Page 20 of The Russian's Forced Bride
But that wasn’t enough for me to trust him.
“Orozco? Why not Whitmore?”
“I took my mother’s surname. She was traumatized, you know—he knocked her up, gave her a baby, and then disappeared. She wanted nothing to do with him,” Brandon explained, all the while grinning.
I didn’t want to just outright believe him. After all, anyone could cook up a story, and Father wasn’t here to defend himself either.
“I don’t believe you, Brandon,” I stated while my makeup artist and stylist disbanded, leaving us to our privacy.
Eleanor, on the other hand, was watching us like she was watching some soap opera, sipping lemonade with her legs swinging off the recliner she was sitting on.
“You’ve got evidence?” I heard Eleanor ask, and both Brandon’s and my attention fell on her. “You know, like some DNA test proving you’re actually Jaxon’s kid?”
Brandon chuckled, his voice deep. “Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He then reached into the pockets of his ripped jeans and pulled out a paper, which he handed to me. The DNA test result showed a match with my father’s.
My face paled. Not because I was shocked that my father actually knocked up a random woman, but having an extra addition to my already broken family wasn’t something I could’ve ever imagined.
Eleanor whistled. “Now this is something straight out of a movie,” she exclaimed, and I could imagine her shaking her head while mine remained bent low, rereading the details of the test results.
I drew in a sharp breath. It didn’t matter if I wanted to accept him as my brother or not. It didn’t change the fact that hewas a Whitmore by blood, not adopted like Jacob. Jacob already felt like an outcast in this family; I knew he’d feel even worse knowing Dad had a whole other child out of wedlock.
“So?” Brandon’s voice rang out, snapping me out of my inner monologue. “What do you think, sis?”
I pressed my lips firmly together. What did I think? My head snapped up to his.
I was upset! Dad didn’t tell anyone he had a kid somewhere, and now that he was gone, this supposed kid came out of hiding. I wondered how he even got to track me down in the first place—and why me? Why not confront Alice or Jacob?
I sighed.
Today was my wedding day. I wasn’t going to let this soil my mood, even though it was already too late.
“Look, I know this is the worst timing for this, but I swear I’m not here because I want anything from you. When Dad left my mom, it hit her hard, and she suffered from heartbreak till the day she died.” Brandon was no longer smiling cheekily.
His expression was now serious and hurt, almost as if he didn’t want to revisit his past.
“I just….” He sighed and ran a hand through his curly hair. “I just wanted to find what family I had left.”
Eleanor and I exchanged glances. Her hazel eyes were gentle, signaling to me that it was okay to let him into my life.
So, I turned my gaze back to Brandon, who looked hopeful as he glanced between me and Eleanor. I still had plenty of questions for him, but my time was running out. I needed to be at the vineyard for the wedding in about an hour.
“How old are you, Brandon?” I asked softly, my head tilted slightly so I could better read him. Unlike with me, his expressions felt genuine and real.
He wasn’t faking anything, and I guess that was a good thing. If Dad had raised him, I bet he would’ve been just likethe rest of us—cold and unable to fully express himself without combusting.
“Just turned nineteen a month ago,” Brandon replied, and I nodded. He truly was just a child.
A genuine smile danced on my lips as I looked him over and said, “Welcome to the Whitmore family, Brandon. And you came just in time to see your big sister get married.”
My only regret was that we hadn’t met earlier. Now, I had one more life to worry about.
***
The sound of violins and other string instruments playing in the background in a romantic symphony felt like metal strings grating against my ears. I had suggested an orchestra play at our wedding, but instead of being melodious and inciting a romantic atmosphere, it filled me with anticipation of dread.
I stood in front of Rafael, who was devilishly handsome and dressed in a navy-blue tuxedo that hugged his biceps gently and smartly. Through my veil, I could see that he wasn’t even looking at me. His expression was blank, almost like he couldn’t wait to get this all over with, and although I felt the same way, I wished he could at least pretend—for the sake of my friends and family who were present.
The priest’s voice sounded faint in the background and was drowned out by the terrible music playing around us.
