“It’s something.” When Heather had pitched it as the venue for our wedding, I’d nixed it immediately because this was most definitely not me.
“How do you want me to play this?” Aria whispered.
“I . . .” The words died on my tongue. I had no fucking clue. “You tell me. This is my first fake date.”
“Same.” She straightened. “Let’s put on a good show.”
This time, I let the smile go free. I glanced down and Aria’s pretty brown eyes were waiting. They were flecked with honey and sangria. The reds and yellows were so slight, they swirled into the iris, mixing with the chocolate to give it fire. Aria’s fire.
Did Clara have eyes like that? If she did, I hadn’t noticed. Why hadn’t I noticed? We’d spent more time together than I had with anyone else in a decade.
After only hours in Aria’s company, I’d picked up details that I shouldn’t have noticed. Like the pout of her lower lip. The delicate lobes of her ears. And now the mesmerizing color in her eyes.
It unnerved me more than seeing Heather and Alastair after all these years.
Aria gave me a small smile, but as we took another step, it changed. Twisted. The fire in her gaze sparked even brighter. The mischievous woman whose words cut like a samurai sword was ready for the show.
Her hand let go of my arm to slide down the sleeve of my tux jacket. Aria laced her fingers with mine as her other hand snaked up my chest. She inched so close that her scent, floral and sweet, filled my nose.
That intoxicating smell scrambled my brain and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the curls in her shiny hair. I wanted to twist them around my fingers, then take the strands in my fist and—
What. The. Fuck.
This was Aria. A woman who openly admitted she hated me the way I hated her. An enemy. My assistant’s sister.
There’d be no fisting of her hair. No licking of her lips. No nibbling of her ears.
I tore my eyes away and looked up as we took the final step, just in time to see a different head of dark hair. Heather’s hair was as rich and glossy as money could buy. Yet it dulled in comparison to Aria’s.
Heather’s smile tightened. “Brody.”
“Heather.” I nodded. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Her gaze darted to Aria, who pressed deeper, almost indecently, into my side. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“This is Aria Saint-James,” I said, not bothering with a bogus label. Girlfriend. Lover. Date. None were accurate and none mattered.
“Congratulations.” Aria smiled at Heather, then at Alastair.
“Brody,” Alastair greeted with a smug grin. It probably would have been worse had Aria not been on my arm.
My brother was a vain man. He always had his eyes set on whatever shiny toy I had in hand. Whatever I had, he wanted.
Probably why he’d seduced Heather. I highly doubted this was a love match.
“Congratulations.” I reached out to shake his hand.
“We missed you at the ceremony.” The asshole knew I hadn’t been invited.
“That’s my fault,” Aria said before I could speak. “Brody is irresistible in a tux. It took me a moment to put myself back to rights and by the time we made it here, well . . . we really tried to make it on time.”
The color drained from Heather’s face and that grin of Alastair’s faltered.
I bit back a laugh. God, Aria was something. Fearless. Bold. Unpredictable. Qualities that usually pissed me the fuck off, but tonight, she was on my side. And she was here to put on one hell of a show.
I’d play along.
Bending, I dipped close to her neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin with my nose as I dragged in a heady breath.
She giggled and swatted me away. “Brody, behave.”
“With you? Never.” I pulled myself away, something that took more effort than it should have, and I faced my brother again. “We’re holding up the line. Again, congrats.”
I whisked Aria away, not sparing a backward glance. “That went well, don’t you think?”
She hummed as her heel twisted, but I kept my grip firm and she didn’t stumble. “Damn heels.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t let you fall.”
“You do and you die. Now . . . let’s find some champagne.”
I raised a hand to signal one of the waiters carrying a tray full of flutes. “Pace yourself. This will be a marathon not a—”
“Broderick.”
I cringed at my full name and the voice delivering it. Christ. Was it too much to ask for just one minute between confrontations? Yes. Grandmother wasn’t one to give anyone a break, especially her eldest grandson.
She appeared in a flourish. Her jacquard dress and matching jacket were patterned with silver and pale green. Diamond earrings dripped from her ears. A matching pendant hung from her neck. Her white hair had been swept away from her face and twisted into an elegant knot.
“Grandmother.” I let go of Aria to take Grandmother’s hands in my own. Then I bent and brushed a kiss to her cheek.
“You missed the ceremony,” she scolded, shaking her hands free from my grip.
“Apologies.” Of course she didn’t know I hadn’t been invited. Alastair or Heather would have lied.
She tsked, her green eyes scrutinizing me from head to toe.
In my life, only two people had learned to rattle me with a single look. My grandfather. And my grandmother.
My skin itched and I struggled not to squirm as she stared. Then she whipped that cunning gaze to Aria.
I panicked. I should have warned Aria first. Clara knew about my grandmother, had put up with her for years, but this was all new to Aria.
“Who are you?” Grandmother’s words were spoken with deliberate breaks, like there was a harsh period between the spaces.
“I am Aria Saint-James.” Aria’s tone matched Grandmother’s, her enunciation nearly as precise and the tone as haughty.
And here I’d been worried for nothing. The knot in my gut eased. I should have expected Aria to meet attitude with attitude. She was not a woman to shrivel like so many dates had in the past under Grandmother’s examination.
“You’re not Clara,” Grandmother declared.
“No, I’m not.”
“Then who are you?”
“My date,” I answered.
Grandmother frowned. “Your taste continues to worsen. Clara might be your employee, but at least the girl can stand up straight and doesn’t need to drape herself all over you in public.”
“Oh, Brody. You didn’t tell me your grandmother was so charming and kind.”
Grandmother harumphed. “And she’s rude.”
“Rude can’t be helped.” Aria shrugged. “When we drew straws in the womb, Clara picked the ones for poise and grace. That left me with sass and sarcasm.”
“You are Clara’s twin sister?” Grandmother’s gaze moved to me. “Why would you bring her here?”
“Because Clara is sick. Aria volunteered to be my guest.”
Aria fixed on a sweet smile. “Clara has been telling me for years about Brody’s family. The stories seemed so cliché. I mean . . . certainly rich people couldn’t really be that shallow. When she got sick, I figured I could come here and see for myself. Per her usual, my sister was right.”