Page 33 of Cocky Brutal Sinner

“I’ll be right back,” I declare before anyone can see the anguish on my face. I need a second to get my shit together. Jogging out of the room, I head back to the bar to grab a bottle of sparkling apple cider. It’s shit—if you ask me, everything shit compared to champagne—but Cat and Maura deserve something to drink for the toast I know is imminent. It’s not one of our more popular drinks, so it takes me a while to dig out what I’m looking for. Finally, I find a dusty bottle behind the merlot. I rub a cloth over the top and head back past the kitchen.

Tomosso’s standing at the expo station. He perks up and waves at me. “Hey, hold up, Beau.”

I cringe. I really don’t want to deal with Terrace business while we’re celebrating, and my staff sometimes overrelies on me to make small decisions when I’m in the kitchen area. “Can it wait? Whatever it is, I’m sure you’ll figure it out!”

Shooting him a wave, I hurry back to our private dining room. Now, Maura, Cat, and Pippa are all in tears. Eden hovers slightly awkwardly.

“Congratulations,” she says. “Sorry that I ended up crashing your big announcement!”

“No,” Cat sniffs. “I invited you, and I’m so glad you came. And oh my god, why can’t I stop crying?”

“Welcome to pregnancy.” Maura laughs. “Stock up on tissues while you can.”

“Here,” I say, filling two glasses with the cider. “You better rehydrate.”

“Thanks, Beau.” Cat grins.

Once everyone else has a full glass of something sparkling, Pippa raises her glass of red wine. I hurry to pull out my phone and snap some pics.

“A toast, to Cat and Nate. The love that you two have for each other radiates out to everyone who meets you. It’s a love that’s generous, warm, and welcoming, and it even makes Nate’s scowls a little less scary sometimes. I can’t think of better people than the four of you”—Maura ducks her head and blushes as Pippa nods to her—“to bring perfect little babies into this world who will never, ever doubt that they’re loved.”

I don’t mean to look, but I catch Brinley’s eye across the table. She’s smiling broadly, and anyone else in the world would think she’s just happy for her friend. But I know Brinley’s face even better than I know my own, and I can see the splinter of pain underneath. I know she’s thinking the same thing I am.

Nobody will ever make a stirring speech to our love, because we’re busy pretending it doesn’t exist.

“So cheers,” Pippa finishes. “To Cat and Nate, to James and Maura, and to the world’s most beautiful babies.”

The sound of clinking glasses is suddenly joined by a voice that’s warm, loud, and unmistakably Italian.

“I’m sure Beau won’t mind if I peek in for a moment. He’s my son!”

Oh, fuck.

I should have known I couldn’t hold her off forever. As much as I love her, she’s the last person I want to see right now.

Mama sweeps into the room, her long dark hair swept into a thick braid, her Prada blouse and trousers perfectly tailored. My mother is a force of nature, bright and determined, and the whole atmosphere of the room shifts as she walks into it.

Slightly behind her is a tall, tanned woman with tilted green eyes and brown curls that fall practically to her waist. She’s perfectly lovely and polished in her ivory shirtdress, though she looks slightly overwhelmed by Mama’s overall energy.

“Tesoro!” Mama says, swanning over to me and kissing me on both cheeks.

“Mama,” I manage to choke out. “What are you doing here?”

“I was in the neighborhood, and I thought, if my son keeps dodging my lunch invites, I might as well come to him. Besides, Giulia wanted to see Terrace—I’ve told her so much about it.”

Giulia smiles shyly at me. Across the table, Brinley’s mouth thins into a straight line, and my stomach drops through the floor.

11

BRINLEY

Irecognize Beau’s mother, of course. I’ve seen pictures of her before. She’s every bit as bright and effusive as Beau described her, her smile so broad she brightens the whole room, and her sharp gaze taking in everything.

I definitely don’t recognize the woman behind her, the one who looks like a green-eyed Monica Belucci. The one who’s so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at her. Maybe she’s his cousin. Or maybe I’m in hard-core denial, because she doesn’t resemble Beau in the slightest, and she’s far too gorgeous to just be a cousin. The universe wouldn’t be so kind.

“I’m so sorry,” Giulia says, in a slightly heavier accent than Beau’s mother’s. “We’re obviously interrupting your night. We can come another time.”

Please, go, I plead silently. Leave now, get back on a plane home, and fly right into the arms to the gorgeous Italian shipping magnate who I’m sure is just waiting to fall at your feet. Just don’t go for Beau. Not my Beau.