Despite my physical discomfort and the fearful voice whispering at the back of my thoughts, insisting Andrew is on to the sister switch—why else would he have sprung that sewing project on me and then watched me like a hawk waiting to snatch me up in his claws—I’m having a wonderful time with this impossible man.
He really is impossible.
Impossibly beautiful and impossibly magnetic and impossibly stubborn, a fact he proves when we finally take a break to have food delivered to the private, members-only lounge. He reaches for his spoon, driving it into his oatmeal with his usual gusto, clearly prepared to make a mess all over both of us, the innocent table and chairs, and the lovely blue carpet, all for the sake of sticking to his damned guns.
Before I can stop myself, I reach for his hand with my uninjured one, stilling his spoon before he can fling the first assault.
He glances up in surprise, sending a hum of awareness sizzling through the air as our eyes connect. “Yes, Elizabeth? Would you like a bite?”
His tone is innocent, but I would swear he’s biting back a smile, and the heat in his gaze makes me think of biting things a lot more fun than oatmeal.
I hate that my sister’s fiancé makes me feel these things, but I can’t seem to help myself. Andrew is a roaring fire on a freezing winter’s day, and I’m a woman who’s been out in the cold for far too long.
“No, I don’t want a bite,” I say, my voice as dangerous as the look in his eyes. “I’d rather feed you…if that’s okay.”
His brows lift. “You want to feed me?”
“I do,” I murmur, scooping up a small bite of oatmeal and crushed pecan.
“Whatever for?” he asks, his eyes dancing as I lift the spoon.
“Just open up and shut up,” I say, grinning as a surprised laugh escapes his lips.
“So bossy,” he murmurs, opening his mouth far enough for me to get the spoon in and out before he adds around the oatmeal. “But I like it.”
I reach up, pinching his lips closed with my fingers. “Mouth closed while there’s food in it, your highness.”
“Mrr trmmming mmm lk a chm,” he replies.
I release his lips with a sigh. “What was that?”
“You’re treating me like a child,” he says, his mouth still full of food.
“That’s because you’re acting like one,” I say, adrenaline spiking as I decide to cut through the bullshit. “There’s no way in hell your mother let you get to the age of twenty-nine without a mastery of basic table manners. If you’re trying to scare me away, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
His eyes flash, but he keeps his mouth closed as he chews and swallows. When he’s done, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he studies me with an intensity that makes me want to squirm.
But I don’t.
I sit absolutely still, holding his assessing gaze until he nods and says, “All right. You caught me, but I don’t think I’m the only one playing games.”
I arch a cool brow, willing my face not to give me away even as my pulse races faster. “Why’s that?”
“Did you fake that fall earlier?” he asks, making my galloping heart skip a beat.
“Why would I have faked a fall?”
“I don’t know,” he says in a way that makes me positive it’s a lie. He does know something, and I’m likely one misstep away from being exposed. “Why would you?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know why you’d ask me that. Are you angry that I ruined the surprise? If so, I’m sorry. It was a very thoughtful surprise.”
“No, I’m not angry,” he says tightly.
“You sound angry.”
“I’m not, I’m…” Breath rushing out, he leans forward, bracing his arms on his knees as he brings his face closer to mine. “I’m having a fucking wonderful time getting to know you.”
I blink, joyful butterflies taking flight in my chest even as my stomach turns to stone. But no matter how wrong it is, I can’t keep myself from whispering, “I’m having a wonderful time getting to know you, too.”
“I think we might actually be happy,” he says with a vulnerability that makes my heart ache. “Really happy. But I need you to be honest with me, Lizzy. Always. I can’t build a life on lies. I refuse to be my father, but I won’t be my mother, either. I won’t be made a fool of by my wife. If you prove I can’t trust you, it’s over for me.”
“You’re not a fool.” I want to tell him the truth so badly my tongue is twitching at the back of my throat, desperate to confess.
But this isn’t my secret to tell; it’s Lizzy’s. Before I say anything off script to Andrew, I have to get my sister’s blessing.
Hopefully, I can get in touch with her before the engagement ceremony tonight, because I don’t think I can go through with it. Not now, not like this, when Andrew has become so real to me.
And so important. I have never willingly hurt someone I care about this much, and I don’t want to start now.
“Are you sure?” He cups my face in his hand. “Tell me, beautiful. Tell me whatever it is you’re holding back, and I promise we’ll deal with it. Together.”
My lips part, but my denial dies before it can leave my mouth. Maybe Andrew doesn’t suspect that I’m the wrong sister—maybe he thinks I faked my fall for some other reason that I can’t imagine—but he knows something is wrong. A denial isn’t going to cut it.
I have to give him something, some morsel of truth to allay his fears until I can talk to my sister and convince her to come clean.
Something, something…
But what?!
My mind races frantically until, finally, it spits out a nugget I can use. It’s intensely embarrassing, but it’s all I’ve got.
I take a deep breath and confess, “I still sleep with a stuffed animal.”
Andrew blinks faster. “Excuse me?”
“I still sleep with a stuffed animal,” I repeat, which is utterly mortifying, but true of both me and Lizzy. And maybe even Zan. She used to have a stuffed penguin. It went with her to boarding school, but I haven’t thought to ask about Mr. Icy Pants for years, and I seriously doubt she’d fess up if I did.
Zan has an image as a badass to uphold. If she still has self-soothing issues, she wouldn’t want anyone—even her sisters—to know about it.
Maybe it’s a triplet thing, or a hazard of sharing a crib with two other people for the first few years our lives, but all three of us went through major trauma when we were first forced to sleep alone. Nanny Minnesota said the stuffed animals—each one carefully chosen from a shop in town and imbued with sleep-encouraging properties by a village woman who claimed to be a white witch—were the only things that could calm us down.
I’ve slept with Squishy Cheese, the camel, since I was a toddler. He has been cut open and re-stuffed four times, and he lost his right button-eye to a crevice in the floor years ago. His once-bright yellow fur is now the color of a smoker’s unwashed dentures, and he smells a little funny, but I love him.
He has been my comfort in times of trial, my confidante when I was certain no one could understand the unique torments of my soul, and my snuggle buddy for twenty-three years. I can’t imagine going to bed without Squishy Cheese tucked against my chest, holding my heart in place—not even to play it cool in front of a new lover. I left Thor alone in his bed and ran back home to sleep for the entire first year of our relationship, until I was sure he wouldn’t mock me or kick my stuffy out of bed for being ugly as sin.