Page 11 of The Playboy's Most Unexpected Baby

“Picture,” Scott called.

“We’re not doing pictures,” Charlie told him.

“Oh, yes you are. It’s your wedding day, little brother. Surely you’re going to want to remember this forever?” Scott was holding up his phone, and knowing him, he’d probably already taken several pictures. They weren’t going to get out of this, so they might as well just suffer through it.

Olivia seemed to have decided to play into the charade wholeheartedly. She flashed a smile and leaned into Charlie’s shoulder. “Make sure I get a copy of that,” she said. “We definitely want to have it blown up and hung over the fireplace.”

“I’m texting it to Charlie. I’m sure he’ll share it with you,” Scott said.

“Of course. Although we should really exchange phone numbers too,” Olivia said. “After all, we’re family now! What if we need to reach each other?”

“Why would we need that?” Cait asked.

“You never know,” Olivia replied sweetly. “But I want to get to know you all better.”

Cait, John, and Scott all glanced at one another.

She’s a genius, Charlie realized suddenly.

By trying to forge friendships with his siblings, she would create the exact opposite effect — she would push them away. As suspicious as they were, Charlie knew that they would consider someone like Olivia to be socially beneath them. They wouldn’t want to spend their time with someone who couldn’t do anything for them. He doubted any of them so much as made friends outside their own income bracket. The idea of them voluntarily socializing with Olivia — much less welcoming her into their family — was laughable.

She had sensed that so quickly.

He remembered what she’d thought of him when they had first met — that he was nothing more than a rich playboy.

Well, she probably still thought that. It wasn’t as if the two of them had forged some sort of deep bond, after all. He was using her, and she was using him right back.

He was surprised to find that the thought made him slightly sad. He wanted to think she saw more in him than that, but it was clear that when she looked at his siblings she saw the very same thing she had accused him of — people who cared more for wealth and status than anything else. People who didn’t take human connection seriously.

And the saddest thing of all was that she was right.

Was she right about me, too?

Charlie shook that thought off. Of course she hadn’t been right about him. Just because he hadn’t wanted to get married, that didn’t mean that he was incapable of caring about people. Hadn’t he had a real relationship with Aunt Marge? None of his siblings could claimthat.

“I think we should go,” Cait said. “I don’t know about you guys, but I have to get home and let the nanny off duty. She was supposed to be off an hour ago.”

“I have a meeting,” John said.

“Tee time,” Scott chimed in.

“Sorry my wedding kept you from your prior commitments,” Charlie said, managing to keep the bite of sarcasm out of his voice. “Appreciate you being here.”

“We wouldn’t have missed this,” John said meaningfully.

“And we’ll make sure to keep in touch,” Cait added, the pointed look on her face leaving no doubt in Charlie’s mind that she hadn’t given up her quest to prove his marriage was a sham.

CHAPTER5

OLIVIA

“Did you even read your aunt’s will?” Olivia demanded.

Charlie looked up at her, bleary-eyes. It was obvious that he wasn’t a morning person. It was already ten o’clock and he had just now stumbled out of bed. Olivia, as was her usual way, had been up since six-thirty. She’d driven to her mother’s house to pick up Izzy and take her to school, though she’d had to conceal the fact that she was taking a new route these days. She didn’t want her mother or her sister to know that she’d moved from her apartment into the Coldwell estate, because then she would have had to answer all kinds of questions that she wasn’t ready to discuss with them.

They’d have to know eventually. When the money was in her bank account and Charlie was in the rearview, then she would tell them. But not until.

He squinted at her now. His hair was messier than usual, making her realize how intentional and carefully curated his usual messy brown hairstyle was. “Why should I read it?” he asked. “That’s why we pay an executor — to tell us what it says.”

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