Page 2 of Yours Until Forever

God, I love my brother.

While Colin can be too laser-focused on trying to help me fix problems and make changes to my life, Tim always knows how to lighten the mood and make me smile.

I send them a photo of Sarah grinning like a maniac at the reception.

Tim:

Is that the bride photobombing in the background? ENHANCE. I need to know if this woman is worth the emotional investment I’ve already made in this wedding I wasn’t invited to.

I grin.

Me:

I love you, big brother, but not enough to send a photo of Madeline. Besides, I haven’t taken any of her. She deserves privacy.

Me:

And now I must go and figure out how to walk through a ballroom with no one seeing the back of my dress.

Tim:

Ninja moves along all the walls. It’s a pity you didn’t choose the black dress to do those ninja moves in. No one would see you.

Me:

Very funny. Also, if I’d worn the black dress, Periodgate wouldn’t be as bad.

Tim:

Is James dead after this? Please tell me this ends in a funeral.

I release another sigh.

I should have been watching my daughter Sarah bounce with excitement today as her best friend Luna got ready to be a flower girl in her uncle’s wedding. For months, Sarah has been thrilled about us flying to Nashville with Luna and her father to see country superstar Madeline Montana (who she idolizes) marry Luna’s uncle. After a year of watching my little girl struggle through my divorce, her joy over this wedding meant everything to me. But yesterday, my ex-husband shattered those plans when he failed to bring Sarah home in time for our flight to Nashville. This meant we flew here today to make the wedding, but she missed out on spending yesterday and this morning with her bestie.

Colin and Tim are convinced James orchestrated this on purpose as a way of controlling me and Sarah in much the same way he’s been trying to for years now. When he brought her home, he made out like his lateness was unavoidable and thathe’d arrange a private flight for the three of us to bring Sarah to the wedding. My brothers are sure he’s doing everything he can to reunite with me, but I’m not convinced. I just think he craves control. He got a rude shock when I refused his private plane and instead allowed Luna’s father to arrange his jet for us.

Me:

He’s the father of my daughter, Tim. You know I won’t do anything to ruin her relationship with him.

Me:

I have to go deal with my dress. I’ll send you guys more pics later xx

I slide my phone into my purse and steel myself. Of all things to happen today. Period accidents haven’t been an issue since high school, yet here I am. Though I shouldn’t be surprised—it’s perfectly on-brand for the chaos my life has become over the past year. Just one more item on the ever-growing list of disasters.

I slip out of the bathroom without encountering anyone and am halfway along the corridor that leads into the hotel ballroom where the reception is taking place when I spot Luna’s father striding toward the corridor.

Seriously.

Why musthebe the person I run into now?

Gage Black, the man who makes billionaire look dangerous instead of privileged, who sees everything whether you want him to or not, and who’s been silently assessing me with those dark eyes since the day we met a year ago.

That was the same day I met his ex-wife, Shayla, who slowly became my friend, and who has shared stories of their relationship that make me want as little to do with himas possible. Though a year of playground pickups, sleepover parties, and birthday parties has shown me another side of him too. The father who knows every one of Luna’s elaborate stories about her stuffed animals by heart, who never misses a single one of her “very important” art shows in their living room. The man who remembered, without being reminded, that Sarah is allergic to strawberries and had a second birthday cake without strawberries made for Luna’s party so her best friend wasn’t left out of the celebration. But those glimpses of warmth make his usual intensity jarring, like a sudden key change in the middle of a familiar song.

He’s wearing one of his trademark black suits that probably cost more than most people’s monthly rent. His eyes lock onto mine with that penetrating stare that makes me feel exposed, certain he’s noting my weaknesses. Which, given what I know about him as the head of a global intelligence firm, he probably is.

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