“Can I have your muffin, then?” Jon reached across the table, but Will pulled the plate back toward himself. “Come on. Don’t act like a child. You sat in a public space.”
Will wanted to argue more—his brother could’ve kept walking, found literally any other place to sit—but he also wanted to finish his breakfast. He glanced at his phone, still no word from Hannah. Maybe she’d made a run for it. It wouldn’t be the first time his family had scared a woman off in a day. He picked his silverware back up and scanned the latest headlines in hopes of deterring his brother from further conversation.
Three bites into his eggs, Jon cleared his throat.
That couldn’t be good. Will looked up expectantly.
Jon stared at him, his expression hesitant and curious. “Hannah seems cool,” he said after a beat. “You two are a good fit.”
“We think so,” Will said, returning to his breakfast. He couldn’t be nice to Jon. Once he opened that door, Jon would lodge himself inside and wouldn’t give an inch. Well enough wasn’t in Jon’s repertoire, and the longer Will shared a room with Jon—literally and metaphorically—the more likely he was to punch him in the face.
“I was thinking, you know, now that you’re married—” Jon paused, uncertainty flashing across his face before he plowed on. “Maybe you would consider giving a speech at the wedding or the rehearsal dinner?”
What. The. Fuck?
Will took a breath then another. He counted to ten, twenty, and thirty, giving his brother a chance to take it back, giving himself the self-control to not leap across the table. Jon couldn’t be serious. And yet, it was clear from the open expression on his face that he thought it was a reasonable request.
Will ran a hand along his forehead, stopping to massage his temple. He tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible and devoid of the well of sarcasm brewing under his chest. “No, I will not give a speech at your wedding.”
Jon had the audacity to look surprised. “But you’re married now. You’re happy.”
“Yes. I’m happily married to the woman of my dreams. But I’m still not giving a speech at your wedding to my ex-girlfriend,” Will said through his teeth. Fucking Jon. “You are lucky I even agreed to be in the bridal party. I tolerate you at work and these godforsaken weekends because I have to. But if I never had to see you again, I would be fine with that.”
“You don’t mean that, William. No matter what happened, I’m your brother.” Jon took an infuriatingly calm sip of his coffee. “I will always be your brother.”
“Unfortunately.”
Jon pulled a face. “I don’t see why we can’t be adults about this and agree to put everything that happened behind us.”
“Wow,” Will said. “That’s a real apology right there—I know I destroyed your life, but let’s be adults about it.”
“I’ve already apologized to you.”
“Actually, Jon, you have never apologized,” Will said, shaking his head. “You never even bothered to speak with me before proposing, like you marrying her made it all better. It didn’t—it doesn’t. You can’t wish this away with a wedding and forced lunches and acting like everything is fine.”
Jon put his coffee cup down and met Will’s gaze. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“Still not an apology!”
“I’m not going to apologize for falling in love with Madison.” Jon stared at him incredulously. “And I’m sure as hell not going to spend the rest of my life apologizing for marrying her.”
Will stood up. He didn’t have to sit here and have this conversation. Jon thought what he’d done was okay because it was for love, and there was no telling him otherwise. Maybe he had to see it that way. Maybe that was all that kept him from hating himself every day.
“Everything okay in here?”
Will and Jon both looked up at the sound of Madison’s voice. She stood in the doorway in her tennis outfit, a small plate of fruit in her hands. Hannah would’ve had bacon. Madison met Will’s gaze, not Jon’s. It was an awful representation of the mess they found themselves in.
“Fine,” Will said as a means of getting Madison to break her hold on him. “Have you seen my wife this morning?”
“She went for a walk with Daniel earlier. I believe she was heading to the Peach Pit after that.”
At least Hannah was fitting in and comfortable enough to head out on her own. Not bothering to look back at Jon, Will walked past Madison and into the hallway. He sent Hannah another text, letting her know he was going out for a run. If he didn’t get some miles under him, all the emotions roiling inside were going to explode to the surface. That was the last thing he needed to happen in front of Hannah before he told her the truth about Madison.
“Oh, Will.” He stopped in his tracks at Madison’s voice. “Can you make sure Hannah has a copy of your insurance card with her name on it for our first appointment? I can’t get her in without it.”
A shiver went through him. He knew Hannah had set up an appointment with Madison, but he had to find some way around it. He wondered how he could he manage that without spelling out the truth. And if Madison was in—which she so clearly was—there was no turning that train around. He took a deep breath and glanced at his phone again. There was still no response from Hannah. With a curt nod to Madison, he headed back toward his room, considering exactly how many miles he could fit in before Hannah returned.
Chapter 22Hannah
Hannah pulled the Lexus into the circle drive, sliding in between Jon’s Mercedes and Daniel’s Acura. The doctor had the cheapest and least luxurious of the luxury vehicles. There was a joke there, but she didn’t know what it was. All of that was completely out of her realm. Her car was six years old—paid off only last year—with nearly one hundred thousand miles on it. It wasn’t flashy and still had that boxy shape that cars had back before every company remodeled for a sleeker look. But it was hers.
She wrapped her hands around the large coffee from the Peach Pit. Madison had warned her it was a bad idea to bring it back, but after that weekend, she didn’t care. But how best to get it into the house unnoticed? Was there a side door? Though she had no idea where in the house her father-in-law resided. She bit her lip and examined the house again.
Oh, fuck it. She was a grown woman. If she wanted to buy coffee, Jonathan would have to deal with it like an adult. She smiled to herself, the cup warming her hands and self-righteousness warming her soul. She was going to find the largest mug possible and hide the shit out of that coffee.
Hannah peeked in the front door. No one was in the vestibule. Not that that meant anything in a mansion—someone could be in the next room, and she’d never hear them. She shouldered the front door closed and weighed heading straight to her room or detouring through the kitchen. Her stomach growled. The kitchen it was. Maybe there would be some breakfast left out since they apparently didn’t eat lunch on Sundays. Heathens.
“Pardon?”
Hannah slapped a hand over her mouth, swallowing a squeak at the voice. She’d apparently said that last part out loud.
“Did you need something, miss?”
“Oh, Renata,” Hannah said, turning to face the older woman. “No, thank you. I’m fine.”
Renata stared at her—judging or calculating, Hannah didn’t know. She counted the seconds before the woman finally spoke. “You don’t like Mr. Thorne’s coffee?”
