Chapter 29

I listen.

And I rage.

That she went through so much.

That she had so little.

And when she finally finishes telling me about how Jean-Michel recognized her talent (not a surprise from the shrewd businessman) and all that the grumpy fairy godfather has done for her over the years, my respect for the man has grown.

He sees Rory, all that soft and sweet and bright inside her.

And he's looked out for her, protected that gentle core.

I need to find a way to thank him.

But what does one do for a grumpy billionaire fairy godfather who has everything he can possibly want?

"And then—" Her words are interrupted by a giant yawn, so I table the thought and smooth back her hair, tucking an errant strand behind her ear. She smiles…

And promptly yawns again.

"I think it's time for sleep, princess," I say softly, rubbing my hand slowly up and down her back, loving that my touch has her slumping against me, that it garners yet another yawn as sleep tries to steal her under.

"Prickle Princess," she corrects.

"I thought you hated that name."

"It comes from you"—her lips brush over my throat—"and I don't think I could ever hate any part of you."

I freeze, her words striking with the impact of a nuke.

But luckily sleep takes her before she realizes what she's done to me, her breathing going slow and steady.

And I'm left lying there in the dark, thinking that I'm playing with fire and that…

She's perfect.

And that's…

Well, that's the fucking problem.

My phone buzzes, and I manage to peel open my eyes to see that sun is pouring through the windows.

Early.

But not that early.

If I hadn't exposed my heart last night, hadn't been fucking vulnerable and open and then spent the subsequent hours thinking about Rory being vulnerable and open right back.

And that asshole of an ex-boss of hers.

And that I need to make a list of everyone who's wronged her so I can make sure they pay (even if Jean-Michel has already done the same as her revenge-seeking fairy godfather).

If not for all of that, I would have likely been awake far before this hour.

Something my brother, Jakob—his name popping up as I glance at my cell's screen—would assume, considering he knows this life and knows me and how I prepare and recover from games and that I'm a creature of habit that likes to get up and start the day, not allow it to waste away.

He just doesn't know that my recovery of late has been spending my nights fucking the beautiful woman softly snoring next to me.

I hit the button on the side, stopping the vibrating, rejecting the call, and start to set the phone back on when it starts going again.

Buzz. Buzz.

I sigh, jab at the screen.

Then grind my teeth at the text message that's appeared.

Jakob: What's this about an engagement?

Christ. Maybe he does know how I've been spending my post-game recovery.

Though—frankly—it's a shock it took this long for my mom to let the cat out of the bag…and then for Jakob to reach out and give me shit.

Buzz. Buzz.

Jakob: You trying to give Mom more confidence in playing fucking matchmaker?

He should know by now that nobody allows our mom to do anything.

She does what she wants, when she wants—hence her breezing in and out of town, visiting her kids like the tiny tornado she is.

Do I have a choice?

No.

Or more importantly, would I ever tell the woman who sacrificed so much to raise us no?

Also…no.

Still, my fingers race across the phone screen.

Me: It's not like that.

I can almost hear Jakob snort despite the hundreds of miles between us.

So, I keep my fingers moving.

Me: She didn't have any part in this.

Something that's true, but also something that's completely the wrong thing to say because it'll only bring more questions.

Ever since Jakob's divorce, he's been as anti-relationship as me.

Of course, he doesn't know the circumstances of my particular brand of bullshit—seemingly buying into the hockey is my life lines I've fed everyone around me—but, sadly, we had a similar implosion of the committed relationships we thought would last forever.

Mine being my ex making me realize that I'll never live up to the grand expectations in my mind, never be able to live up to the legacy of my family…and then going on to fuck someone else. While Jakob's ex-wife chose a far more cliché path of expression, fucking her personal trainer and then moving to Hawaii to find herself.

Fun times.

But this is why I shouldn't have sent that text.

If my brother knows that Mom wasn't behind my relationship…knows that there's something more, something deeper?—

Cue panic.

Mine.

Because if he knows that this isn't my mother's influence, then?—

My cell starts ringing again.

That.

He's going to want to know every fucking detail like the nosy sibling he is.

I groan softly and push out of bed, careful to not wake Rory as I slip out into the hall, waiting until I've quietly closed the door behind me before I swipe my finger across the screen.

"Tell me you're fucking kidding," Jakob snaps.

"Quiet," I mutter, holding the cell away from my ear—because, Goddamn, my brothers are loud. "Rory's sleeping."

A blip of quiet, filled with befuddlement before he roars, "Excuse me?"

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, moving more quickly down the hall?—

Come to me, coffeepot.

I need sustenance for this conversation.

And copious amounts of caffeine.

I shove in a pod, stick a mug beneath the spout, and slam down the top, listening with relief at the sound of the coffee brewing, the hint of the earthy scent hitting my nose only moments later.

"Tell me, King," Jakob snaps.

I swap the mug for an empty one, even though it'll mean more dishes to wash once I'm fully caffeinated, and quickly down the contents, sighing in relief when the hot brew hits my taste buds. "Is there a reason you're pissed about this?" I mutter.

"Yes," he says, the word still snapped out, but the rest of what he says is drowned out by the sound of his boys. They're loud enough in the background that I hold my cell away from my ear again.

Jesus.

They come by it naturally.

"Yo!" Jakob shouts over the din, "I'm on the phone. Take it outside and solve it with Thumb War, yeah?"

My lips twitch.

If I had a penny for every time I heard my mom say that over the years, I would have…

Well, a lot of pennies.

Mostly because I'm the oldest and smartest and only participated in Thumb War battles I knew I could win.

Those being not against Annie.

Because, swear to God, our little sister is sneaky as fuck and has major Thumb War skills.

I chuckle, but the noise on the other end of the call dies down and I reach for the mug that's now mostly full, sucking back more coffee and bracing for the firestorm of my younger brother.

"So, you don't have anything to say about it?" Jakob grinds out a moment later.

"Well"—I take another sip, lean back against the counter—"I probably would have something to say about it if I could hear you over your hellions."

A snort. "You know that we Bangs aren't quiet."

"This is true."

"I thought you'd sworn off women," he says. "I thought that you were going to make sure Mom stopped with this happily-ever-after bullshit that she's been pushing on us."

I sigh, set down my mug and rub my temple, try to soothe the throb that's begun there.

He's not wrong.

I did promise those things—right after my laptop was stolen by my mom's last setup-gone-wrong.

It's just I promised those things…

Before Rory.

"It's not like you think," I begin, intending to tell him that she's different, that I've never met a woman like her.

"Dude," he says. "You know that every woman is a greedy parasite that wants to suck you dry before she flits off to the next better thing."

I used to think that.

Before Rome and Chrissy.

Before…Rory.

"Rory—"

"Rory," he mutters. "Christ, is her mom's name Lorelai and you're going to have lots of teen drama at the local small town coffee shop?"

I frown. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

He blows out a breath, the sound echoing through the speakers. "Never mind. Just ask Annie about the crappy TV shows she made me watch after you moved out sometime and then you'll get the full rundown."

That clears up my frown.

Because I've been subjected plenty to Annie's brand of entertainment…and dealt with the mind melt afterward.

"Annie aside," I say. "Rory's full name is Aurora?—"

A humorless laugh. "And it gets worse. She shares her name with a fucking princess. Jesus Christ, you've seriously lost it now, man. Don't make the same mistake of marrying a spoiled brat like I did?—"

I want to argue.

To tell him that what I have with Rory isn't that.

She's not a princess. She's far from spoiled. She works her ass off, has overcome so much.

That I only call her princess, only treat her like one because she fucking deserves it—deserves the world.

But my brother is a stubborn fuck.

And he's nursing a broken heart.

And he's not going to see reason, no matter what I tell him about Rory, no matter how hard I try to convince him that she's different.

That she makes me feel different.

Which is why I cut him off.

"Just shut up for a second and listen to me."

Jakob's diatribe halts.

And I say words that feel completely wrong?—

"It's all fake, man."