Together they race forward and free me from the chains the Queen Mother tied me to the bed with. And then, in turn, they grab my face and drop their lips to mine, one after the other—
My eyes fly open, a hand going to my stomach.
“Are you feeling sick again?” I look up into Mr. Winters’s concerned eyes. Which is when I realize my head is in his lap.
That’s right. Somehow during the limo ride, I’ve managed to lay out on the seat—my head in Mr. Winters’s lap and my thighs thrown over Dominick’s legs. Mr. Winters’s left hand lays casually on my head, his hand playing with a lock of my auburn hair right below my ear.
I jerk upright, pulling away from both of them.
“You all right?” I register Mr. Winters’s question through my mortification.
“I’m fine.” I wince. Actually, I feel like hell. “Or, I will be. I just need some sleep.” Then I feel my cheeks flame. “In my bed,” I clarify, then I feel stupid. Because obviously that’s where I should be sleeping. Not nestling up against these two men who are still basically strangers to me.
Dominick apparently reads something of what I’m feeling on my face because he rubs my shoulder. “We’re family now. This is what family does. We help each other out. It’s okay.” His other hand joins the first until he’s giving me a gentle back rub that does feel divine. I have to fight the urge to relax back against him.
“I should go inside,” I say, looking back to Mr. Winters. “And you should be getting back to the party.” Suddenly my brain catches up and I realize all the implications of what my little stunt has interrupted. “Oh my God.” My hand flies up to cover my mouth. “Your wedding night!” I all but stumble to get to the limo door and shove it open. “Let me just—”
Both Mr. Winters’s and Dominick’s sudden laughter cuts my panicked movements short.
I look back at them like they’re the ones who drank too much.
But Mr. Winters’s eyes are still amused when our gazes meet again.
It’s Dominick who fills me in on the punch line I was missing. “Sorry sis, didn’t anyone tell you? This isn’t one of those marriages. It’s not exactly a love match.”
I frown. Well, I obviously knew enough to realize that, but then what—
Mr. Winters reaches out and takes my hand. “Your mother and I realized we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement by marrying one another. I could give her and you some financial stability and I could get… other benefits.”
“Like what?” I scrunch my forehead. And then I remember what dots I connected earlier. “Grandpa’s influence.”
Mr. Winters eyes me for a second and nods. “Exactly.”
I sit back on the limo seat opposite the two of them. “What do you need Grandpa for?”
Mr. Winters relaxes his elbows on his knees and laces his hands together underneath his chin. “Do you know the influence your Grandpa has?”
I nod, then pause and shake my head. “Not all of it.”
“Well, the oncology department at my hospital is looking to fund a new wing of the hospital and we’re short of our goal. I need your family’s name to open those doors for me.”
Okay. So the mystery is finally solved. And my head is starting to pound and the inside of my mouth is just…ugh. Time for bed.
Still, the devil in me compels me to ask one last question. “So you and my mom…you never…you know…” I look at the floor of the limo and scrape the toe of one of my strappy shoes against the other.
“No.” Mr. Winters’s voice is firm. “And we never will. I don’t mean to be offensive, but I’m just not sure how…” he looks around the limo like he’s searching for a politically correct term, “hygienic that would be? So no.” He shakes his head, his mouth turning down like he’s disgusted even by the thought of touching my mother in that way. “Never.”
A ridiculous wave of relief rushes through me at his words.
“Well, as enlightening as this discussion has been,” Dominick says, opening the door on his side of the limo, “I think little sister’s bedtime was about an hour ago.” He smiles at me, but it’s more of a challenging smirk.
I narrow my eyes at him but in all honesty, I can’t disagree. When he holds out a hand, I take it and allow him to slide me along the bench seat toward the door and help me out. His dad follows right behind me.
This weekend the two of them will be moving all their stuff into the South End townhouse where Mom and I live. The brownstone has been in the family for three generation. It’s huge and I’m sure would be worth a crazy amount—luckily Grandpa still holds the deed so Mom couldn’t sell it.