Page 26 of Dirty Secret Love

“But, darling, if you pitch in, how am I going to dazzle you with my culinary prowess?” he punctuates the question with a playful wink.

Rolling my eyes but laughing softly, I retreat to the living room. As I pick up the remote from the coffee table and sink into the couch, the television screen lights up. The news is showing a massive fire with a backdrop of New York City. The captions reveal it’s a renowned restaurant. My heart skips a beat, hoping no one was harmed.

“The fire started in the kitchen. It’s presumed to be an accident, but some people are speculating that it could be related to the serial arsons that have targeted the Thorndale heirs in recent months,” the anchor says, her voice steady, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes.

“Eric Thorndale was tragically killed almost a year ago,” she continues and a picture of a handsome guy probably in his sixties appears. He looks a lot like an older version of Drake or Magnus Kershaw. “While we’ve not been able to reach any family members for comments, we’re still looking for answers. It’s said that the owner, one of the Thorndale heirs has been absent from his restaurants for more—” The anchor’s words get cut off abruptly as River storms into view, gripping the remote tightly.

In a swift motion, he points the remote and silences the television, the screen fading to black. His breathing is slightly erratic.

“Why’d you shut it off?” My voice quivers, sensing the tension in the air. But deep down, I already have a hunch.

He glances at me, frustration evident in his eyes. “Does it matter right now?” Without waiting for a response, he flips open his old-school phone, the kind I haven’t seen in ages, and begins to tap it.

“That was Gael’s restaurant, right?” I press because who else of the brothers would be a chef but him. But instead of confirming my suspicions, he dials a number quickly, clearly agitated.

“Hey!” River’s voice crackles with tension as he speaks into the phone, pacing the room. His movements are jerky, betraying his agitation. “What the hell’s been going on? I just saw GT’s New York being devoured by flames on the news. And they’re linking it to some serial arsons targeting theThorndales. What the fuck are you keeping from me, Callahan?” His fingers curl tightly around the phone, knuckles white.

ChapterThirteen

Sutton

River pacesthe room with an intensity that’s almost tangible, each step booming through the house, showing his mounting frustration.

“You should’ve filled me in earlier, Callahan. There’s a lot that you’re hiding. Is the factory okay? No, the people. Are all the workers okay?” Stopping abruptly, he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to collect himself. “And Elle—have you even talked to her about this?” His voice catches slightly, revealing an underlying vulnerability. “I get it, you don’t care much for her, but she isn’t built like Gen. She’s more like Mom, fragile in ways you can’t see. Be fucking careful with what you say and do—better yet, wait until I’m there.”

Watching him, I’m touched by the depth of his concern. There’s a protective fierceness to him that’s both impressive and heartwarming. This man might just be the epitome of an ideal big brother.

It’s almost ironic how Spencer could learn a thing or two from River. It’s not like I want my brother to stand guard over me or anything, but a little decency wouldn’t hurt. A nod, maybe even a smile when we run into each other? Just simple kindness. Is it really that hard for him to be a decent human being toward me?

I don’t think any of these brothers realize how much they care for each other.

My earlier conversation with Callahan comes back. He’s going through a lot of trouble for River. None of them need to help with my lie, but everyone is pitching in so this fake engagement looks genuine. All of this just because their brother cares. The reason why River is so invested is yet another thing I’d like to know but that’s something I can figure out later.

In contrast, I’m pretty sure my siblings wouldn’t move an inch if I was in a bind or needed their support to help a friend in need. If anything, they’d probably enjoy watching me stumble, possibly even giving me a push to ensure a spectacle.

River ends his call and, with a heavy sigh, slumps down beside me, his face etched with a blend of frustration and defeat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I venture, trying to offer some comfort. It’s not like I can give him a hand with this issue, can I?

What could I do? From what the news anchor said, the Thorndales have been under some kind of attack. Will Wren tell me more if I ask her?

River just shakes his head, his gaze distant.

“I’m here whenever you’re ready,” I offer gently.

“I can’t,” his voice is but a whisper, and it’s clear there’s a storm raging within.

“So, Thorndale is your family name?”

He gives me a sideways glance, tension evident in his eyes. “If my brother ever finds out you know that . . . Let’s just say he wouldn’t be too pleased.”

“I’m tight-lipped.” I mime, zipping my lips shut and throwing away an imaginary key.

For a brief moment, he just stares at my mouth, seemingly entranced. Before I can fully grasp what’s happening, he closes the distance between us, his lips capturing mine. When his tongue slips through, I feel as if everything is right with the world. As his mouth tastes mine, I throw one arm around his neck, almost begging him to . . . kiss me more, make it better. His hands slide up my ribs, pausing just under the swell of my breasts, cupping them. My nipples harden, wanting to be touched, sucked.

The kiss is deep and consuming, each movement infused with a raw intensity that communicates a world of unspoken emotions and desires. It’s not a burst of fleeting passion; rather, it’s a slow-burning desire, hinting at a longing to explore something genuine between us.

As he pulls away, a warm flush spreads across my face. This unexpected kiss wasn’t part of our agreement, yet, oddly, I want him to continue. I find myself yearning to uncover more, not wanting this to be fake.

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