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33
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MIA
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Iwalk into The SilverRing and glance around the luxury bar. It’s busy, but I spot Cade quickly. He’s sitting at the bar, looking all kinds of mafia royalty.
He’s wearing one of his best suits—Armani, by the looks—and is drinking a martini. On his wrist sits a huge timepiece, and his hair is slicked back.
Cade slides a cosmopolitan cocktail a few inches along the marble bar when he sees me. Standing, he kisses both my cheeks. “Mia, thank you for forgiving me. Sit, please.”
“You didn’t need to get dressed up for me,” I say, running my hands along the green dress Sienna loaned me. We’re the same size but with different shaped bodies. The material is cheap, but I don’t care. It’s the cowlneck which is bothering me—it shows off way too much boob than I would like. Especially for a drink with my brother.
Connor would growl.
Fuck Connor.
Cade studies me. “Sister, you look a little pale. Are you unwell?”
May as well stick to one set of lies. “Yes, I’ve been feeling off today.”
“Not pregnant, I hope,” he says, staring at me closer.
God, I hope not. I take my birth control religiously. But I can’t help the twinge of emotion flickering at the edges of my consciousness when I imagine having Connor’s baby.
Imagine him holding my hand as I birth it and the joy on his face.
The fucking traitor.
“I know you don’t like Connor,” I say, thinking he saw something when I didn’t. Just as my father had. “But please, don’t bash him tonight. I’m not in the mood.”
He raises both his hands.
“Hey, fine. The fiancé is off the menu,” Cade says, dropping them. “How’s work, then?”
I narrow my eyes. He’s trying too hard. I glance around and then ask, “What do you want, Cade? Is this really about apologizing?”
He laughs. “I’m trying to be a good brother.”
Taking a sip of my cosmo, I sigh.
