Page 43 of The Temporary Bride

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, apparently unamused. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”

“Seriously, though. You ought to get back out there, man. I mean… it’s been five years.”

“You could try dating,” Reid comments, and Gabriel turns a glare on him. He probably expects this kind of needling from Beckett, but coming from Reid it’s more impactful, especially considering that Reid has basically sworn off love since getting his heart broken. He’s never gotten over his ex, Sienna.

“Dating?” Gabriel repeats. “When am I supposed to find time for that? Between work and Peyton⁠—”

Beckett arches a brow at him. “That’s an excuse, and you know it. You’ve got us to help with work, and Margaret to help with Peyton. Margaret is a great nanny, and you’re an amazing dad. You can make a little time for yourself, you know.”

A muscle twitches in Gabriel’s jaw, and he breathes out slowly through his nose.

“Five years is a long time,” Reid mutters, shaking his head. Honestly, I’m not quite sure he’s talking to Gabe or himself.

“Have you even fucked a woman in all that time?” Beckett adds, and I roll my eyes. Nothing subtle about that at all.

Gabriel’s eyes flash. “None of your damn business.”

“Lay off him, both of you,” Dominic cuts in. “It’s not the time nor the place.”

At his stern warning, everyone goes silent. Gabriel, visibly irritated, knocks back his glass of whiskey, draining it.

“Need another drink?” Reid asks, seizing the opportunity to change the subject. “I could use one myself. I’ll go put in an order.”

Five minutes later, he comes back with a round of Old Fashioneds, and the tension dissipates. The dimly lit room pulsates with the rhythmic beats, and the scent of expensive whiskey fills the air as we sit around the table, watching the private stage as the girls dance. They move with grace, their figures illuminated by colored lights.

Beckett leans back in his chair. “To Tristan, the soon-to-be-married man. May your marriage be as smooth as this bourbon.”

The clink of glasses resonates as we raise our drinks in a toast.

“Doubt it, unfortunately,” Dominic quips as we lower our glasses. “Chloe Dawson doesn’t seem to be your biggest fan, Tristan.”

“We have a bit of a history,” I admit. “But, you know. It’s business.”

“Oh, right.” Beckett snorts. “That’s so fuckin’ romantic.”

I huff a humorless laugh at Beckett’s comment, taking a sip of the Old Fashioned. The whiskey burns down my throat, a familiar warmth settling in. “Well, Dad didn’t specify in the will that I had to find true love, so it’s sort of beside the point whether it’s romantic or not.”

“Is it worth it?” Reid asks, raising an eyebrow.

“For the CEO position? Of course it’s worth it.” I keep my gaze focused on the stage, worried that Reid might pick up on the conflicting emotions on my face.

All I can think about is the feel of Chloe’s lips on mine, my hand on her thigh, the needy sounds she made. For some reason, even though we’re literally going to be married in two days, our encounter in my office the other day feels like… a secret, somehow. We’re the only two people in the world who know what transpired behind those doors. The thought makes me bite my lip as memories course through my mind.

Beckett seems to notice the look in my eye. He nudges me, grinning, then gestures up to the girls on the stage. “Ladies, if you wouldn’t mind, I think my brother needs a little attention.”

“Beck, no,” I protest quickly. He must’ve thought I was looking at the dancers, not thinking about Chloe.

Ignoring my protests, he sets a stack of fifties on the table beside me. He rises to his feet and confidently strides toward the stage. The dancers, skilled in the art of seduction, shift their attention to him.

“He’s been under a lot of stress lately,” Beckett tells them, to hearty guffaws from the rest of my brothers. “He’s a big-time CEO, did you girls know that?”

The dancers murmur and shake their heads, eyeing me curiously.

He winks at one of them, a tall, slim woman with cascading auburn curls. “I think he could use a lap dance, you know? Something to take the edge off.”

She smiles, her gaze fixed on me, and says in a low voice, “Oh, I think I can handle that.”

“Seriously. Beck.”