His Brother's Bride

She turned her head toward him. “Hated yourself?” Her mouth was so close he could feel her breath on the side of his face.

“Yeah.”

“You were the best man in your brother’s wedding and were throwing him a bachelor party. You’d just gotten word about the job in Boston. You were getting a nice raise, a promotion, a new home close to your family. A new life. One you’d earned through hard work and sacrifice. What did you have to hate yourself for?”

For a second there, hearing her describe his life, he actually felt good about himself and was tempted to leave well enough alone.

“I hated myself for being in love with my brother’s fiancée.” The words were cold, unemotional. It was the best he could do for himself, because he couldn’t stop there. “I hated myself for being so damned jealous of him that I couldn’t be happy for him. For hating how happy he was, knowing that making you exclusively his was the root of that happiness.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. And then, slowly, her head turned away from him and she gazed out at the field in front of her.

“It had to just be the moment, the situation. Paul was getting married. You were there for every step of the planning, reminding him he had decisions to make when he was too focused on work to remember. Sometimes it seemed more like you were the groom than he was. It’s natural that you’d superimpose his feelings onto your own in the end.”

She’d given him an out. Scott considered taking it.

“It wasn’t just that night.”

“So, it was just those last weeks of planning, when everything was so crazy and you and I were spending so much time together getting everything finalized while Paul finished that embezzlement case.” She sounded adamant in spite of her shaking voice.

He could go with that. Should go with that. No one would ever know.

“No.”

“How long?” The voice no longer sounded like hers. It was flat. Distant.

“What?”

“How long were you...feeling...like that?”

“Since high school.”

Her head snapped around. “No way, Scott. You’ve built this up into something that’s not even there,” she said, her voice breathy with relief. “You were in love in high school, that’s true. About ten times. Always with beautiful blondes who thought you could solve any problem, make any wrong right. They hung all over you—adored you.”

“You’re blond.”

She faced the field again. “Yes, but...”

“And you, more than anyone, spent hours talking to me about solving all of the world’s problems.”

“Yes, but...”

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I never had a serious girlfriend? Why I’ve never, not once, dated a girl more than twice?”

“Because you had so many to choose from and weren’t ready to settle down?”

“Wrong.” He turned to look at her, knowing that he was going to feel damned humiliated when this was over, but needing to finish now that he’d started. “It was because no one measured up to you.”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t accept that.”

He didn’t blame her. Neither could he.

And there was one more thing he couldn’t accept. Not ever. Not in this life and not in any that were to come.

“Right before the bachelor party started, Paul called you and I overheard him telling you what you and he were going to be doing in Maui the following night.” When his throat grew too tight, he stopped for a moment, remembering. “I hated myself for a lot of things that nig