Playboy Prince

"You're not. I'll drop it if you ask, but I won't believe you're fine."

How the hell do I play this?

"Is it about Bash?"

"What about him?"

"His death." He says that without judgment too.

But, still, I don't buy it. "He's been dead."

"He was fucking a married woman."

It's a plausible explanation, but there's something about the way he says it. Something I'm missing. "Did he tell you more?"

"More about what?"

"The woman he was fucking."

"The same things he told you."

"How do you know what he told me?" I ask.

"Bash wasn't good at keeping secrets."

That's true. It's missing something, but it is true.

"He told me a lot about the sound of her groan. The way her toes curled when she came. How badly she wanted everything with him."

That sounds like Bash.

"He put you to shame."

I can't help but laugh. "In his dreams."

"Maybe." Simon studies the bright green hue of the drink.

"It's good."

He takes a sip. "Better than I expected."

"I'm a man of many talents."

He finishes half his drink. Sets his glass on the counter.

Mine is better with the next sip. Sweeter, stronger, promising a release from this torture. I can't discuss death for another fucking second. "Is that all he said?"

He doesn't reply.

"Did he tell you her name? Who her husband was? If she was at the funeral?"

He holds my gaze for a moment. "He didn't tell."

Bash didn't tell him.

But he knows now.

That's what he's hiding. Something about the woman Bash was fucking?

But why?

"Is she okay?" I ask.

"I don't know."

"But you know her. Who she is?"

He says nothing. But that says everything.

He knows the woman Bash was fucking.

"What else do you know?" I ask.

"Liam—"

"Tell me the fucking truth."

"Why? What good could come of it?"

"It's the truth."

"You've never kept a secret?"

Guilty as charged. "That's not the point."

"He loved her. He wanted to keep their affair secret."

"He's dead. Doesn't fucking matter what he wanted."

"It does."

Whatever.

"If it was you—"

"I wouldn't give a shit, because I'd be dead."

The door interrupts us. Laughter. My kid sister and my fake fiancée step into the room, each holding a takeout bag, each sopping wet.

"It's raining." Briar takes Opal's bag. Places both on the counter. "Raining really hard."

"Do you have anything I can borrow?" Opal asks.

"Yeah. I have my clothes in the spare room," Briar says.

"Your fiancée sleeps in the spare room?" Simon asks.

"No." Briar stumbles on her explanation.

"She's a closet hog," I say.

She nods. "There's not enough room in Liam's bedroom. So I took the closet in the spare."

Opal nods. "Doesn't he have a walk-in closet? Really, Liam, you should let your fiancée have the bigger closet."

"His clothes are worth more," Briar says.

"But yours are way cooler. You look amazing—" She motions to Briar's short black dress and boots. "He's another guy in a suit."

"I like him in a suit." Briar crosses the room to me. "Though I like you better out of it." She presses her lips to my cheek. Leans in to whisper. "Can we make this fast?"

I brush her hair behind her ear. "I'm trying."

"Thank you." She pulls back. Looks to Opal. "Any preference?"

"As long as it's dry." Opal follows Briar into the spare room.

Their banter fades into the background.

Simon stares intensely.

I try to ignore him as I plate our takeout, bring it to the dining table.

Years of training take over. Simon and I fall into the routine of manners.

He places the silverware.

I place the plates and drinks.

The ladies emerge in dry clothes, and big smiles, but the air stays charged. Simon's expression stays grim.

He shoots me a we'll talk about this later look. The same one he had when I was a kid who fucked up.

Then he shifts into loving older brother. Gets Opal talking about her art class, her friends from school, her love of spicy food.

Opal lights up the massive room. Gets Simon smiling and Briar spilling advice on acing classes and avoiding assholes.

They leave right after dinner.

Briar offers to clean up. When I insist I've got it, she wishes me good night, and retires to her room.

The dishes distract me for a while.

I shower, change into pajamas, try to zone out with the TV.

But the thought gets louder every minute. What the fuck is Simon hiding?

A smarter man would let it go.

A better man would confront his brother.

But I'm neither.

I text my friend. Accept his offer to find answers.

I'm tired of being in the dark.

Simon is hiding something. And I'm going to find out what it is.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Briar

Ah, the fun of alcohol. I fall asleep easily. Wake two hours later with an intense need to pee.

Two drinks and my bladder is screaming. Or maybe it's all the water I drank at dinner. Opal claimed the dish I ordered wasn't "that spicy," but it set my tongue on fire. She's adorable. Okay, maybe she's a little tall to be adorable, but she's full of energy and enthusiasm. Too cute to be a master of spicy food.