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“Did you—” I start to ask if he saw her, if she’s pretty, but I stop myself from giving him the satisfaction of seeing me squirm. Despite everything, we’re still brothers and deeply competitive. I steady myself, composing my face, forcing myself to take on an air of nonchalance. “Doesn’t matter.”
His expression softens as he picks his paper up again. “She’s pretty,” he says softly. I’m surprised by the gesture. I figured he’d let me sweat it out a little bit longer.
But it’s what I really wanted to know.
Fine, fuck, it’s shallow. I know, it’s shallow. But I want to at least be somewhat attracted to the woman I’ll spend the rest of my life with.
All that other shit? Personality, charm, compatibility? We can work on that. Looks generally don’t change all that much.
I glance at him. “How pretty?”
“Pretty enough, you fucking shit.” Carson rolls his eyes. “Go on, go to Dad’s office and face the music. No use putting it off. You’ll just make him madder.”
“Where are the others?” I push my chair back and stand. “They’re not here to play a funeral dirge for me?”
“Nolan’s still out. Liam’s gone being Liam. You got me for moral support, bro.”
“You’re doing such a good job at that.”
He barks a laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for yourself? You’re cementing an important alliance for the family. That’s no small thing.”
I grunt in response, looking away. What’s left unspoken isyou’re doing something useful for a change.
That’s the way things are in the Crowley family.
Carson and Nolan are in leadership. Liam’s off doing whatever the fuck Liam wants, because he’s strange, intense, obsessive, and probably an actual psychopath. That makes him useful in his own way.
Which leaves me. The youngest at twenty-eight. I have my businesses, my crews, my purpose. But as far as Dad and the rest of the family’s concerned, that’s all ancillary, all unimportant.
I lift my chin. Square my shoulders. Roll my hands into fists.
No sense in feeling sorry for myself.
Normally, I’d tuck all these negative thoughts into the back of my head, but today’s a special case.
I’m getting engaged.
And fuck, do I wish I were back in bed with Dara.
Some small voice regrets what happened with her last night. Not because ofher, but because tasting Dara was like getting a glimpse of what my life could be like if I were free to marry a woman I actually want.
It would’ve been better if I never found out.
Instead, now I have Dara in my head, and I don’t know how I’ll ever shake her.
I walk out of the breakfast room, through a series of back halls, nodding to the house staff as I go, until I stop outside of Dad’s office. I take a couple breaths to steady myself, letting calm fall over me like a shroud.
I’m a Crowley. I can handle anything. I run my clubs, hurt my enemies, and don’t take shit from anyone. I can marry this girl without complaint. I can do my duty for the family.
Even if I’d rather find Dara again, drag her into my apartment, and keep her there for the next six months. And even then, I doubt I’d get tired of her.
That won’t ever happen. There’s no reason to think about her anymore. What’s done is done, and what will be, will be.
I’m a fucking Crowley.
I open the door and step inside.
Chapter7
