Sinful Proposition

Before the waiter could leave, Tempest spoke up. “Today is his birthday,” she said, nodding her head Remy’s way. “Can you bring a candle for the dessert, and matches, please?”

The waiter grinned. “Absolutely.”

As soon as the other man was gone, Remy shook his head and groaned. “I do not want them singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.” He was already embarrassed thinking about being the center of a

ttention.

“Relax, Remy.” She patted his hand to calm him, though she was smiling. “I only asked for a candle so you and I can celebrate your birthday.”

Remy wasn’t convinced that all the waiters in the restaurant weren’t going to converge at their table and burst out in song and was relieved when their server returned by himself. He set the single dessert on the table between him and Tempest, along with a small candle and a book of matches on a separate plate.

“Happy birthday, sir,” the other man said with a grin and a slight bow. “Enjoy your dessert.”

When they were alone, Tempest picked up the candle and put it into the swirl of chocolate mousse, then reached for the matches. She struck one and touched it to the wick of the candle, lighting it.

“Make a wish, Remy,” she said, encouraging him.

Above the flickering candle, he met Tempest’s gentle gaze and knew what he’d wish for, given the chance. All he wanted, all he needed, was her. For the rest of his life.

Before he could blow out the candle and put that elusive wish out into the universe, Tempest’s startled expression stopped him. Her eyes grew round as she stared beyond where Remy was sitting, and when he turned his head to follow her gaze, he saw what, or rather who, had captured her attention.

The food he’d just eaten knotted in Remy’s stomach as he watched Kyle walk toward their table from the back of the establishment, clearly on his way out when he’d seen Tempest. He approached the two of them, a surprisingly sheepish look on his face.

“Tempest, nice to see you,” he said amicably.

“Kyle.” She didn’t return the nice to see you sentiment. Her body language was stiff and wary and didn’t invite further conversation.

Kyle shifted on his feet and rubbed a hand along his jaw, his brow knitted with contrition. “Hey, look . . . I know things between us ended abruptly, and since you blocked my number, I wasn’t able to contact you again, but I saw you just now on my way out and wanted to apologize for being so . . . pushy. I didn’t know you were dating someone else.”

His gaze briefly flickered to Remy, then back to Tempest. If Kyle recognized him from the night of the fairy-tale ball two months ago, his expression didn’t show it.

“It’s fine, Kyle,” she said, letting the other man off too easily as far as Remy was concerned.

Then again, this situation was awkward as fuck and it was obvious that Tempest just wanted Kyle gone. As did Remy. Being face-to-face with his half brother, who had no clue who Remy was, only brought up shitty emotions that stirred Remy’s anger and resentment.

“Kyle, what’s the holdup?” a woman asked from a few feet away as she neared the table. “Your father is getting impatient and wants to leave.”

Remy’s blood ran ice-cold in his veins. He hadn’t heard that voice in over twenty-five years, but he recognized it immediately—though now it held a haughty air. Remy struggled to breathe while staring at the burning candle on the chocolate dessert that kept melting away and dripping wax. So much for making a wish. Happy fucking birthday to me.

“Mom, this is Tempest Wilder,” Kyle said, introducing her. “And this is—”

“My date,” Tempest intercepted in a panicked rush of breath, clearly realizing who Kyle’s mother was.

Beneath the table, Tempest’s hand squeezed his thigh, and it dawned on Remy that she’d just tried to protect him from being called out by name and possibly exposed as Crystal’s first son. But a deranged part of Remy needed to know if his mother would recognize him after all this time, and he finally turned his head and glanced up at her, immediately seeing an older, Botoxed, and well-off version of the woman he’d known for only a short time.

Her blonde hair was perfectly styled. Diamonds glittered off her ears and fingers, the white pantsuit she wore was impeccable, and she carried a designer handbag with an iconic logo of interlocking C’s.

He held his breath as their eyes met and his own mother gave him a tight, brief smile that was clearly forced, as if she didn’t have time for this, for them. He waited for a click of recognition . . . waited, waited, waited, but there was none. It was as though she’d never met Remy in her entire life, and it was a painful, soul-shattering finality that cut him up like a jagged knife inside and left him bleeding from the raw, open wound that had never fully healed when she’d abandoned him all those years ago.

Remy honestly didn’t think it possible, but he was faced with irrefutable proof that he’d been wiped from her brain, her heart, her memory. He clearly didn’t exist as her son. Hell, he barely existed as a person to this very arrogant, rich, spoiled woman who’d turned her back on him for a better life.

Barely acknowledging him, Crystal glanced from the dessert in the middle of the table to Tempest. “Is it your birthday, dear?” she asked, though her tone was bored, as if she was forcing herself to be polite to a friend of her son’s.

“I . . . uh . . .” Tempest stammered, and Remy could feel the nervous energy coming off her in waves.

She didn’t know what to do, but Remy did.

“No, Mother, it’s my birthday,” he said, contempt dripping from his voice. “Your first son, Remy,” he added, just in case she needed the reminder.