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He doesn’t answer right away. “Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention that before?”
“Because it has nothing to do with you.” He rolls to his side, his back to me. “It is what it is.”
“I hate that expression.”
He’s quiet—as per usual. Getting Burke to say more than a handful of words at a time is a laborious chore, unlike his grouch of a brother.
A year ago, Dorian and I stayed up all night talking about anything and everything until the sun came up—literally. From the beach outside our hotel, we watched it rise, still lost in a conversation that hadn’t ceased since the second he sat down next to me at the first bar of the night.
“Burke?” My voice is whisper soft in case he’s asleep. If we’re going to foster something remotely genuine, he’s going to need to open up to me a little more and let me in.
We can start with pillow talk.
Several seconds pass before he responds. “Yeah?”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mom?” Earlier tonight, I found yet another table covered in family photos. From those, I was able to deduce that the beautiful Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy blonde was their mother, but based on the pictures, it seemed like she never made it past her late thirties. “You didn’t mention her in your pdf . . .”
Silent tension settles between us, and I realize I’m holding my breath when my chest begins to ache.
Maybe I shouldn’t have asked so soon.
Maybe it would’ve come out eventually in some fireside conversation on some sleepy summer night, but the more I’m around these people, the more I’m curious about their history and their intricate dynamics.
I’ve never seen so much loyalty and resentment all at once.
In fact, I’m not even sure if these siblings know how they feel about each other half the time. One minute they’re trading barbs, and the next, they’re coming to one another’s defense over something that happened years ago.
After another never-ending pause, he says, “She passed away a long time ago.”
I wait for him to elaborate, foolishly forgetting that Burke never expands on anything, ever.
My lips are parted, ready to fire off my next question, but I think better of it. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, I’m not going to pry it out of him at the end of a long day.
I’m curious by nature, not cruel.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him. And I am. My parents divorced before I made it to elementary school, but my father simply moved across town. I still grew up with both of my parents in my life. They might have been cheering me on from opposite sides of the stand during my volleyball games, but they were always there. I can’t fathom the immeasurable pain of not having one of them around for every milestone, big and small.
I imagine that’s the kind of thing no amount of time heals.
Burke doesn’t respond.
His breath steadies.
I don’t know him well enough to determine if he’s pretending to be asleep to get out of this conversation or if he’s one of those rare unicorns who can magically fall asleep the second their head hits the pillow—like Maeve.
What I wouldn’t give for a head emptied of its thoughts at the end of the day.
Rolling to my back, I stare at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day in my mind’s eye.
None of it feels real.
And the fact that Dorian and I are back in each other’s lives here?
Under these circumstances?
I’m still processing it.
How I wish I could pull him aside, whisper in his ear, and tell him this is all for show—that I still mean every word I said to him on the beach that morning—but that would be a direct violation of my nondisclosure agreement.
In fact, the way it was written, I’m never allowed to speak of this arrangement to anyone except Maeve for the rest of my natural life.
Had I known this deal would cost me Dorian, I never would have said yes.
And now that I’m here, now that I’ve been introduced as Burke’s fiancée, and now that I know his father is sick, what kind of person would I be if I told Dorian this was all pretend? What kind of person would I be if I made this about me and my guilt and my feelings?
NDA or no, I didn’t come here to make a mess of things, nor do I want to come between Dorian and his brother during an emotionally tenuous time in their lives.
The last thing I’d ever dream of doing is causing Dorian more pain.
I drift off, my mind heavy from the weight of all the things I can’t tell him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DORIAN
One Year Ago
“Can I ask you something?” Briar splays her hand across her chest before I can respond, leaning so close to me I can smell the sweet scent of her hair. “And you have to be honest.”
