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Chapter Sixteen
Vivian
Once again I wake in darkness in Nate’s bed.
Like last time, he’s not next to me. He was, though. I have memories of rolling over and bumping into his big body. He took up a good portion of the king-sized bed we slept in, and nudging a thigh or an arm every so often was nice.
After our interlude on the couch, I sent a text to Walt letting him know I keep the coffee in the freezer and wouldn’t be coming home. He texted back, Got it.
Walt is safe. I am safe. What a strange synchronicity.
Maybe we’re due some good luck.
I sit up and my foot kicks something at the bottom of the bed. I fumble on the nightstand for the remote and press a button to raise the black window coverings. The room fills with light and my eyes slowly adjust to focus on the item at the end of the bed.
A box.
Large, cream-colored, and tied with a black ribbon.
I smile. The hope balloon I thought was inflated to capacity inflates a tiny bit more. My mind warns that hope is dangerous and I should protect myself. I tell it to fuck off as I untie the satin ribbon.
Inside the box beneath the tissue paper is a pair of sneakers, shorts and a T-shirt. Name brand. High end. The card resting on top of the shirt matches the box, cream-colored stock with black piping. The note reads: Nate asked me to pick out some casual clothes for you. I hope you enjoy this short set. More to come! Brandy.
That man. I shake my head. I am guessing any arguments to pay him back or refuse will be met with resistance. I stroke the soft cotton of the T-shirt and smile, deciding to accept the gift at face value.
I take a quick shower and brush my hair into a ponytail. Then I dress in my new duds and practically skip downstairs. I pause when I hear voices. Male voices. Nate’s and one—no, two—others.
I slow my descent as I catch a glimpse of the men in the living room. One of them is suited with dark brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His scowl seems permanent. The other man is wearing a checked shirt and trousers and shiny shoes that cost about fifteen hundred bucks a pair. He notices me first and grins. He has a full, gracious smile. The other man doesn’t smile. I wonder if he’s capable.
“There she is.” Nate’s smile is easy. Not as bright as the other man’s, but ten times more welcoming.
“I slept in.” I step into the living room. “Your bedroom’s a cave.”
“And he’s the bear,” the smiling man says.
“Vivian Vandemark,” Nate says, “Meet my brothers. Archer.” He gestures to the scowling man. “And this happy son of a bitch is Benji.”
I remember him mentioning Archer, the biological Owen, which might explain his air of superiority. Benji looks as grateful as a rescue dog with a home and I warm to him instantly.
“Nice to meet you,” I say.
Nate tugs me against his wall of a body and I rest my hand on his chest. Archer watches this with an unreadable expression. Benji is still grinning. Both of them are stunningly attractive, albeit in incredibly different ways.
“We should head out,” Archer says. And then, belying his standoffish expression, offers a polite, “Will you be joining us, Vivian?”
I look up at Nate who’s looking down at me, eyebrows raised.
“Up to you,” he tells me. “Brunch at LaVera’s.”
“That sounds fancy. And I look—”
“Stunning,” Benji tells me. “Come with us.”
On LaVera’s back patio,at a white-clothed table covered in white plates and several glasses per place setting, I’m introduced to Nate’s adoptive parents.
Will and Lainey have dark hair and olive-toned skin. Italian, I’d bet. Benji’s darker golden coloring and black hair hints at Middle Eastern heritage. Archer, with his father’s green eyes and his mother’s cheekbones, definitely skews Owen.
“So lovely to meet you, Vivian,” Lainey says. William stands while I take my seat and I amend that the width of his shoulders resembles Nate’s. If you weren’t looking closely, you might assume the boys were Owens, born and bred. Even Benji, whose build is slighter than Will’s, resembles Lainey in a way.
