Page 79 of The Billionaire Invitation

“I’m not worried… I…” Dante paused to suck in a much-needed breath. “It’s irritating that you can talk…” Breathe. “While running.”

“Fine, grandpa. We’ll walk and talk.” Zander slowed to a stroll.

Insult or not, Dante didn’t argue as he matched his brother’s pace.

“Do you remember what I was like after Emily died?”

“I remember you nearly lost your business.” Zander was an art curator and Emily had been a painter. After she’d passed, he hadn’t shown much interest in the art world—much interest in anything.

“Dad didn’t let that happen. Neither did you. You flew out there determined to help with whatever I needed.”

He’d forgotten about that—or maybe he’d filed it away so he didn’t have to revisit that painful time. Emily had been a bright, colorful addition to their family—her personality as vibrant as her paintings. Emily and Zander together? Forget it. Their marriage could have been fodder for fairy tales.

Dante had been, what, twenty-six at the time? He’d been firmly established with the foundation by then. Back when problem-solving had been a way of life for him. In the face of his brother’s unfathomable grief, Dante had done the only thing he’d known to do. He’d stepped in and helped with Zander’s flagging business.

“I owe you for that,” Zander said now. “I’m not sure I ever properly thanked you. I’m the big brother. And my younger siblings were forced to rally around me while I—” He shook his head and didn’t say more.

“You didn’t force us, Zan. We’re family. We’re Cranes. That’s what we do.”

Zander stopped walking and met eyes with him. “Is that what you’re doing with Honesty? Rallying. Fixing things, when she’d rather have you around in another capacity?”

That question threw him. Dante shook his head. “I’m finishing what I started. Rather than leave her to do it alone. My team is in contact with her assistant Gabby. Eli and Isa are on board with the launch⁠—”

“And what about after the launch. After you go back to California?” Zander started walking and talking again, forcing Dante to keep up to hear the rest of it. “You don’t owe me an answer, brother. But you owe yourself one. Are you sure the old version of you will be there to go home to? The women in our lives change us, and sometimes there’s no going back. The version of me before I fell in love with Chloe”—his eyes on the lake, Zander shook his head—“nowhere to be seen.”

“You and Chloe are good together,” Dante said rather than unpack what his brother was implying. Zander didn’t know Honesty. Hell, he wasn’t sure Zander knew Dante all that well. “As big of a love as you and Emily had, I have to say, you and Chloe are fated.”

Zander wore a small smile that revealed nothing. He likely had more to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he picked up the pace again. “One more mile and I’ll treat you to ice cream.”

“Pass!” Dante called out. But as he watched Zander running with perfect form, he felt the pinch of challenge. Tragedy would be letting his older brother outperform him. “Fuck.”

He had to double-time his steps to catch up. Once there, he met Zander’s pace while ignoring one mother of a side stitch. Afterwards, they opted for smoothies instead of ice cream.

As Dante drank his protein-packed chocolate-cherry concoction, he received a text from Jennifer. Honesty wanted to meet for drinks tonight. Apparently she’d arranged the date through their assistants instead of asking Dante directly. What the fuck was that about?

“Something wrong?” Zander asked.

Yes.

“No. Just scheduling drinks with Honesty.” He texted his assistant that he’d be there.

Zander’s eyes snapped to Dante’s phone and then back to his face. “If you need me to rally around you at any point, let me know.”

“Not necessary, but thanks.” Dante tried to sound aloof, but his throat caught when Zander put his hand on Dante’s shoulder.

“We’re Cranes,” his brother said. “It’s what we do.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Men in suits and women in skirts and silk shirts were stationed around the fancy restaurant—either circling the C-shaped bar or seated at the surrounding tables. A pianist was playing in the corner, serenading the crowd as they sipped on martinis and cosmos.

This place was haughty and impersonal. Gabby had chosen wisely.

Honesty approached the bar, resting her hand on the gleaming honey-colored wood. Glass shelves that stretched to the ceiling were lined with every liquor bottle imaginable.

Dante, wearing a crisp white shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, stood to pull out a chair for her. “I was early,” he said. “Saved you a seat.”

Honesty had spent the afternoon focusing on two things: how she wanted the charity to operate, and what she would and wouldn’t accept from Dante going forward. Since those two topics were enmeshed, she was going to tackle them both tonight.