My Billionaire Stepbrother (3 page)

I am so excited and confused that I
feel scared to death. My golden mist skirt is trembling, and this time it’s
definitely from fear.

The elevator doors open.

It’s happening.
Here I am! Where
am I?? Why am I here??

We step out onto an expansive rooftop
deck that spans the whole width and length of the resort. It’s a rooftop resort
within a resort. There is a mini lake, for crying out loud. There are actual
trees. Chandeliers. Flowers.

“Wow,” I say for the zillionth time
today.

The view is actually stunning. I
literally feel my breath catch. In every direction, I can see the island rimmed
by the endless sea. The colors are richer and deeper up close than they looked
from the jet, with the green jungle and white shores and emerald water mixing
together in a stunning contrast like exquisite stained glass. A white canopy
overhead ripples in the soft breeze, shading the huge rooftop deck and giving
me the illusion of flying through the clouds. I close my eyes for a minute and
soak in the sensation of the cool ocean breeze caressing my face.

Wow.

When I open my eyes and follow Shereen
a few steps further in, I realize the rooftop is set up for some sort of event.
There are rows of crystal-clear chairs filled with beautifully dressed people
facing an exquisite flowered arbor in the corner, and standing in the arbor are
two men. They’re standing in front of an altar. Wearing tuxedos.

Oh! It’s an incredibly decadent,
beautiful, enormous wedding ceremony. Not only a wedding ceremony – one at
which I am shocked to discover I know the groom. I step forward, my shock
giving way to relief and confusion.

“Dad? Dad! Is that you?”

Chapter Four

“Daddy!”

The word escapes my lips the moment
I recognize him standing under the flowered arbor next to a priest.

I race over to him as quickly as my
dress and heels will allow and find myself throwing my arms around him in a
relieved embrace.

“Daddy! I’m so glad you’re ok!”

“Veronique! Of course I am ok,
silly girl. But I am so glad you are here! You made it! Thank god! Now we can
begin.”

“Begin?”

I draw back from the hug, searching
his face. My father is a trim and handsome middle-aged man, but usually there
is an air of strain around his eyes. Not so now: he is beaming as brightly as
the sun.

“Yes,” he says with a laughing
smile. “You just made it in time for my wedding. Kiki, I have met the love of
my life after your mother God rest her soul. I never thought this would happen
for me again. Will you be my best man? Well, best daughter, but you know what I
mean.”

A strange cocktail of feelings rush
through my body. Relief, yes – 24-hours ago, I thought my Dad might be dying,
in jail, kidnapped; 24-hours ago, I thought my Dad was in the clutches of some
terrible emergency that required me to uproot myself, risk my education and
career, and come charging to his rescue. I am so relieved this is not the case
that I momentarily feel nothing but grateful.

Then I get angry.

Yes, I think rage is an accurate
word to use. Would it have killed him to explain this? Would it have killed him
to say, hey Veronique, I have happy news – I’ve decided to get married and I
want you to come to the ceremony please? And would it have killed him to give
me more than 24-hours’ notice?

The selfishness of it makes me want
to stomp my foot and wail at the injustice. Sure, he gets a fairytale wedding –
and what do I get? 24-hours of stress and maybe a straight line of F’s on my final
grades.

Typical. It’s typical. My Dad is
always a fan of surprises, of living in the moment, of having an adventure. He
never stops to think how it affects the people around him. He never tallies up
the cost.

Already I am wondering just how
much I am going to have to pay for this latest escapade of his. I’ve already
paid in stress and time. Will I pay with my future? Will I pay with my money?
Who is funding this? How did he get himself involved with this level of rich?

While my mind is reeling, my Dad
looks happier than I have ever seen him before in my life. His eyes are welling
with happy tears, and I am far too stunned to say anything intelligent.

Breathe, Veronique. Be happy for
your Dad. You can yell at him later.

I realize Dad is probably waiting
for me to say something about his impending wedding. Right – his wedding! I
just rushed unknowingly to Africa for his wedding. That’s what’s happening.

“How?” I stutter. “Who? Where did
you meet? What’s –”

“There’s no time for that now.” He
kisses me on the cheek, an affectionate but dismissive gesture that tells me
that his mind is really elsewhere at the moment. Not that that’s surprising,
giving the circumstances. “I will tell you everything after the ceremony, but
right now I need to get married. Stand beside me, Kiki. Here are the rings.”

He presses two rings into my palm
and positions me to his side. I fall in place obediently, still too shocked to
resist.

Guess my Dad is getting married in
Africa. No big deal.

Music swells up around us. Live
music! With awe I realize that a string quartet is hidden in an alcove to our
right, and as much of a music snob as I am, I have to admit their playing is
sublime. As the music swells, a procession begins: tiny flower girls giggling
and tossing rose petals, a very smart-looking bridesmaid.

Then comes the bride.

I have never seen anyone quite so
striking in my life as this woman. Everything about her radiates joy as she
takes firm, teasing steps toward the altar. She stares at my Dad, her face incandescent.
She is a tall, handsome African woman with sharply intelligent eyes and a kind
face. Her carriage bespeaks royalty – is she Seychelles royalty? She is wearing
a gorgeous off-white suit. Tasteful. Elegant.

Rich.

I think I know who chose my
wardrobe.

The woman winks at me and takes her
place beside my father. Both of them are smiling so hard that it almost hurts
to look at their faces.

“Dearly beloved,” begins the
minister, “We are gathered here today in the sight of God to witness the union
of Jacques LaRoux and Diana Wilde.”

Wilde. Diana Wilde. Wilde
Hospitality Corp.

So she owns
everything
.

She owns that private jet with the
bed.

She owns this resort.

She owns this freaking island.

If I was shocked before, now I am
ready to pass out.

It’s all I can do to keep my knees
from buckling as the vows and rings are exchanged. Diana Wilde! Wilde
Hospitality Corp!

Does she know I work at a bar? Does
she know my Dad is a drifter who plays poker and hasn’t had a steady job in 20
years? That I pay his phone bill and half his living expenses? Does she know
the LaRouxs are not rich?

Oh god. This is either going to end
in divorce court or prison.

Can’t. Breathe. Stress. So much
stress.

By the time the minister pronounces
them man and wife, I am barely hanging on. All I want is a nice brown paper bag
to hyperventilate into and a nice dark corner where I can go to quietly lose my
shit.
“You may now kiss the bride.”

My Dad and Diana lean in to a
passionate kiss that has the guests clapping and laughing and makes my stomach
drop with embarrassment.

“Ladies and gentlemen, by the power
vested in me, may I now present to you for the very first time, Mr. and Mrs. La-“

But someone interrupts the priest
with a roar.

“Stop! I object to this wedding!”

Everyone gasps. Heads turn. The
bride and groom spin around, confused, to face the voice at the back of the
rooftop. The entire floor falls so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
Everyone is staring at a new, powerful, dominating presence in the back of the
room. His instant control of the crowd is total as everyone waits to see what
he will do next.

It’s like a scene in a movie.

Squinting, I can see the figure of
this new, powerful man approaching. He’s tall, dark and handsome and it doesn’t
take a genius to notice that he is pissed as hell.

Sexy as hell, too.

As he gets closer, my mouth drops
open, and suddenly the wetness between my legs is not just from sweat. His
presence is an instant aphrodisiac that makes me bite my lip and forget how to
breathe.

It’s Remington Wilde.

The
Remington Wilde.

He moves with a cocky grace, taking
giant and dominating steps until he is within punching distance of the altar.
And his hands are balled in fists like he’s ready to take us all out. I feel
myself shrink and duck instinctively, afraid of the violent confrontation in
his eyes. I can see the muscles of his jaw and upper body clenching, a mixture
of rage and calculation that tells me instantly that he is able and willing to
take control of anyone – me included – in any way necessary, including physical
force.

Is it weird that that kind of turns
me on?

I’m kind of curious to see him take
control. I’m kind of curious to know what it would feel like. I’m kind of
curious what he would do with me, if he had me in his power.

God, I want to find out.

Remington Wilde is like a force of
nature: super masculine, super strong, super angry. His face openly registers
his scorn as if he doesn’t care that every eye in the room is fixed with
fascination on his every move. Maybe he even enjoys it, being the center of
attention like this. He certainly doesn’t care that he’s just ruined a wedding.
His amazing, sculpted body is relaxed underneath that perfectly tailored suit,
and somehow even the anger on his face makes him look…dreamy.

I might faint.

He stalks defiantly up the aisle,
planting his feet and glaring at the small group of us standing around the
altar.

“I object to this wedding,” he
repeats. “Reverend, you must not proceed.”

The priest swallows. “I’m sorry,
Mr. Wilde, but, uh, you see…”

Diana, the bride, lifts her chin
and shakes her head.

“You are too late for that, son,”
she says. “Whether you object or do not object it does not matter: the marriage
is done and legal. I am an adult who can make decisions without your approval.
You must accept it. It does not matter if you like it. Remington, I want you to
meet your new stepfather Jacques, and your lovely new stepsister Veronique.”

Son. So Remington Wilde is Diana
Wilde’s son.

So Remington Wilde is my
stepbrother.

What?!?

Holy fuck.

Staring between Remington and Diana,
I can definitely see the resemblance – similar face, similar regal posture – but
his skin is lighter and he doesn’t have the same radiant peace in his
expression. He looks anything but peaceful. He looks like he’s ready to wage a
war and set fire to the wedding altar. He looks like he is ready to tear the
world apart and drink it dry.

Maybe I could convince him to tear
up the sheets instead.

Stop it, Veronique.

Am I imagining things or is Remington
actually growling? Yikes. It’s a low, masculine sound that gets my motor going
in spite of myself. His nostrils flare like a dog about to bite.

Actually, I wouldn’t mind if he bit
me.

Whoa, Veronique, that’s totally
inappropriate. Totally inappropriate for so many reasons! Think about where you
are. Think about what is happening. Think about who he is. Why don’t you join
us back in this present moment, these present circumstances, you know – your
Dad’s surprise wedding! Meeting your new step-family!

“How could you, Mother,” Remington
growls at Diana, ignoring my Dad’s outstretched hand. Yup, that answers my
question: he is definitely growling. “How could you marry this stranger, this random
pathetic nobody? You disgrace yourself and our family with this ill-bred
low-class charlatan and I will contest this marriage if I have to drag you
through court. I will not allow my mother to consort with trash.”

“Hey! Watch yourself, sir!”

It takes me a minute to realize
that I’m the one that said that. Now I swallow, trying to think of a way to
back it up.

“Before you go around insulting my
father for being ill-bred you might at least have the good breeding yourself to
shake his hand, learn his name, and behave like a civilized adult who is
capable of putting other peoples’ feelings before his own.”

Actually, that’s good advice for
myself as well.

Remington Wilde turns those famous
black eyes of his in my direction and blinks at me as if seeing me for the
first time. Under that intense, possessive glare, I feel almost naked. Not even
the snug layers of my Oscar de la Renta gown can protect me from the blunt
force of Remington Wilde’s intense gaze and his palpable disapproval.

But I take a deep breath and force
myself to stare right back, unflinchingly. His eyes are on fire with anger,
disdain, and something else. Something primal. Something so masculine I want to
wrap myself around him. Or slap him. Or both.

Fuck.

Is it just me or is it getting hot
in here?

“I am sure that is easy for you to
say,” he hisses. “I am sure you and your father have much to celebrate, having
achieved this match that you are no doubt expecting will put a fortune at your
fingertips. Don’t underestimate me. I will make sure you gold-diggers do not
get a penny.”

“Gold diggers!” I shout, losing my
self-control. “How dare you! Whether or not you know us, that is an insulting
and degrading accusation that not only disrespects my family, but your own
mother’s common sense. Do you really think so little of her that you believe
she would stoop low? If you had been here for the ceremony, you would have seen
as plain as day that these two people just married for love.”

“Love,” Remington sneers. “Don’t
insult my intelligence. I will get to the bottom of this, and you and your
father will be out on your asses on criminal charges for attempted fraud.”

My heart skips a beat, and not in a
good way. To be honest, he is only voicing the very thing I’ve been dreading
this entire time. My father must be insane to be doing this, but Diana must be
too. I’ve been scared since the moment I set foot on that private jet that my
world was all going to implode.

Remington seems to be determined to
make that happen.

Oddly, Remington and I have more in
common right now than I want to admit. We are both clearly concerned and
puzzled and upset about this surprise wedding.

But his snobbery is infuriating
past the point of tolerance.

“Fraud?” I shout. “What is criminal
about getting married? What is criminal about your mother or my father making a
choice that you don’t like? Like she pointed out, our parents are both adults
capable of making their own decisions. Sure, it’s a bit of a shock, but it’s
not about us. This isn’t about how you feel. This is about them. Grow up.”

Did I just shout at Remington
Wilde?

I mean, he deserved it, but who do
I think I am?

I just shouted at Remington Wilde.

Remington stares at me so long that
I think I might have gone five shades past blushing bright pink straight into
neon.

“This isn’t over,” Remington vows,
his angry gruff voice sending chills down my spine. He turns to my father,
snarling. “You aren’t good enough for my mother. You and your daughter are out
of your league, and I intend to get you out of my home and family for good.”

“Enough!” Diana’s voice echoes
through the hall, forbidding dispute. “Remington, I am ashamed of your cruelty
as well as your manners. This is not how I raised you to behave. If you are
going to throw tantrums like a baby you must go and change out of your suit and
into diapers. We wanted you to celebrate with us today, but if you will not,
you will kindly leave so that we can enjoy our very special moment together.
With or without you, this is my wedding day and I have never been happier.”