My Billionaire Stepbrother (15 page)

Yikes. I’ve never said that to anyone in my entire life.
I’ve never even thought it before.
I love you
…such a big fucking deal.
So scary.

Is that really how I feel?

Do I really love Veronique?

Doesn’t that sound completely fucking insane?

My mind flashes back over memories of Veronique, starting
with the first moment I saw her at our parents’ wedding a month ago. Standing
there in that dress, looking like heaven. So fucking hot. So fucking beautiful.
So elegant. She was also so passionate, so quick to defend her father’s honor,
so opinionated and right. She stood up to me. She got my attention. She made me
think, and made me mad, and made me horny and made me laugh all at the same
time. Then, later, when I kicked her out of my favorite bungalow like a perfect
alpha male douchebag, she kept her chin up. Stuck to her guns. She was so
strong.

And when we finally made love the
first time, the way she felt! So right. So generous. So sexy. So perfect.

How could I not love her?

How can I have been so slow to figure it out?

Now that I know, I can’t get off
the boat fast enough. The night passes agonizingly slowly. And after what seems
like forever, the sun is finally starting to rise – a new dawn. By the time we
anchor at the dock on North Island, it’s morning.

I’m straining to run off, but I
stop to hug my mom first.

“Jacques is waiting for you in your rooms,” I say. “I’d take
you, but I need to talk to Veronique.”

My mom nods.

“You do what you have to do to make things right,” she says.

I don’t even wait for the knots to be tied; I’m leaping off
the boat and jogging down the dock.

It seems to take forever to get to Veronique’s bungalow, and
by the time I get there I am sweaty and out-of-breath.

I’ve never been more nervous in my life.

I knock on the door. It’s early, but most people on the
island wake up with the sun. Sure enough, in a few moments I hear footsteps
coming. The door opens and I groan.

“Not you!”

It’s that woman who hates me again.
It occurs to me belatedly that I never learned her name.

“Wait!” I shout as she starts to slam the door.

But she slams it all the same, stubbing me in the nose.

“Ow! Dammit! That hurt!”

“Good!”

I pound at the door with both my fists.

“Come on, please open up! I need to talk to Veronique.”

“You can’t!”

“I have to!”

“Too bad.”

“Please!”

The door jerks open again, the woman staring at me through
the crack.

“You can’t talk to Veronique, Monsieur Wilde. She isn’t
here. Go away.”

“What do you mean she isn’t here?”

Pushing with all my strength, I manage to force the door
open enough for me to squeeze inside. Now the woman and I are both out of
breath, staring at each other angrily.

“Where is Veronique?” I demand, hands on my hips.

“Gone.”

“She can’t be gone. She texted me
last night.”

“She’s taking the jet back to Philadelphia. You gave her no
reason to stay, did you? So she’s gone.”

I’ve lived a pretty cushy, sheltered existence. I’ve never
had to cook my own meals or face any real fears. When I was a little boy afraid
of the dark, my mother or my nanny would sit up with me until I fell asleep,
and then leave a servant with a night light in the room the whole time just so
that I would never be scared. So, I’ve never been truly scared. Not much.

But I’m scared as hell now.

“Veronique can’t leave,” I gasp.

My chest aches at the thought.

The woman stares at me incredulously. “What do you care? You
pushed her away. Did you really think she’d stay? She left so that you could
all go about your lives. She didn’t want to get in the way of everyone having a
chance to be happy. She got the message you’ve been trying to tell her from the
beginning: that she doesn’t belong here.”

“No!” I groan, kicking the door. “No, that’s not true! She
does belong here! I was wrong. I am a butthead.”

The woman raises her eyebrows. “A…butthead?”

“I need her. I need her here. I
love her.”

“Oh right. Since when?”

I grab her shoulders, desperate. “Please help me. Please,
please, please help me. What time does Veronique’s plane leave?”

Her eyes search my face, reassessing me. “In thirty minutes.
From the airstrip, south side.”

Relief floods me. That’s just enough time.

“Thank you!”

I turn to run out the door, but the
woman’s hand on my shoulder stops me. She looks at me with firm, warning eyes.

“Don’t waste her time Monsieur Wilde,” she says. “Don’t
break her heart again.”

I nod. “I won’t.”

Thirty minutes.

That’s just enough time for me to make it.

I just have to make one stop on the way, one quick stop, so
as to not waste Veronique’s time.

I should make it just in time to stop her. I hope.

So, I run.

Chapter Eighteen

Veronique LaRoux

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Chance Walker, the handsome pilot, helps me through the
hatch of the same gilded jet that brought me to The Seychelles island paradise
a month ago.

“Welcome back, Miss LaRoux,” he says, escorting me to a
plush leather seat.

“Thanks, Chance.”

“I hear we’re heading back to Philadelphia?”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sorry to see you go so soon. The island will be a great
deal less pretty once you’re gone.”

When he smiles, he has dimples.

“That’s sweet,” I manage.

“I’ll get the engines ready. We’ll
take off in about ten minutes.”

Why couldn’t I have fallen in love
with Chance instead of Remington? I bet he’s a nice guy. I bet he’s not a
complicated, confusing billionaire who doesn’t know what he wants. I bet he
wouldn’t have knocked me up and turned my world upside down. I bet…

Ugh…

Oh well. C’est la vie.

A pretty flight attendant brings me
champagne. I reach for it, and then remember that I am pregnant.

“No thanks,” I stammer.

“Can I get you something else
instead?”

“Um…” what are pregnant women
allowed to drink? “Just plain apple juice, please.”

She disappears to fulfill my
command, and I let my head sink back against the plush backrest.

Cocooned in luxury, my problems
don’t seem so terrible. So I had my heart broken. So I’ll be a single mom. At
least I’ll have a private jet to fly me home, and a career waiting for me. Even
if things get worse, at least I know that I am capable of pulling myself
together. At least I know that, even if Diana and Dad have problems, I’ll be
able to be there for him.

But who is there for me?

Who will ever be able to take
Remington’s place?

I know that answer: no one.

No, Veronique, don’t do that.
Don’t think like that. It won’t do any good feeling sorry for yourself. You
have to get a grip and be strong.

Sighing, I turn my head to take one
long last look at the island paradise that has been my oasis and home for the
last month.

Here I saw sea turtles for the
first time.

I was on a tropical, romantic
island for the first time.

I saw my Dad happy for the first
time since my Mom died.

I fell in love here for the first
time, had sex for the first time, and got pregnant for the first time.

So many firsts.

My eyes fill with tears at the
thought of leaving, but I know it’s the right thing to do.

The flight attendant brings me my
juice and shuts the cabin door. I hear the air lock seal. The plane starts to
roll.

We’re taxiing.

Here I go…off into the future.

What firsts wait for me in the
future?

Gosh, it’s fun to daydream. I hope my
future is as bright as I hope. I hope there are lots of new and exciting firsts
on the horizon. But nothing can take the place of my first love.

Nothing ever will.

Staring out the window, part of me
hopes that I’ll see him again. And part of me is scared to. How would I feel if
I saw Remington again? Would it hurt? Would it feel good, just to see that
handsome face one more time?

And then…poof!

Be careful what you wish for.

Just like that, there he is outside
the window, waving and calling after me: Remington Wilde running alongside the
plane.

I shake my head, blinking.

Wow, this daydreaming is getting
out of hand. I actually thought I saw him.

Maybe my blood sugar is low. I
reach for my juice and take a sip, then look back out the window.

And see Remington.

I’m not imagining things.

Am I?

No! It’s really him.

Remington is outside the window,
running on the runway, waving desperately, when suddenly reaches down and rips
his shirt off, hoisting it in the air like a beacon of surrender, flapping it
in the air to get the pilot’s attention.

I sit up, staring.

“Um,” I say.

Yup, it’s him – he’s actually
sprinting alongside the plane like a maniac.

My heart starts to beat wildly, in
tune with the pounding of Remington’s feet on the ground. Did he really come
for me? Did he really come to stop me from leaving?

Hope bursts through my heart,
making it ache like the devil.

“Um, Chip?”

But the plane keeps rolling along
the ground.

I drop my juice, spilling it all
over myself, and stumble across the cabin. There are a few bumps that make me
almost lose my balance, but I finally careen to the cabin door and knock as loudly
as I can.

“Chip! Chip! Stop the plane! Stop
the plane! Don’t take off! Chip!”

But I don’t think he hears me: I
feel the angle of the plane change, the wheels leave the ground.

“Nooooo!”

No, I don’t want to leave – not if
Remington wants me to stay.

Clutching the cabin door, I yank
until it opens.

We are airborne. Gravity is sucking
me backward but I hang on and yell over the roar of the engines.

“Chip! Turn the plane around! Turn
the plane around! I want to stay!”

Chip’s looks over his shoulder,
seeing me. I see his dimples. He smiles.

“You want me to turn around?”

“Yes!” I’m laughing, fully aware of
the ridiculousness of this moment, of my schizophrenic crazy-lady mind-changing
nonsense. “Yes, turn around! I want to stay on the island! I don’t want to
leave!”

“You got it!”

He spins the wheel and the plane curves
in a semicircle, gracefully cutting across the sky, and soon I feel the wheels
touch down again on the ground.

I run back to my seat to check the
window. Remington is still there. I wasn’t dreaming.

The doors can’t open fast enough.

“Come on come on come on,” I beg as
Chip and the flight attendant open the latch and throw down the steps.

I’m out like a bolt of lightning,
running across the strip of bare ground.

And Remington Wilde is running
toward me, his bare brawny chest glistening with sweat as he pants for breath.
Not even the breeze swaying through the nearby jungle trees seems to be able to
cool him down. We are both on fire, burning towards each other.

As I get closer he stops, holding
out his hand.

“Wait, Veronique. Stop. Stop right
there. Please.”

I slow to a trot, out of breath.

“What? I already stopped. I stopped
the god damn plane. What more do you want from me?”

“Stop. Wait.”

“This better be good, Remington,
because I swear to god –“

He fishes in his pocket, then looks
up at me with those famous dark eyes, full of promise and danger, and grins. At
the sight of that lazy, lopsided smile, I actually feel my heart skip a goddamn
beat.

How the fuck does he do this to me?

Grinning, he drops down to his
knees in front of me.

Remington Wilde is on his knees in
front of me.

“Ummm….Remington…what are you
doing?”

“Veronique,” he says, “I thought I
lost you. And it was the worst morning of my life. I’ve never been afraid of
anything, but I was afraid when I’d heard you were leaving. I’ve been such a
fool this whole time, so scared of being hurt that I hurt you instead. I need
to ask for your forgiveness. But more than that, I need you to ask you to
believe me when I say that I’ve realized I love you. I love you, and I want to
be with you. I know you have no reason to trust me or even believe me. But I
hope you will give me a chance to earn your trust. And I hope this can be a
start.”

He holds out his hand.

In his fingers, he’s holding a
ring.

“Oh my god.”

I recognize it: it’s the ring his
mother gave him almost a month ago, the engagement ring she had worn from his
father. An heirloom. A promise.

“Veronique, will you wear this for
me? Will you let me love you? Will you please – and I mean, think about it, you
don’t have to decide now, I know it’s crazy –but…will you marry me?”

Holy.

Fuck.

Is this for real?

“What the hell?” I say. “Are you
serious? You can’t be serious. What the fuck. Remington?”

He swallows nervously. “Veronique,
I want you to wear my ring as my fiancé.”

“Oh my god.”

“Let me earn your trust. And
whenever you decide is the right time, I will be there, waiting, ready to marry
you. I can’t imagine loving anyone else.”

“Holy shit!”

“I don’t want anyone else ever
again. I want to take care of you. Make you feel safe. Make you feel loved.
Make a family with you. Please…stay. With me.”

I am so shocked, my hands are
tingling. My face is burning. My heart is trying to gallop out of my chest. I
can’t breathe.

I can’t believe it!

“But what about our parents?” I
stutter. “The press? All the things you were afraid of? They haven’t gone away.
It’s a lot to deal with. Are you sure?”

His face hardens. “Who cares about
that stuff? I want to be with you, and I will do whatever it takes to make it
happen.”

Oh.

My.

Fucking.

God.

You know? Sometimes in life you
have these moments.

It’s like a mental snapshot, unfiltered,
frozen in time: like a perfect Instagram feed where everything is beautiful and
nothing is out of focus. It’s the kind of moment that comes with a full force
of déjà vu. I’m having that feeling now.

Not that I mean I’m having déjà vu
because Remington Wilde had asked me to marry him before, or that I’d even
daydreamed that he would ever do something this romantic and impulsive.

Instead, in this moment, with him
on his knees in front of me, in spite of the crazy rollercoaster we’ve been
through together, it’s like I really know that it’s right. That
he’s
right. He’s the right guy for me.

I have a feeling of sudden calm, of
power, and perfection. I know I am in the right place at the right time. I know
this is exactly what should be happening. I know that I can trust him, and
trust my instincts. I know it is all going to be ok.

And I know exactly what I want.

“Yes!”

The word bursts out of me like a
firework, catching both Remington and me by surprise. I erupt in laughter and
tears, free and joyful like a kid.

“Yes! I’ll stay. I’ll be with you.
I’ll be your fiancé. I love you, too!”

It may be the most reckless thing
I’ve ever done, but damned if I care. I’m going to marry Remington Wilde. I’m
going to marry my stepbrother. I’m going to marry the most eligible bachelor,
the sexiest man alive.

Apparently, lucky romances run in
my family.

Remington stares at me, his face
lighting up like a Christmas tree. “You will?”

“I will!”

I knew from the moment I saw
Remington Wilde that my life was never going to be the same. I just never
suspected that my crazy rich, hot, mysterious, difficult, famous, ruthless,
dangerous stepbrother would
become
my life.

With tears in his eyes, Remington
reaches for my hand and slides the ring over my fourth finger. Amazingly, it
fits perfectly. The enormous diamond catches the tropical sun like a mirror,
reflecting my own happiness back to me. Then Remington jumps to his feet and clutches
me to him in a kiss that literally curls my toes and sweeps me off my feet.

Here I am, on the private runway of
North Island, kissing Remington Wilde – my fiancé – in front of our private
jet.

No big deal.

WTF!

He sets me back down, but my feet
don’t seem to touch the ground. I am a mile high, and flying higher with a rush
of euphoria unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.

Remington Wilde loves me.

Remington Wilde…is mine.