Page 98 of Married to Number 22
With fuckingvigor.
“That is Frank Maybelle, CEO of Smythe Industries,” Jace says quietly, his anger frigid cold, so chilled it’ll blacken skin, burning flesh with its frost. “And his useless piece of shit son, John.”
Jean-Michel’s eyes come to mine.
And I know the short conversation I had with him the other night was the best thing I could have done.
He might have been in before.
But now he’s fuckingin.
Victory ricochets through my insides, knowing that this shit’s going to get taken care of, that Luna won’t have to deal with it, withthemany longer, but even as I’m tabling that emotion, preparing to show these fuckers the door, Luna—as usual—surprises me.
Not by showing strength.
She’s always had a steel spine, an intense work ethic, strong ideals…but sometimes those have been overshadowed by etiquette and her brother and father’s overbearing nature.
She would roll her eyes, let them vent their bullshit, and then quietly go the direction she wanted.
That was the way of Grams, so it’s not a surprise.
But that’s not the way of Luna, not today.
“You need to leave,” she says, slipping from my grip and stepping forward, out of my reach, out of my protection.
Heart pulsing, I follow her, but she’s moving fast, marching forward at a far quicker clip than I anticipated.
She pauses by Bri, looking into the girl’s face for a heartbeat, but whatever she sees there must be reassuring because she just nods sharply then keeps on marching.
Not stopping until she’s a foot away from her brother.
John, dumbass that he is, underestimates her as usual, sneering as she halts in front of him. “Oh,” he drawls. “I’m sorry. Are we interrupting your little party for corporate fraud? Fake weddings don’t need parties to celebrate them, so I’m sure you’ll survive.”
“There’s nothing fake about Aiden and me,” she says and my heart spasms, love for this woman filling every cell in my body. “Although?—”
Another spasm, this time fierce and painful.
Is she going to tell everyone the truth like she told my mom? That it’s complicated and means something, but not what they think?
Or worse, is she going to tell them that thisisfake and meaningless and that itisstrictly business, that I’m a dumb fuck who fell in love when I was really supposed to be fixing things and?—
“—if you two hadn’t been such pushy assholes”—she turns to Bri and winces—“sorry for the language?—”
I hear a quiet chuckle, see that Jean-Michel has flanked me, Jace next to him, my teammates at my side. And my family is right here too, Carrie and her husband Dave and Ralph, and my parents, my mom having tucked Bri against her.
Fuck.
That hits hard.
In the best possible way.
“I curse all the time,” Bri says, making Luns smile for a fleeting moment before she focuses her fierce glare back on her brother. “If it wasn’t for you two, I never would have searched Aiden out again.” Her shoulders tense, gaze coming to mine. “I was too scared I would end up like all the other Maybelle women—alone and sad and wishing I’d never put my hand near the stove, so I wouldn’t have gotten burned.”
“I think alone and sad are your destiny,” John says. “And hopefully, with third-degree burns because you’re such a pain in the ass.”
Gray curses softly, takes a step forward, but Smitty snags his shoulder, shakes his head.
Rightly reading that Luna needs this moment.
