“Kind of.” I examine my nails. “Not really…”
“You’re imagining things.”
Yeah, like the shutting of doors in the middle of the night and the pad of footsteps between their rooms when the rest of the house is asleep…
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No one said anything was going on between you two.” I tread carefully, not wanting to put her on the defensive as this is clearly a sensitive subject matter for her. I know I sure as hell wouldn’t admit to having a thing for my stepbrother. “I’m just saying, you’re different now. It worries Dad, so he’s looking into ways to…deal…with that.”
By marrying you off…
“Different how?”
I rattle off several examples. The way she looks at him. The way she spends extra time readying herself in the morning. The stolen glances. I’ve noticed it all, even with my nose buried in my phone half the time.
“So you think that’s why he invited Mr. Waterman over?”
“That’s my fear. Just be careful, sis. Tone it down a notch. Maybe keep your distance from Jensen for a bit?”
She sits cross-legged at the head of her bed, cupping her chin in her hands.
Life just got real for my little sister, but on a positive note, the seed has been planted.
THIRTY-ONE
DANE
If I were a romantic man, I might appreciate the fact that I’m boarding a private jet with the most beautiful woman in tow. She’s wrapped in a cashmere pashmina the color of lambs’ wool, hidden behind oversized sunglasses, and her lips are kissed in red.
She’s the epitome of elegance and grace, and she’s trembling like teacup Chihuahua.
I take her hand, leading her into two leather chairs. I typically take the window seat, but the view of the clouds might help soothe her nerves until we reach our cruising altitude, and the champagne begins to flow.
To the flight attendants buzzing about, I’m sure we look like a contented couple headed for a honeymoon getaway.
“You’re going to be fine, Bellamy.”
She slides her bag under her seat, dragging her hand along her soft wrap. A push of air passes her bright lips, and she nods. “It’s exciting. I think that’s it. I’m more excited than nervous.”
I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips, depositing a reassuring kiss as the jet staff handle last minute preparations. She watches it all, taking it in like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.
I tug on my sleeve to reveal my timepiece. “We should touch down in about three hours. Did you get the itinerary Marlene sent?”
Bellamy nods. “Yep. We land at four. We’ll check into the hotel. Dinner at eight. The conference will be Saturday. All day. Then we fly back Sunday morning.”
The captain’s voice comes over the intercom. Within seconds, we begin to taxi to the runway. When the plane comes to a complete stop and the jets fire up, Bellamy reaches for my forearm, digging her nails into my flesh.
The plane pushes forward, faster and faster, the momentum shoving us back against our seats. Thirty seconds later we’re in the air, climbing higher until we rise above wispy clouds and the acres of trees and land below us look like earthen quilt squares.
When the captain announces we’ve reached forty-one-thousand feet, a flight attendant makes her way toward us with a tray of champagne flutes. I take them both, handing one off to Bellamy.
“Should we toast?” Her excitement is almost contagious, and her ruby-stained mouth is spread wide.
“Sure.” I tilt my glass to her. “To Bellamy’s initial plane ride. May it be the first of many.”
We clink and sip, and she turns to gaze out the little oval window. When she tucks her hair behind her ears, I notice she’s wearing the champagne earrings, which is good. I need a reminder of the nature of our partnership because every time I’ve looked at her this morning, a warm fullness spreads across my chest.
“What’s this restaurant you’re taking me to tonight?” she asks. “I packed that coral dress you like. The strapless one.”
Her eyes dance into mine the way they always do when she seeks my approval. The woman loves to dress for me.
“A friend of mine owns a place in downtown Nashville. We’re getting the private tour and a seat right in the kitchen.”
Bellamy’s face lights. “That’ll make for a fun date.”
Her fingers lift to her mouth and her gaze falls to her lap.
“It’s not a date,” she says. “I didn’t mean to call it that. I’m sorry.”
“You can call it a date,” I say. “But it doesn’t mean we’re dating. It just means I’m treating you. Rewarding you for coming with me.”