Three

~~Jay~~

“Sir,” Elijah said carefully, just as I was about to goggle how the pregnancy test works, “your father says it’s urgent. He needs you at the mansion right now.”

I blinked, still halfway typing, my hand type faster while I responded to him.

“What kind of urgent?”

“He didn’t say. Only that it was a family emergency.”

I groaned. “Tell him I’ll be there after I go home and pee on ~~ uh ~~ I mean, handle personal things.”

Elijah was already holding up his phone. “He said to call him the moment I saw you. I’m putting him on speaker….”

“No, Elijah, don’t….”

Too late.

My father’s voice thundered through the car like the wrath of God in Armani.

“Jay.”

“Father,” I croaked, suddenly sitting straighter like he could reach through the phone and slap posture into me.

“If you are not here in the next five minutes, I will come get you myself. Do you understand me?”

I swallowed. “Yes, Father.”

“Good.” Click.

The line went dead.

I turned to Elijah. “He’s bluffing, right? Like… a dramatic bluff.” I know my father wasn’t bluffing but I didn’t know the kind of stupidity that got into me to ask such a silly question.

Elijah gave me the look of a man who had seen my father fight billion-dollar lawsuits, oil ministers, and two lions in Kenya. “Do you want to take that risk, sir?”

“Drive.”

—-

By the time we pulled into the Bristowe family estate, I knew something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Lights everywhere. Security doubled. Valets running. Fancy people in fancier outfits stepping out of luxury cars with the smug energy of people who knew champagne was waiting for them inside.

I narrowed my eyes. “What the hell is going on?”

Elijah handed me my blazer like a man handing armor to a gladiator. “I’m not sure, sir, but it looks like… a party.”

“Party for what? My surprise funeral?!”

Then I saw the giant golden banner stretched across the front of the mansion, flapping in the breeze like a flag of doom:

WELCOME TO JAY & DAHLIA’S ENGAGEMENT PARTY

I gaped. “What the actual fuck, man. I’m getting engaged?!”

Elijah looked like he wanted to disappear into his seat.

I was tempted to join him.

This was it. The nightmare had come full circle.

Pregnant by a stranger, forced into an arranged marriage, and now being paraded like a prize stallion before the whole social elite while my stomach was quietly trying to become a daycare.

I counted to ten. I failed. I counted to five. I failed again.

Then I smiled.

Which, for me, was usually a sign I was about to do something stupid or destructive or both.

I fixed my jacket, stepped out of the car, and marched toward the front door like a man heading into war.

Inside, chandeliers glittered. Music floated through the air. People clapped champagne glasses like they were applauding how fake everything was.

And then like a literal horror movie moment my father stood on the staircase with his arms raised and that political smile that meant he was about to sell me like livestock.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he boomed over the mic, “thank you for coming! It is with great pride that I present to you… the groom-to-be!”

Then the Spotlights turned on me.

Music swell. And god knows I hated everything such thing at this moment but I know I needed to play along.

And all heads turned as I walked in, wide-eyed, sweaty, possibly pregnant.

I whispered under my breath, “Kill me now, Lord.”

The crowd cheered.

My future fiancée, Dahlia stunning, deadly, suspiciously smiling was waving at me like we were best friends and not strangers about to be legally chained together for tax benefits. This was my first time meeting her and thank God for the pictures my father sent me else I won’t have recognized her. But I need to give her some credit she’s fucking beautiful.

I gave her a weak wave and muttered, “This isn’t happening. I’m hallucinating. It’s the hormones. Yes. Clearly.”

My father stepped forward and clapped a hand on my back. “Smile, Jay. Everyone’s watching.”

I forced the most constipated smile in the history of mankind.

Then I heard someone whisper from the crowd:

“Is he glowing? He looks like he’s glowing.”

I was glowing.

From pregnancy.

Not love.

Not excitement.

Just whatever strange prenatal curse had latched onto my body and decided it wanted to ruin my life in high definition.

But it wasn’t over.

Because just then just as I was about to faint from stress and awkwardness I saw him.

The man.

The stranger.

The father of my unborn twin betrayal nuggets.

Standing across the ballroom in a tux.

Holding a drink.

Smirking.

And standing right beside Dahlia.

No.

No no no no no no

She saw me looking and beamed. “Jay! Come meet my brother! He just flew in for the party!”

I stopped breathing.

My brain short-circuited like a fried toaster.

And that’s when he walked over, held out his hand, and said with a perfectly straight face:

“Nice to meet you. For the first time.”

He extended his hand.

Big. Strong. Veiny. The kind of hand that had been doing very inappropriate things to me exactly four weeks and two ruined bedsheets ago.

I stared at it like it was a snake about to bite me.

Then I looked up into those eyes.

Yup.

Same sinful smirk.

Same chiselled cheekbones sent from hell to haunt me.

Same everything.

I wanted to die. Politely. Maybe collapse into one of those fancy punch fountains and drown in carbonated shame.

He tilted his head. “You’re not going to shake my hand?”

Crap.

I reached out and gave it the most professional, non-trauma-flashback-inducing handshake I could manage. My palm was sweating. My soul was sweating. My baby bump was practically twitching.

He leaned in slightly and said with a voice so smooth it should be illegal:

“My name’s Alex.”

Of course it was. Sexy people always had names like Alex. Short. Dangerous. Makes you want to yell it mid-orgasm.

I cleared my throat. “Jay. But I guess you knew that. Since this is… my engagement party. That I totally knew about. Because I’m not surprised. Or panicking.”

“Hmm.” He smiled, amused. “My sister is incredibly lucky to be marrying a man like you.”

I flinched like he’d slapped me.

Lucky?

LUCKY?!

Sir, I am LITERALLY carrying your demon twins in my stomach like a ticking scandal time bomb and you’re talking about luck?

“Right,” I said tightly. “Lucky. So lucky. Who wouldn’t want a politically-burdened, emotionally unstable, slightly glowing man with chronic pregnancy cravings and an unresolved fear of commitment?”

Alex raised a brow. “Glowing?”

Shit.

“Growing!” I corrected too quickly. “I meant growing. As a person. Lots of personal growth happening lately.”

My stomach chose that exact moment to grumble like a feral raccoon in a trash can. Loud. Hungry. Needy.

Alex’s smile widened. “Well, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of food at the reception.”

I laughed. Nervously. “Yeah. That’s what I’m hungry for. Definitely not… pancakes and pickles at the same time.”

He tilted his head. “Weird craving.”

“I HAVE A FAST METABOLISM,” I yelled.

People turned. A waiter flinched. Dahlia frowned.

I cleared my throat again and dialed my voice down to a polite whisper. “Sorry. I just… love healthy digestion.”

Alex didn’t stop looking at me.

No, scratch that. He was studying me.

Like he knew.

Like his twin-spawned spider-sense was tingling.

I suddenly felt very seen. And very naked. And very impregnated by Dahlia’s brother in a club bathroom like a side character in an erotic thriller.

“So,” I said, grabbing a random glass of whatever was sparkling. “How long have you been back in town?”

He took a slow sip of his drink. “Oh, I just flew in last night. Imagine my surprise when I heard my baby sister was getting engaged. And imagine my greater surprise when I saw your face and thought… ‘I know that man.’”

He gave me that look.

The one that said “I’ve seen you naked and begging.”

I downed my entire glass in one gulp.

Elijah materialized at my elbow like a savior sent from passive-aggressive heaven. “Sir, your father wants to introduce you to the Board Members now.”

“Oh thank God,” I gasped, already turning to run walk calmly.

Alex touched my arm lightly. “We should catch up later. You look like you’ve got a lot going on.”

I laughed. “Catch up? With you? Not unless it’s at the bottom of the sea. I mean yes. Sure. Later. Haha. Gotta go meet the old men now. Bye!” I fled.

Because how do you stand there and smile when your secret one-night stand who wrecked you so hard you walked funny for two days is now your future brother-in-law?

The most simple thing to do is you don’t.

You run.