy tale, and I figured you’d welcome a midweek escape here.”

“You were absolutely right,” I reply and give him a soft kiss on the lips.

He gently caresses my growing baby bump, love shimmering in his greenish-blue eyes. It’s the pride of a father-to-be, and I love it. I see it in Asher and Toby’s gazes, too, as they join us in front of the cabin. We don’t yet know who the father is, but we’re not in a rush to find out either. As far as the Morgan brothers are concerned, they’re all fathers to this baby.

“It’s not a long drive back to New York,” I say.

The cabin unfolds on two levels, with a rustic but clean exterior surrounded by heritage pine trees. The window frames are painted red to match the lovely oval front door, and potted stone flowers line every sill.

Cole jingles the keys in front of me. “Let’s see what’s inside.”

“You don’t know? I thought you check a place before you rent it,” I say and laugh lightly.

“Oh no, we bought it,” Asher replies.

“You did what?”

They laugh as they lovingly guide me toward the front door.

“We bought it,” Asher says. “And then we had it remodeled using one of your mood boards. Jamie was kind enough to supply us with all the visuals.”

As soon as we walk over the threshold, I recognize all of my favorite elements from one of my cozy mountain cottage mood boards. My heart swells at the sight of refurbished oak furniture with painted drawers and decoupage design elements, the smoked glass wall sconces, the colorful knitted throw pillows and blankets, the insanely comfortable-looking sofa corner and the red brick fireplace.

“Oh my days,” I gasp, tears coming up to my eyes.

“It’s ours,” Cole says, “every inch. Our little home away from home, our nest in the woods. We figured you’d be happy to come up here, whether it’s for a fairy-tale winter—because I’ll tell you, it snows beautifully here, or if you’re just looking to cool down away from the city during the summer… this place is it.”

“You bought us a cottage,” I murmur, overwhelmed with happiness.

Jamie and I always used to describe our dream guys as being the kind of men who provide and surprise without hesitation. I had no idea my dream would come true thrice over.

“Have a look in the bedroom,” Toby says, nodding at the end of the short hallway.

I walk down the hall and step into another corner of the same dreamy mood board. The bed reigns in the middle, with its fluttering canopy and abundance of off-white satin pillows. The sculptural nightstands and hand-painted dresser with vintage bronze knobs add a certain artistry to the room, while the traditionally weaved Peruvian rug sort of brings everything together.

The room is a place designed for lovemaking, for lazy mornings in bed, for quiet afternoons, when all you want is to lie back and daydream.

On the bed sits a small white velvet box. I almost miss it.

“Complete with mints on the pillow, right?” I laugh lightly.

Cole gives me a tense smile. “Not mints.”

“Oh?” I walk over, pick it up, then open it.

The ring inside leaves me breathless. It’s a pear-shaped diamond crowned with tiny, round sapphires and mounted on pristine white gold. It’s delicate and elegant, and it is a testament of undying love and adoration. I don’t need to be a jewelry expert to recognize its intention.

“We belong together,” Cole says as his voice wavers subtly with emotions I recognize and mirror, “the four of us. You’re the woman we’ve been waiting for, searching for, hoping for. I know it couldn’t have been easy growing up the way you did, and I know it’s not going to be easy for you to let us take care of you and be with you.”

“But this is our promise that you’ll never be alone, never again,” Toby adds. “I love you, Willow, more than words can ever describe.”

“And we want to make an honest woman out of you,” Asher says. The three of them get down on their knees before me, and another round of tears pricks my eyes, the ring box quaking in my hands.

“We’ll spend the rest of our lives together,” I murmur. “We’ll raise children and shape them into incredible people. We’ll build our family and our happiness, brick by brick. We’ll support each other in every single project, no matter how crazy or ambitious it sounds.”

“Yes, to all of that,” Cole says.

I slip the ring on my finger. “Then yes, to all of that. A thousand times, yes!”

They shudder with relief and joy, then rise and wrap me in their arms, in their bodies, in their restless, burning love. Our clothes vanish and our bodies meet yet again. Our lives are about to change forever, and I cannot think of a better way to celebrate.

I lose myself in the madness as Cole claims me first, kissing me as he pumps me full of him. Gently, Asher turns me over and takes me from behind. We’re careful, given my condition, but my core begs for release over and over. When Toby fills and stretches me wildly, I cry out in sheer ecstasy.

“I love you,” I scream as I come hard and gushing.

“You are loved,” Cole whispers in my ear, holding me tight, as Toby stiffens inside me, as Asher kisses my breast.

I am loved.

I am protected and cherished and eager to grow.

Never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine we’d end up here when the Morgan brothers took me away from Terrence and his evil mother, when they said they’d be for me what Terrence never could.

But they’ve been all that and so much more.

 

 

EPILOGUE I

“Ido.”

Two words before the pastor and a small group of close friends and family, in the lavish garden of the Morgan’s Hamptons estate, and our union is real and lifelong. By law, I’m now Mrs. Cole Morgan. But really, I’m now Mrs. Cole, Asher, and Tobias Morgan, and it fills me with unbelievable joy.

“I now pronounce you husbands and wife,” the pastor decrees.

Bill Morgan is the first to laugh and cheer us on as the grooms—my dashing, valiant husbands—take turns kissing me. I welcome each into my arms despite my size. I’m dangerously close to my due date, but Jamie made sure my wedding gown flows beautifully around me. I look like a tulip turned upside down, but I feel like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world, heavy with child and starry-eyed, as my husbands and I turn to face our intimate but accepting audience.

“Congratulations to the four of you!” Bill says, shaking the hands of his sons before he gives me a careful but heartfelt embrace.

The sun smiles down upon us while roses bloom in lavish arrangements around the terrace. Jamie hugs me next, and I simply hand him my bouquet with a wink.

“It had better be your turn next. I’m not even kidding,” I tell him.

“May the gods hear you, honey, ’cause I am done being strong and independent,” he jokes, then shifts his attention to my men. “And you three, you’d better keep her plump and happy, or you’ll have to deal with me.”

Cole laughs lightly. “You don’t have to worry about us, Jamie.”

“Also, we got a taste tester for the reception,” Toby adds, prompting a hearty chuckle out of the rest of us.

Before the rest of our guests have a chance to come up to congratulate us in person, and as the pastor politely withdraws from the scene, Bill takes center stage and smiles broadly.

“If I could have everyone’s attention, please,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

I try to ignore the growing pang in my belly.

“Given the more recent and rather dramatic changes in the Morgan picture, I thought this would be the perfect occasion to make an announcement,” Bill continues.

“You are not getting married again,” Cole jokingly interjects.

The others laugh, but I know there’s a serious note hidden in there somewhere. Asher adds a softer line of his own. “Not until she’s carefully vetted, anyway.”

“No, no, I’m done with that, my boys.” Bill chuckles. “I’ve had my share, my highs and lows. I’ll take the peaceful sunset of life now and make room for you to grow and build a family of your own. With that in mind, I’ve instructed Mr. Bennington to make a few changes to my last will and testament. I know it comes on the heels of having Sheila and Terrence removed, but given my recent health issues, I thought it best to err on the side of safety.”

Cole’s face scrunches with concern. “What are you talking about, Dad?”

“I’ve added Willow to the will, along with additional power of attorney for the three of you across the board of Morgan Enterprises,” Bill declares. “I trust my sons more than anyone else in the world, and I see no better way to prove it. You will inherit my company and my properties, my name, and everything else that comes with it. And Willow is now a part of this family, which is why I wanted to make sure she will always be taken care of, no matter what.

“Especially after everything she endured because of… well, you know. I’m thrilled to welcome you into our family, Willow. And I’m eager to meet my grandchild.” He pauses to give my belly a playful wink. “I reckon he’ll keep me on my toes in old age.”

“Bill,” I say, overwhelmed by his generosity and kindness. “You really didn’t have to—OH MY GOD!”

I feel it; the pressure snapping, the liquid flowing freely down my thighs. They can’t see it because of my multilayered dress of fine satin and pearl-beaded lace, but I know exactly what’s happening.

“What is it?” Cole turns white as he looks at me.

All I can do is burst into almost-hysterical laughter. “At least you kept your word yet again and made an honest woman out of me before the baby was born.”

Confusion erupts in murmurs around us. Bill frowns as he measures me from head to toe. Jamie’s right by my side, giving me a quick once-over before he figures it out and snaps his fingers like he just guessed the answer at his favorite game show.

“Her water broke.”

And so it begins.

Our crazy love, our uncanny, wonderful life. In the Hamptons sun, with my husbands rushing me to the hospital while Jamie grumbles about how this gorgeous wedding dress was ruined—albeit for all the right reasons.

Just like it’s supposed to begin.

In sweet chaos.

 

 

EPILOGUE II

Bill Morgan got to meet one grandchild before he passed away.

I wish he’d held on for a little while longer, but as we stand before his freshly dug grave, as we thoughtfully gaze upon his black marble stone and read his name in gilded letters, roses resting beautifully all over, I’m thankful for the time he had with us.

“It was a beautiful service,” I say.

His sons stand beside me, their heads bowed as they stare at Bill’s headstone. The pain is so vivid in their eyes—yet I see him in each of them: his jawline, his gaze, his bold grasp of life. He lives on through Cole, Asher, and Toby. They know it deep in their hearts.

“He left something behind,” Cole says after a while.

Our son sleeps in his stroller, a black-haired angel of two, with bluish-green eyes and pink, cherub-like cheeks. Bill doted on him, adored him from the moment he was born, until his last breath—in bed, asleep, in the middle of a quiet, summer night.

“You,” I tell Cole, “and you and you,” I tell the twins, as well. “Forget the company, the fortune, the headlines. He left you. He gave you to the world, and the world is better for it. I’ll never stop thanking him for that.”

Asher turns to face me, his eyes soft with tears. “He’s with our mother now. That gives me plenty of comfort, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Probably yapping her ears off about Zack,” Toby quips, pointing at our slumbering son. “That kid could sleep through an earthquake. Dad said he takes after him.”

“He was right,” Cole chuckles softly. “That man dozed off in the middle of a Vietcong war zone, for heaven’s sake.”

“We’re going to be okay,” I say, my voice trembling slightly. “But I know I’m going to miss him dearly.”

The guys come closer and hug me. We spend a moment in silence, surrounded by lush greenery and trimmed hedges, by wild rose bushes and sycamore trees, as the late summer wind rises and whispers its tales of the seasons to come. Nothing is permanent, that much we know for a fact.

But we also know that we need to make the most of the borrowed time we’re given.

And it’s been such a wonderful ride so far.

Toby points at one of the rose crowns resting on Bill’s grave. “Sheila had that one delivered,” he says, “with the yellow roses.”

“Dad did like yellow roses,” Cole concedes with a shrug.

“Mom loved them, too,” Asher reminds him.

“Have any of you heard from Terrence lately?” I ask. It is a genuine question since I’ve kept my distance from everyone and anything with the slightest connection to Sheila, who is now rotting in prison. Last I checked, Perry is due to be released in ten years. Not that I care anymore. His business with me ended the minute he flipped on her. “Jamie got an engagement party query from Katrina. I was just wondering.”

Cole lets out a surprised laugh. “She’s remarrying already? Good on her.”

“Honestly, none of us have kept in touch with Terrence after Sheila got her life sentence,” Asher says. “But one of the guys at my office, who likes to keep in touch with the city gossip and all that, swears he saw Terrence working at a Staples in Brooklyn.”

“Well, at least he’s making an honest living for once,” Toby replies.

I almost laugh, but I’m drawn to the headstone again. “I just wish he’d stuck around for a little while longer,” I say with a deep sigh. “I had a surprise for him.”

“A surprise?” Asher asks, a curious smile on his face.

“Yes.”

“Would you like to share it with us instead?”

I think about it for a moment. “I guess you three will have to do,” I reply with a more dramatic, even deeper sigh, as I cradle my belly with both hands. “I just found out myself.”

Their faces drop in sublime unison. It takes every bit of willpower to keep a straight face.

“You’re pregnant again,” Cole gasps, lighting up like the sun as he steps closer. “No way.”

“Yes, sir. And do you want to know what the really funny part is? The part I know for a fact would’ve cracked Bill up?”

“What’s that?” he asks.

Toby and Asher hold their breaths with growing, overwhelming anticipation.

“It’s twins,” I reply.

And the happiness that washes over my husband’s faces, the joy that overtakes them, the thrill, the excitement, the anxiousness, it all comes crashing into us as we laugh and kiss and hold each other. Zack sleeps through that, too.

But I don’t mind.

Because I know that somewhere, high above, resting on some comfortably fluffy cloud, Bill Morgan is watching, smiling down at us.

The End

Loved Willow’s love story?

Then get ready to fall even harder.