I’m unmoving, my muscles strained. His gaze drills into mine while he leisurely sips his champagne. I never flinch or recoil from him. I can’t tell him that Daisy decided on her career path around her nineteenth birthday.
She finally figured it out, and her choice lacks stability that he’d want for her, which shouldn’t even matter. She lights up every time she talks about it, and she’s loved putting time into it on her own.
So far, she hasn’t discussed what she wants to do with anyone but me, and it’s not my news to share. No one may understand. Not unless she explains what it means to her and why she feels compelled to spend money and time doing it.
As for the fucking kid stuff…
“I don’t know about ten years,” I say, each word rough out of my mouth. It’s all I can do without cursing.
Lo scratches the back of his neck, and I’m praying he keeps his mouth shut for me. This is one of the worst times to let the truth out to her fucking parents.
His forehead scrunches with vexed lines. “She’s only twenty.”
“In ten fucking years, I’ll be thirty-seven.” I realize I’ve chosen the wrong words when Connor shifts his daughter to his other side. Everything he does is purposeful, and I know he’s trying to distract Greg without blatantly interjecting.
Greg’s eyes fall to his granddaughter.
I understand him. He values profitable careers and practical investments more than my father. My dad is more of a risk-taker, who’s proud when a kid follows his dreams, his ambitions, even if there’s nothing in it. “It’s why I busted my ass,” he used to say. “I worked fucking hard so you didn’t have to.”
Lo said our dad would get onto him for being lazy, but when he chose to run a comic book company, he supported him.
It’s also why he rarely ever hassles me about rock climbing.
Fuck. I internally groan—knowing I’m losing it when I begin to defend my father over Greg Calloway, supposedly one of the most benevolent men.
My muscles bind.
Greg focuses back on me. “I don’t want you to pressure her into having a child just because time is running out for you. It’s not running out for her.”
Fucking ironic.
Time is running out for her. She may lose her other ovary in a year. Then she has to go through IVF. Then it’s more complicated.
“I would never fucking pressure her,” I tell him. “If she wanted to wait until she was in her thirties, I’d wait.”
Greg looks disbelieving. “I guess we’ll see if this is true.”
I breathe through my nose—and I almost fucking wonder if her parents are going to show up at our wedding if we tell them the truth. I don’t want to harbor any more lies or fucking secrets again, not for that long. So I know it’ll be their call in the end.
He gives all of us a brief smile. “Enjoy the party.” Then he leaves towards the bar where his wife talks to that woman in a blue velvet dress.
“That went well,” Connor says.
“Really?” I rub my eyes.
“No.”
I glare at him beneath my hand. “I fucking hate you.”
“It’s mutual,” Connor says, not letting me have sole ownership of my fucking hate.
Lo swishes his glass. “Greg’s just butt-hurt that his youngest daughter is marrying an older guy.”
I give my brother a look like shut up.
He continues, “If I had a daughter who brought home an older guy who said fuck every other word, I’d probably roast him until he shit his pants and cried himself back into his ugly pick-up truck.”
I groan. “What are you, Samantha and Greg’s fucking advocates today?”
“It’s just different when you have a kid…” he trails off, his face tightening in remorse. I barely even have time to register that I may not have a child one day, or that his statement towards me could be insensitive.
Sam nods to Lo. “I told you, it’d change you.”
“Whatever…” My brother’s attention is more on me. “You’ll have a kid too, Ryke. Someday.”
“It’s okay if I don’t,” I tell him, believing it more than he does.
“You will have one,” he says, almost desperately. “Life isn’t that cruel—to give an asshole like me one and not someone good like you.”
Someone good like you. I nod, my eyes burning. It’s okay, Lo. I mess his hair with a rough hand, and he pushes my arm off with a fleeting smile.
I can’t lie to him and say it’ll happen when it might not. I can only give him the truth now, and this kind of truth has no ending yet.
“Really though, how much shit am I going to be in with her dad?” I ask them, steering the topic away.
“When he finds out you’re procreating as soon as possible,” Connor muses.
Lo rephrases, “When he finds out you’re impregnating his youngest daughter as we speak.”
Connor arches a brow. “When he finds out you’re actively having sex with the hope of your sperm meeting her egg.”
“When he finds out you’re—”
“I got it,” I cut off my brother. I shouldn’t have fucking asked.
Sam shakes his head repeatedly. “You all are weird, and the sad thing is—I’m not even fazed by it anymore.”
“That is sad,” Lo says, “because that means I’ve been spending more time with you.”
Sam lets out a laugh and mutters something before switching out his drink. I glance over at Daisy, still with her sisters by the fireplace.
All the guys follow my gaze to their respective girl, but none of us head over there yet. We’ve always had this unspoken agreement for years.
Let the Calloway sisters have time together.
It makes our girls happy, and in the end, we all strive to please the people we truly fucking love.
DAISY CALLOWAY
“Your engagement opens the door to a hundred more possibilities. If you don’t want the wedding filmed, we should at least start shooting afterwards to capture the newlywed vibe. Don’t be concerned about screen time because I already talked to GBA, and they want equal footage with all of you. No wife will get shafted in Queens of Philadelphia.”
Christopher “Striking” Barnes—his self-given title at fourteen for being “too good-looking for this world”—finishes his pitch with a cocky, entitled smile. His brown hair is slicked back, and he holds a glass of bourbon.
If we didn’t know him since we were kids, he’d probably already be iced out by Rose and even Poppy
—but his family is friends with ours. He’s also Rose’s age and someone my mom attempted to pair me with when I turned eighteen. My dad shut it down due to his age.
Ironically, he’s as old as Ryke.
Lily frowns. “So like a housewives reality show?”
“Yeah,” Christopher says in total seriousness.
Poppy looks just as confused. “I thought you worked in stocks.”
“I also take advantage of lucrative opportunities, and I see one with the four of you.”
“Okay,” I pipe in, agreeing quickly. My three sisters nearly go into cardiac arrest, even Willow’s eyes bug.
Christopher grins and squeezes my shoulder. “I thought you’d be cool with this.” I wonder why he thinks that. Because I’m cool with anything.
I’d do anything if someone asked.
Anything at all.
I frown internally. It’s not true anymore. I can put my foot down now. I know I can.
“Daisy,” Rose says my name like I’ve lost my mind.
I ignore Rose and set my sights on Christopher. “I have conditions.”
He removes his hand from my arm. “Okay.” His gaze lingers on my cheek, the scarred one, but his poker face is decent, acting the same by its existence. I could cover the scar with my hair.
I used to do that. So it made everyone feel less uncomfortable, but it never made me feel any better. In the past year, I’ve learned to accept these constant wary glances, and in doing so I’ve been able to accept every blemish and every flaw of mine.
Every day, I can feel myself growing into my own skin, and I love myself more than I ever have. Ryke is a variable in my life that has led me here. I know it.
“My conditions…” I force myself flat on my feet, not bouncing. My tone completely serious, I say, “I want fifty million dollars.”
Christopher blinks a couple times. “I’m sure I can discuss that with the network; they’ve been receptive to my ideas so far—”
“Per episode,” I declare.
Christopher narrows his baby blue eyes. “That’s asking way too much.”
“And I’d also like a unicorn.” I’m so stern about this that Lily almost bursts out laughing. “Not a horse with a horn or a donkey with a carrot attached to his head,” I tell him. “A real unicorn. If you can’t meet my conditions, I just can’t bear the thought of participating.”