Sterling Gates
“What is the difference between periwinkle and lavender?” King muttered in confusion next to me, my lips pulling up into an amused smirk. I went to go answer him, but Dermot chuckled from the armchair to my right.
“Why the bloody hell would we know that?” Dermot tipped back his beer as I took another sip of my own, wondering if I should put King out of his misery. Honestly, I sort of wanted to see him ask Dahlia so she would have to explain it.
“I think one is more blue and one is more purple?” my twin mused, offering me a look.
Instead of offering my opinion, I continued to relax back into the large leather couch that Dermot had placed in his family room. I mean, it probably wouldn’t stay once the interior designer got hold of this place, but personally, I was a huge fan. Maybe we could move it into the basement…
“Where is Dahlia?” I asked curiously, looking down at my Rolex, realizing that it was already twenty minutes until midnight. Anxiety crept in as I sent a prayer up that everything had gone okay at dinner—that Yates hadn’t somehow fucked up the delicate line that we were walking to ensure we didn’t push her away.
“I was wondering that as well,” my twin mumbled, letting out a small yawn.
I didn’t blame him, I was about to pass out myself. Exhaustion crowded my mind as I let out a small grunt, stretching my arms above my head, my muscles exhausted from rugby practice. I was almost positive that I’d have bruises on my ribs in the morning, and my lip was for sure slightly swollen from getting hit in the face by Ben. Neither of those bothered me all that much, though. Injuries came with the sport. What did bother me? That I may not be able to stay up until we heard from Dahlia.
My eyes were growing heavy, and I was trying my best to shake it. If I could just hold her, I would feel much better. I usually didn’t go very long without touching her—I did at least once a day—so I felt like I was going through some withdrawal. It was messing with my head. I was being a bit dramatic, but considering how tired I was, you couldn’t fully blame me.
Currently, the four of us were sprawled out between two large leather couches and an armchair. The television, hanging above the fireplace, flickered light across the dark hardwood floors as the Premier League soccer game played in the background. Both Dermot and Lincoln were far more invested than King and I, but I wouldn’t say no to a comfortable couch and beer. King worked on his laptop next to me, and I honestly applauded him for doingsomethingproductive at this hour.
Although, whether it wasproductive or obsessivewas a fine line.
My gaze traveled over his laptop screen as I shook my head, realizing that he had the blueprints up of his recent real estate acquisition. Something that he had only decided to fill us in on today, because like most things with King, he made decisions on the fly and didn’t ever pause to ask others. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t disagree with the choice, but I hoped that it was the right time to push forward with his plan. We couldn’t afford to fuck up the timing on this.
On the side of his screen, I recognized a familiar document that we’d been compiling all summer. It was based on shit Dahlia had mentioned throughout the years and observations we’d made ourselves. I was really glad there were so many of us, because this shit was overwhelming to figure out, and I was hoping the interior designer would help sort all of that out. King hadn’t been lying about the interior designer that he’d hired for ‘Dermot’s’ place, but what the bastard had failed to mention waswhy.
I suspected she would find out all too soon.
Dahlia’s likes and dislikes had changed a ton through the years, from wanting a treehouse with a trampoline underneath it when we were eight to wanting a pool with a cabana out back, so something told me that this entire process was going to take way more work than King was accounting for. Too bad the fucker had zero patience. I wasn’t much better, but out of my brother, King, and Yates, I was probably the only one that would be able to convince them to slow down to make sure we didn’t screw this up.
I was positive Dahlia would have some amazing input, though, and worst case, Yates could always hack into her Pinterest boards to make sure we weren’t completely off base. Honestly, I hadn’t even considered how helpful the app could be until this past summer when I’d been out back at her pool, scrolling through her tablet. When she’d dozed off, I’d been a total creep and gone through everything on there, from wedding shit to nursery decorating ideas. The house shit also, but that had been less of my focus at the time.
I had some serious problems.
But I also knew what she liked.To be fair, I had been trying to distract myself from looking at her pert ass in that damn bikini, so it was probably the safer option.
“You don’t think she is going to see through all this?” I lazily asked King.
“I hope she does.” King chuckled and then sighed. “I just want her to love this house more than anywhere else. She loves her home now, so that’s going to be difficult. But if she does… then she won’t leave it. Ever.”
Healthy mindset there, King.
“We can’t keep her in the house forever,” I pointed out.Probably.
“Eh,” King shrugged and grabbed his beer. “I mean, if she loves it enough.”
I didn’t completely blame him for that train of thought—the idea of her safe within Wildberry’s gates forever was tempting. I mean, shit, I knew what was out there, and it didn’t matter how wealthy our small town was—people fucking sucked. They were cruel, cold, and filled with greed and bloodlust. Dahlia didn’t need to experience any of that.
At the same time, I had the urge to walk around town with her, my hand wrapped around her waist while making it clear who she belonged to.As if people didn’t already know.
Letting out a yawn, I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to calculate how I was going to get enough sleep between the golf tournament this weekend and the rugby match this Sunday. This was my fault, so I had no right to bitch. I knew I had pushed myself unreasonably hard today at practice, but I’d been frustrated as fuck after seeing Dahlia this morning, looking like a goddamn angel.
A small groan broke from my throat, thinking about how she had looked on her front porch drinking coffee in just a silk robe while scrolling through her laptop. She hadn’t even been trying to be sexy, and all I’d wanted to do was strip that silk material off her, bend her over that porch railing, and go to fucking town…
Nope. I couldn’t go there, not when I was this tired. I wasn’t thinking right.
I kept assuming I would get used to the frustration, and instead it only became worse. At least seeing her at the match on Sunday would give me some level of satisfaction, knowing that she would wear one of our jerseys. That her cute ass would be plastered with our last name. I loved that far too much for it to be normal.
“You look like you’re about to pass out,” King pointed out.