Who knows, but one thing is certain… I’m not giving this up.
Not any time soon at least.
Which means I have to sit in my dark living room and wait for my sister to come home because I need to talk to her about why and how I have a sleeping Regan in my bed.
Willow deserves to know the full truth about what’s going on, particularly since she witnessed me going all jealous commando on Regan and she’ll be walking out of my bedroom tomorrow morning. I asked Regan permission to tell Willow about the PNH because it makes the fact we’re married a little more palatable.
In addition to filling Willow in on the entire situation, I also need to tell my sister to back off before she decides to get on my case about the fact Regan is in my bed at all and will stay there for the foreseeable future. I know my sister. She’s a busybody, and she’ll also feel super protective over Regan. Willow will feel the need to protect Regan from any supposed misdeeds or harms I might impose. Yeah, I know my sister well.
Lights flash through the blinds of my front windows, indicating a car has pulled into my driveway. I stand from my chair, then cross to the side of the window to peer through the half-closed slats. My jaw locks when I see a limousine with the running lights on and the engine rumbling. Dominik Carlson doesn’t wait for the driver to open the door for him. Instead, he steps out of the rear door. He’s without the dress jacket and tie he’d been wearing earlier tonight, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone.
He helps Willow from the limo. After she steps elegantly out, he pulls her hard into his arms and kisses her. It’s deep and hot. I avert my eyes, my teeth now grinding against each other. Trying to rein in my protective instincts, I head to the chair and flop down.
And I wait for my sister to come in.
And wait…
And wait…
And wait…
It’s a full five minutes before I hear the spare key I gave her this morning turn in the lock. She breezes through, not appearing any worse for the wear from what I can see. Instead, her eyes are sparkling and there’s a smile on her face.
It’s not the dreamy smile of a woman who has just had a romantic date with a nice man. Rather, it’s a victorious, self-indulgent smile, and I don’t want to know what that means.
Or do I?
“It’s almost three. Out kind of late,” I growl from the gloom before turning on the lamp that sits on the side table.
She jumps slightly, having not seen me sitting there, but then rolls her eyes. “I’m an adult, bro. I don’t answer to you.”
Leaning forward in the chair, I plant my elbows on my thighs and clasp my hands hard. “Dominik Carlson, Willow? Seriously? Could you pick anyone more complicated than that? He’s my boss for fuck’s sake.”
Glaring, Willow puts a hand on her hip. “Who I choose to spend my time with is none of your business, Dax. But no worries… I’m not going to see him again.”
My chin jerks inward. “You’re not?”
“Nope,” she replies, setting her purse on the coffee table.
“Why not? Did he treat you badly? Think you’re not good enough for him?”
Willow snickers, shooting me an incredulous look that I’m defending her. “No, I declined his invitation to come to LA next weekend.”
Eyebrows furrowing, I ask, “What’s wrong with him? Did he do something to you?”
“Not at all,” she replies with a shrug as she moves to the couch. She plops down, then leans forward to take off her shoes. “He’s great even. But I’ve got another assignment coming up in a few weeks, so why even bother? Besides… I’m not into dating.”
“Neither is he from what I hear,” I mutter. Dominik Carlson is a known player.
“Well, there you go,” she drawls with exaggeration. “It’s not fated to be. Wait…why are you up?”
“We need to talk.” My words hang heavy in the air.
“Is this where you set me down to explain why you married our childhood friend behind your entire family’s back?”
“Yeah… that’s about right.”
Willow curls her legs up under herself, then throws an arm over the back of the couch. “So she needed health insurance or something? Surely there was an alternative to marriage for something as simple as insurance.”
There’s no good way to break this to Willow, and I don’t know how to minimize the impact. So I just launch into it. “Regan is sick, Willow. And she has to have the health insurance because her treatments are incredibly expensive.”
“Oh, my God,” she practically moans, her face crumbling. “Does she have cancer or something?”
“No, not cancer, but something just as bad,” I say gravely. “She has a blood disease. It’s incredibly rare and dangerous, and it probably would have killed her sooner rather than later. But there’s a new treatment out that’s been effective in helping her. The problem is it costs more than four hundred thousand per year, so health insurance is essential.”