Page 7 of Claimed By The Other Brother

I type back:

Scarlett: Of course. I'll be here.

At least we'll get to spend some time together before the chaos of the wedding week really begins. Maybe that'll help. Maybe seeing him, talking to him, will remind me why I said yes in the first place.

I sip my tea and try to quiet the voice in my head that keeps whispering:This should feel different. This should feel like more.

Two hours later, there's a knock at my door. I've spent the time attempting to work on a presentation, giving up, and eventually settling on mindlessly scrolling through social media. I'm still in my yoga pants and sweatshirt when I open the door.

Miles stands in the hallway, hands in the pockets of his khakis. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he's been running his hands through it. He's wearing his favorite blue button-down, the one that brings out his eyes.

"Hey." He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Hey yourself." I step aside to let him in.

He kisses my cheek as he passes, then heads straight for the couch. He's comfortable here,knows where everything is. Three years together means he has his own drawer in my dresser, a toothbrush in my bathroom, a spot on my couch that's basically his.

"How was your day?" I close the door and join him, tucking my legs underneath me.

"Long." He leans his head back, closing his eyes.

"The city council story is getting more complicated. My editor wants another round of fact-checking before we can publish."

"Sounds stressful."

"It is." He opens his eyes, turning to look at me.

"How was the wedding planner?"

"Good. Everything's confirmed. Christina says we're all set." I pause.

"My mom called."

He groans. "Let me guess. She's worried about something."

"Everything. The venue, the food, whether I'm sure about marrying you."

A flash of something crosses his face. Guilt? Anxiety? It's gone before I can identify it.

"Are you?" he asks quietly. "Sure, I mean."

The question catches me off guard.

"Of course I'm sure. Why would you ask that?"

He shrugs, looking away.

"I don't know. Pre-wedding jitters, I guess."

"You're the one with jitters?" I try to keep my tone light, teasing.

"I'm not the one who looks like I'm about to face a firing squad."

"I don't look like that."

"Miles." I reach over and take his hand.

"Are you okay? You've seemed really distracted lately."