My Online Boyfriend Is My StepBrother?!

Annie

“Holy shit.”

“Language, Annie.”

I stare through the windshield at the enormous mansion looming at the end of the driveway. “Mom, there’s a fountain bigger than our old living room.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Roxanne.”

“I’m not exaggerating. I’m pretty sure I just saw a dolphin swimming in it.”

My mother sighs as our driver continues along the circular driveway. Perfectly trimmed hedges surround elaborate flower beds, and the three-story mansion has enough balconies to qualify as a luxury hotel.

Apparently, marrying a millionaire comes with some impressive real estate.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” Mom asks.

I glance down at my jeans, black AC/DC T-shirt, and sneakers. “Clothes? Yes, Mom. I thought arriving naked might make a bad first impression.”

“Annie, I’m not in the mood.”

“Neither am I, but apparently we’re both going to be disappointed today.”

She turns toward me. “Douglas is accustomed to a certain standard. Would it have killed you to wear something more flattering?”

“My clothes are clean, they fit, and I’m not flashing anyone. I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start.”

“You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, I do. My mother has been criticizing my weight since I was twelve, and marrying a wealthy man has apparently increased her determination to make me look like someone else’s daughter.

The driver stops beneath an enormous covered entrance. Before he can open my door, Mom tugs at the hem of my shirt.

“You really should consider losing a little weight, Annie. Especially now that we’ll be attending social events with Douglas. You have such a pretty face.”

I pull away. “Thanks, Mom. Nothing makes a woman feel beautiful quite like being told the rest of her is a disappointment.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

“You’ve been trying to help for ten years. Maybe it’s time to find a new hobby.”

The driver opens my door, and I climb out into the California sunshine. Two days ago, I was in New Mexico, working on a character illustration and arguing with a client about anatomically accurate dragon wings. Now I’m standing outside a mansion that probably has more bathrooms than I’ve had boyfriends.

The front doors open, and a distinguished-looking man with salt-and-pepper hair steps outside.

“Pamela.”

Mom practically glows. “Douglas!”

She hurries into his arms, and he kisses her cheek before turning toward me.

“And you must be Annie.”

“Last time I checked.”

His smile doesn’t falter. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

He offers his hand, and I shake it. “Likewise.”

Considering his existence has uprooted my entire life, that might be generous, but he seems nice enough.

“I hope the trip wasn’t too exhausting,” he says.

“Not nearly as exhausting as finding out about it forty-eight hours beforehand.”

“Annie,” Mom warns, but Douglas raises a hand.

“No, Pamela. She’s entitled to be upset. We’ve asked her to make a significant change with very little warning.”

Well, that’s unexpected.

“Thank you,” I say.

“I hope you’ll eventually feel comfortable here. I know this isn’t what you planned.”

Someone actually acknowledging that I had plans of my own is a pleasant surprise. I almost like him for it.

We step inside, and I nearly trip over my own feet.

The foyer has gleaming marble floors, a sweeping staircase, and a chandelier that looks capable of financing a small country. A hallway stretches to my right before disappearing around a corner.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Definitely going to need a map.”

Douglas chuckles, but Mom gives me another disapproving look.

“Wes!” Douglas calls toward the staircase.

Footsteps sound above us, and a moment later, a man appears on the landing.

My brain temporarily forgets how to function.

He’s tall. Ridiculously tall. Dark brown hair falls across his forehead, and tattoos cover his left arm beneath a fitted black T-shirt. He has broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and the kind of face that probably gets him forgiven for things he absolutely shouldn’t be forgiven for.

He descends the stairs with the enthusiasm of someone approaching a mandatory dental appointment. His blue-gray eyes travel over my hair, shirt, and suitcase before his expression turns thoroughly unimpressed.

“Wesley,” Douglas says, “I’d like you to meet Pamela’s daughter, Annie.”

The guy looks at his father. “Yeah. Figured that out.”

Charming.

“Annie, this is my son, Wesley.”

“Wes,” he corrects.

I offer a polite smile. “Nice to meet you, Wes.”

“Sure.”

I wait, but apparently that single syllable has exhausted his supply of social skills.

“Wow. Such a warm welcome. Do you give everyone the full personality treatment, or am I special?”

His eyes narrow. “Depends. Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when someone’s being an asshole.”

“Annie!” Mom gasps.

Douglas clears his throat, but I catch the slightest twitch at the corner of Wes’s mouth.

“Wes,” Douglas says sharply, “I expect you to make Annie feel welcome.”

“Then you probably should’ve mentioned she was coming before yesterday.”

My head snaps toward Mom. “Yesterday?”

She suddenly becomes fascinated by the chandelier.

Douglas’s jaw tightens. “We’ve discussed this.”

“Yeah. You talked. I listened. Doesn’t mean I agreed.” Wes turns toward his father. “You married a woman I’ve barely met, moved her daughter into the house, and now you expect me to act like we’re one big happy family?”

“Wesley, that’s enough.”

“No, Dad. You don’t get to make decisions that affect everyone and then act surprised when someone has a problem with them.”

“We’ll discuss this privately.”

“Sure. Because that’s worked so well for us before.”

The bitterness in his voice catches me off guard. Whatever is happening between these two clearly started before my mother entered the picture. For a moment, I almost feel sorry for him.

Then Wes looks at me.

“Look, I don’t know what your mother promised you, but don’t expect me to play happy family just because my father got married.”

I fold my arms. “Trust me, I’m not thrilled about this arrangement either.”

“Good. Then we understand each other.”

“Apparently.”

His gaze drops toward the expensive luggage behind me. “Must be rough, though. Getting dragged into a mansion where everything’s handed to you.”

I stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Wesley,” Douglas warns, but his son doesn’t look away.

And suddenly I understand. He sees my mother’s new husband, this ridiculous house, and a twenty-two-year-old woman standing beside a pile of suitcases. He’s already decided I’m here for the money.

Which is particularly insulting considering I didn’t know the money existed until forty-eight hours ago.

“Just so we’re clear,” I tell him, “I didn’t ask to come here. I didn’t ask your father for anything. And I certainly didn’t ask for a stepbrother with the personality of an infected hemorrhoid.”

Douglas coughs into his fist, and Mom looks ready to have an aneurysm.

Wes stares at me before a surprised laugh escapes him. It’s brief and annoyingly attractive, but the amusement disappears almost immediately.

“Enjoy the house, Annie. Just stay out of my way.”

He walks down the hallway without another word.

I watch him disappear. “Well, he seems delightful.”

Douglas looks embarrassed. “I’m sorry about that. Wesley has been having some difficulty adjusting.”

“Apparently.”

Mom grabs my elbow. “You could have been more polite.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? He started it!”

“Annie!”

Douglas steps between us, looking like a man questioning several recent life decisions. “Why don’t we get you settled? Dinner is at six-thirty. That should give you time to relax.”

“Sounds wonderful,” I say, although if dinner is anything like our introduction, I might need something stronger than water to survive it.

A woman named Mrs. Whitcomb appears to show me upstairs while someone handles my luggage. I follow her past artwork that probably costs more than my laptop, trying not to think about living with that arrogant asshole.

She stops outside white double doors. “This will be your room, Miss Fletcher.”

“Please, just Annie.”

“Of course.”

She opens the doors.

Holy shit.

There’s an enormous bed covered in ivory bedding, a velvet loveseat, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the gardens, and an actual freaking balcony attached to my bedroom.

“Your bathroom is through there,” Mrs. Whitcomb explains. “And your dressing room is on the opposite side.”

“Dressing room? Do people actually get dressed in a separate room here?”

She smiles. “Some do.”

I look around again. The furniture is beautiful, the view is ridiculous, and I’m fairly certain the chandelier above the sitting area costs more than my car.

“Is there a smaller bedroom available?”

Her smile falters. “Is something wrong?”

“No! God, no. It’s beautiful. It’s just…” I gesture at the room. “A lot.”

“Mr. Hargrove wanted you to be comfortable.”

I swallow. “That’s very kind of him.”

She explains how to reach the kitchen and family room. I nod along, knowing I’ll remember approximately none of it.

Once she leaves, I close the door and lean against it.

Forty-eight hours.

That’s how long I’ve had to prepare for this.

Two days ago, my mother casually informed me that she’d gotten married the previous Friday. To a man she’d known for four months. A man whose name I couldn’t remember her mentioning before that conversation.

When I told her I wasn’t moving, she reminded me that our rental was in her name and she had no intention of continuing to pay for it. I could move to California with her or find somewhere else to live.

In two days.

I’m twenty-two, and I work as a freelance illustrator and graphic designer. I have paying clients, a growing portfolio, and enough work lined up for the next several weeks. What I don’t have is enough money for a security deposit, rent, moving expenses, and everything else involved in suddenly living alone.

Especially with two client invoices not due for another three weeks.

Mom knows I’ve been saving for my own place, but apparently her marriage couldn’t wait a few more months.

So here I am, living with a stepfather I barely know and a stepbrother who thinks I crawled out of a sewer looking for a wealthy family to exploit.

I drop my backpack onto the ivory comforter. My laptop, drawing tablet, headset, and chargers are safely tucked inside, the only things I refused to let the movers handle.

At least I brought the essentials.

I set my laptop on the desk beside the windows. The room is gorgeous, but none of it feels like mine. I miss my cramped bedroom, cluttered desk, and the familiar sounds outside my window.

My phone vibrates.

Carson: Hey, beautiful. How’s California treating you?

Despite everything, I smile.

Carson.

The one person who can make even the worst day feel manageable.

We met eight months ago in an online gaming community, when he spent an entire mission arguing with me about strategy before stealing the ammunition I’d spent ten minutes collecting. I called him an arrogant idiot, he called me a reckless menace, and somehow we won anyway.

He sent me a friend request afterward, and we’ve been inseparable ever since. Six months ago, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Three months ago, he told me he loved me, and I cried so hard I pretended my headset disconnected.

Not my finest moment.

We’ve never met in person, but we’re planning to meet for my twenty-third birthday next month.

Me: I’ve been here less than an hour and already met the biggest asshole in the state.

Carson: Damn. That didn’t take long.

Me: Apparently my new stepbrother has strong opinions of me.

Carson: Sounds like a prick.

Me: You have no idea. How’s your day going?

The typing indicator appears, disappears, then appears again.

Carson: Could be better. Family drama.

Me: Want to trade families?

Carson: Pretty sure neither of us would win that deal.

I laugh, shaking my head.

Me: Well, if you need someone to complain to, I’m available. Apparently that’s going to be my new hobby.

Carson: Good to know. You might be hearing a lot from me.

Me: You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Carson: Never, beautiful.

My chest warms, and I settle onto the enormous bed.

Me: At least I have you. I love you.

Carson: Love you more, baby.

I smile at my phone, wishing I could reach through the screen and wrap my arms around him.

After everything that’s happened over the last forty-eight hours, the thought of finally meeting Carson is the only thing keeping me from completely losing my mind.