I shrug. “We’re actually both better actors than either of us thought. Besides, when Dilynne is in front of Tori, she really goes all in. Pissing her off is making her giddy. It’s fucking diabolical, but funny too,” I say, the corner of my mouth lifting. Rhonan widens his eyes at me, instantly making my lips fall back in line. “Anyway, you three don’t have to understand or agree with this, but you need to have my back at least.”
The three of them look at each other. Fletcher nods. “You know we do.”
“Good.”
“But do you honestly think you’re ready to pretend you’re about to get married again?” he adds. “The fact that it’s Dilynne is one thing, but after what you went through…”
“I’m good,” I cut in, standing from my chair to toss my empty beer bottle in the recycling can and reach for a water from the fridge this time. I shouldn’t have another drink so I can drive myself home later, and no amount of beer is going to make me feel entirely resolute in this decision anyway. “Trust me. I’m in a much better place than I was a year ago.”
After Tori left, alcohol and I had a tumultuous relationship, especially when I was out in public. It was the only way I could handle the stares and whispers. I saw the pity in people’s eyes when they looked at me, even from my own fucking friends, and I hated it.
But I’m finally at a point where I can have a few beers and not feel the need to get shit-faced.
I’ve never been a weak person. I’ve never been someone that others looked at with sorrow and sadness. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to just live up to the expectations that my grandfather and father had for me, and the expectations I had for myself.
And then my grandfather’s voice enters my mind.“You’ll always make me proud as long as you stay true to who you are.”
It took me a while, but I finally feel like I’ve found myself again, and the new version of who I am too—the man who now knows that Tori’s betrayal is just a part of my story, not the whole thing.
Although I never thought the new me would agree to a fake engagement, yet here we are.
“This isn’t ending in a real marriage, in case you three weren’t aware of that,” I continue as I make my way back to my seat.
Rhonan looks at Henley. “Is Dilynne…”
“She admitted it was her idea and that she’d rather eat regurgitated hot dogs than marry Elliot in real life, so…” He shakes his head. “I think they’ll be fine.”
Fletcher pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sure that Laney is aware of this too, then?”
“I would imagine so. And you two are free to tell your women now as well,” I say, pointing to Rhonan and Henley. “The only people that aren’t going to be privy to the truth are my parents and Tori, obviously.”
“Well, I assume so, given that your dad is the one who brought Tori back into your life.”
I sigh. “Trust me, I’m most confused by that.”
Henley leans back in his chair. “I don’t like this.”
Rhonan juts his chin in Henley’s direction. “It’s weird when it’syoursister, isn’t it?”
Henley glares at Rhonan as Fletcher casts his gaze to the side of the room. “Well, I see we’re gonna make things awkward now, aren’t we?”
I set my water bottle on the table. “Actually, do you guys mind if we just play some blackjack, please? I could use something to take my mind off the shit show that is my life right now.”
Rhonan nods and grabs the deck of cards from the table. “Fine, but don’t think we aren’t going to check on you throughout this ordeal.”
I huff out a laugh. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the three of you at this point.”
By the time we’ve each dealt a round, Henley is itching to get home to Elodie and his daughter, Remy, and Fletcher is sending dirty text messages to his new wife. I’m speculating, of course. But if he’s grinning at his phone that way and it’s not a dirty text message, then I’m scared to ask what has him adjusting his dick repeatedly.
Notwanting to just play and run, I hang back to help Rhonan clean up our mess.
“Where do you want me to put the table and stuff?” I ask him.
Rhonan points toward the garage door. “There’s a space right next to my toolbox.”
“Got it.” I enter the garage, put the table and chairs away, then re-enter the house to find Rhonan scrubbing dishes at the sink. Taking a seat on one of the bar stools, I brace myself to ask him the question I’ve been wanting to all night. “How’s Vienna doing?”
The corner of his mouth lifts, which instantly makes my shoulders less tense. “She’s doing well. Her doctors are happy with her recovery so far, and I feel like she’s finally starting to get some of her energy back. Although, with the baby, it’s hard to tell if she’s exhausted from recovery or pregnancy.”