Page 43 of My Fiancé's Brother 2

“I’m Emily.”

We stared at each for a long moment, and then he tilted his head. “And how do you know Jackson? Are you a friend of Harper’s?”

I swallowed convulsively. I could barely speak. “Jackson and I got…had…HAD a wedding…together.”

Both men just stared at me. Full on I-don’t-believe-a-fucking-word-you-are-telling-me stares. Both of them. At the same time. I had seen that very look on Jackson’s face. Did they teach them this look in the Navy?

“We got married,” I added lamely.

“You’re Jackson’s wife?”

“Yes.”

He gave me a short nod. “Pleased to meet you.”

I didn’t know what to think about the fact that Jackson hadn’t told his friends about me. Was that a bad thing? Where was he anyway?

I was so nervous that my breath hitched in my throat. “Can I help?”

“No, ma’am. We’ll be done here soon.”

“Okay.”

They both watched me while I crept back up the stairs, feeling completely awkward. I stood in the bedroom, my hands on my hot face. I heard the front door slam. And then I heard them through the bedroom window as they walked back to the truck.

“What the fuck just happened?” one of them asked.

They both laughed hard.

“Did she say that she married MacDog?”

I watchedfrom the bedroom window as another two trucks pulled up, one of which was Jackson’s truck. He had changed into jeans and a t-shirt that stretched across his hard chest. Someonepulled out a pack of beer and then they all cracked open their beer cans. All the men were huge, muscular and looked as tough as nails.

“Hey MacDog,” Chris mocked. “Thanks for the heads up that you didn’t marry Harper. I looked like a complete ass asking your bride who the fuck she was.”

Jackson looked calmly at him and then chugged his beer.

Alfie spoke. “Yo fuck face, how did that tiny little thing manage to get your ugly ass up the aisle anyway?”

Jackson took another long drink from his beer and then spoke without looking up. “Emily was the one that needed convincing to get married.”

The rest of the men exchanged significant looks amongst themselves.

Alfie cut in. “Probably because she knew it was illegal to marry a minor. Did the minister card her before he married you?”

They all laughed, including Jackson.

“Do you think your bride can score me some of those girl guide cookies?”

More laughter. And then Jackson had Alfie in a headlock, and they wrestled on the grass. The other guys hooted and hollered. This was a side I had never seen of Jackson. He had friends. Big, hairy, muscular, wrestling friends who drank beer, helped him move and harassed him in good fun. I realized that I had never actually seen Jackson in his environment. In New York, he spent a lot of time either alone or with me. At both of my parties in New York, he had been pretty social, but this camaraderie was completely foreign to me.

Who was Harper? The question nagged at me.

I stood and watched in awe until it dawned on me that at some point soon they would all be coming into the house to unload the trucks. As much as I wanted to lay in the tub, hiding with the shower curtain closed, I instinctively knew that the only way I would get through this was to meet them all head-on. For moral support, I forced Chloe to get up and accompany me downstairs.

I needed to get busy. No one could fault a working person. I would start unpacking. I grabbed a box and ripped it open. I heard laughter and the sound of the men entering the house. They worked seamlessly as a team around me. Alfie and another guy carried in boxes. Chris and Jackson installed the washer and dryer and the other two guys were doing God knows what upstairs. I started to unpack dishes.

They were as curious about me as I was about them. I caught them eyeballing me each time they passed by. I wasn’t even blushing anymore. I was just a constant shade of hot red. Perma-flush, spent about a thousand hours frying two feet away from the sun, kind of red.

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