Page 102 of Match Me if You Can

Or not Hugo’s, anyway.

Because Evelyn is grinning back just as widely.

“You going to get your ass in there and dance?” Beck demands.

I’d only let Noble dance with my woman in the first place because I had something else to do, and I needed him to keep her busy for me. But now that it’s done, I’m loathe to interrupt her fun.

“She hasn’t had a life filled with all that much laughter and dancing,” I say quietly.

He’s silent for a long moment, seeming to study her movements on the floor. “No?”

“No,” I say firmly.

“Her parents fight like ours?”

A shake of my head. “Nope. Her mom was neglectful before she died, and then she went to live with her dad and stepmom. Neither of whom were happy about her being there and made no qualms about showing it.”

He scowls. “Seriously?”

Okay, so Violet called it.

There’s definitely hope for him yet.

“Seriously,” I mutter. “Vi practically raised herself. Eventually, she stopped looking for her family to be the ones who’d watch out for her and left all that shit behind. I’m just lucky she’s let me in enough so I can be the one to do it.”

Or I hope she’ll let me do it, anyway.

“You gotta tell me what kind of magical powers she has.”

I slant my gaze to the side, lift my brows in question.

“Because she got the Ambroses to behave.” His mouth quirks. “Or as much as Ambroses behave, anyway.”

I chuckle. “Word.”

His eyes drift to Jenny, as they’ve done more times than I can count tonight. “Vi got a sister?”

“Nope.”

“Sucks.”

I don’t know why I say it.

Don’t know why I share it, especially with Beck, who Violet may have hope for and who may have come up to me and been cool for a change, may have helped out when things were going to shit today, may have spent the last week slowly dialing back the Ambrose assholery…

But I do.

And I do it, not knowing it will be the beginning of the end.

“She’s a Conrad.”

He stills, beer an inch from his lips, eyes wide as they come to mine. “No shit?”

I nod. “Half sister.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “I’ve heard about her. Their dad fucks—or maybe fucked, I guess, since I don’t know what he’s like retired—around on the mom. And the brothers are all the same.”

“Yup,” I say. “Make us Ambroses look like choir boys.”