Page 28 of Accidental Mile High Daddy
“How did Ryan afford this? Notthis,” I gestured to the villa around us. “This is obviously you. Butthat. The wedding, the resort, the gaudy floral arches, and gold lettering and whatever the hell else is happening for the three days we’re here. Lauren’s not wealthy by any means, and Ryan’s—well, we both know Ryan.”
Matt didn’t even hesitate. “He wasn’t the one who paid for it.”
“…What?”
“I did.”
I stared at him. That—That was in line with what Matt had tried to claim about support accounts and Ryan burning through money while having none of his own. But it didn’t match anything Ryan had told me. It didn’t mesh with the story I’d gotten from him of a cold, angry brother who hated him and had stolen every bit of money he was owned and dangled it over his head.
“I don’t understand,” I murmured, shaking my head to try to clear my thoughts. “I don’t get any of this. Whatever the money situation is with him, it makes no sense. Your version doesn’t either. Why would you keep giving him money if it wasn’t because you stole it and needed to trickle it to him? Why… why would he—” I cut myself off, not even sure where I was going, my head swimming from the champagne and the adrenaline and just howlongmy day had been.
Matt took a step over the line.
Not enough to touch me, not enough to invade my space, but enough that I could smell his cologne again, could see the sharp edge behind his eyes that wasn’t playful anymore.
“I didn’t take anything from him. I froze a handful of assets at most,” he said, voice low and deliberate. “He lied to you. Just like he lied to everyone else.”
I froze as he took another step.
“He had access to everything, Sienna,” Matt continued. “And he burned it. I’ve spent years bailing him out,yearscovering for him. But sure. Go ahead and believe his version if it makes him easier to love.”
I recoiled a bit. “I don’t love him.”
Something in him softened, just a fraction, and the tension that had appeared a second ago started to ease. “No,” he said calmly, holding my gaze. “But youdid. And you believed him then. Maybe that’s still easier for you than admitting who he really is.”
Silence flooded us like a wave. My throat tightened, my fingers twisting in the silk of my dress.
“I can give you proof, if that matters to you,” he murmured, taking another step, crowding me, breathing my same air. “I can show you what kind of man he is, what kind of manIam.”
My heart thudded in my chest, slamming against my ribs, too loud, too reckless.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I breathed, the only words I could possibly think of spilling out of my mouth.
His smirk returned, splitting across his lips slowly and infuriatingly. “You keep saying that,” he drawled. “Which one of us are you trying to convince, sweetheart?”
He waited a second longer before he took a step back, turned, and walked out my door, leaving it open behind him, leaving me there, leaving the space cold with my pulse in my throat and confusion whirring in my head.
Chapter 10
Matt
The villa was quiet, save for the sound of eggs sizzling and the soft hum of cartoons drifting from the living room. Zach was curled up on the couch under his favorite blanket that he’dinsistedwe bring with us, totally absorbed in a show about time-traveling dinosaurs. He was still in his pajamas, hair a disaster, one sock on and the other missing, half a banana in his hand.
My kid, through and through.
I slid the egg off onto a plate before cracking another into the pan, flipping it a moment later with practiced efficiency. Cooking grounded me — it always had. And God knows I needed it. It was something easy, something I could focus on with understandable inputs and predictable outcomes.
Unlike my brother's wedding, or the woman sleeping at the end of the hall.
The soft pad of bare feet on tile told me she was awake as I slid another egg onto the plate. I didn’t turn immediately — just listened, waited until she was close, heard her as she stepped into the kitchen.
“Morning.”
I looked over my shoulder. It hit me like a freight train.
She wore a loose t-shirt, one that was clearly thinned from years of use, that hung around her upper body and hips with an ease that shouldn’t have excited me — but her fuckingnippleswere jutting into it whether she knew it or not. Her shorts were tight, spandex little things that barely peeked out of the bottom hem of her shirt, her hair still a little messy from sleep, and there wasn’t a speck of makeup on her face — just a faint flush on her lightly tanned skin.
She was beautiful. Not stunning in the way she’d been dressed last night in red silk and prepared for war, butreal, unfiltered, and effortless.
