Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)

“I put ten thousand in the stock market based on a tip I thought was a sure thing.” Carter laughs and then Elena joins in. “We both know there’s no such thing, but then I was young and cocky, sure I had a money maker.”


“What happened?” I ask and then clack my mouth shut, realizing I should know this story as his wife.

Carter plays it off excellently, almost as if we’ve done this pony trick before. “What always happens if you don’t invest wisely and manage your assets. I lost the funds. But I learned a valuable lesson, did better, and by the end of the next quarter, that investor had his original funds back plus a significant increase.”

He and Elena go on to talk shop for a while, and the whole time, I’m watching Carter work his magic. He’s engaging, intelligent, a bit arrogant, and all around, a good businessman. If only he weren’t such an asshat personally, he might even be attractive beyond his classically good looks.

But he is an asshat. A two-faced one.

I’ve heard it with my own ears and seen it with my own eyes. I can’t let this sexy, smart, gentleman version make me forget.





CHAPTER

NINE





CARTER





“This is one of my favorites,” Elena says wistfully, pointing at a small painting on the wall. “It makes me think of the beach, with sand beneath my feet and a drink in my hand.”

Elena’s been great company all evening, but she must be losing it because this painting is definitely not a beach or anything remotely ocean related. In fact, the dark purple, black, and neon green abstract remind me more of Halloween. Or maybe The Joker.

“Interesting,” Luna replies. “What about this piece makes you think about the beach?”

What a polite way to ask whether someone is batshit crazy.

Luna’s usually on the quieter side, but when the subject is art, the words come out easily and effusively. The conversations aren’t one-sided, either. She asks us questions and shares her thoughts. It’s a sight to behold when her eyes light up with every new piece, and I find myself holding my breath and watching her instead of the art, waiting for her commentary to see the art through her eyes. And to piece together an opinion of my own because I’m discovering more and more that art and I are not friends. I think some of the works are pretty or well-done, but I don’t have the same visceral reaction Luna and Elena do.

Elena touches the frame gently. “Thomas and I went on a vacation, something we rarely did. There was always a reason—a meeting, an investment, something specific we wanted to see or do—for any trip we took. But he surprised me, smack out of nowhere, no birthday or anniversary or holiday. He booked the whole dang thing and took me to the Seychelles.” Her eyes go misty and vacant like she’s not here with us but traveled back in time to that trip.

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Luna coos. “Did you find this at a gallery there?” she guesses.

Elena shakes her head, coming back to the present a bit. “No, we went for a walk and found a young lady sitting on the beach, painting her heart out with everything from her fingers and brushes to a palette knife and even sand. Thomas asked if we could sit a spell with her while she worked, and we had such a great visit.” Her eyes drift over the colors. “I thought it was odd that she wasn’t painting the beauty in front of her, but something else instead. When I asked why, she told us that even in paradise, people dream of more. She dreamed of space . . . said she’d wanted to go to the moon ever since she was a little girl. Of course, she didn’t have the opportunity to do anything like that, but she could imagine it even from her paradise prison.”

She smiles at us warmly. “Space was Sandrine’s dream, but that beach with Thomas was mine. This reminds me of that.”

“I wanna be a horse acrobat,” Gracie pipes up. I’m honestly surprised she’s been listening so closely to the art tour, but Luna somehow keeps it interesting for us all. “I saw it on TV, and I’ve been telling Pegasus about it.”

“Pegasus is her horse,” I explain.

Elena bends at the waist to get closer to Grace. “Then you’d best keep working at it, and one day, you’ll do it.”

“And now when you remember this painting, you’ll dream those big dreams too, like Sandrine,” Luna tells Grace, tapping her temple.

We all look at the piece once more, and then Elena claps her hands. “Ooh, let me show you one Thomas painted, m‘kay?”

“It’d be an honor.” Luna might as well have hearts popping out of her eyes and she’s bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement. In her heels, it makes a tippy-tap sound. It’s a little ridiculous considering it’s a bigger reaction than she had to the Degas we already saw, but also quite adorable. And it seems to please Elena, which is supposed to be the point.

Elena laughs as she tells me, “Carter, can I give you a piece of advice from an old lady?”

“Only if you know one,” I reply with a lopsided grin.

She swats my way, hitting at the air. “Flatterer. My advice is, you’d best keep this wife of yours happy with all the art she wants to see and make. Look how she is over seeing some old man’s doodles.”

I look at Luna, and she catches her breath, going statue-still. Too soon, she drops her eyes to the floor, but I can see the slight lift of her lips. I need to see that smile. Placing my finger beneath her chin, I lift her head back up, willing her eyes to mine. “She is quite beautiful.”

It’s the truth. Luna’s not a classic beauty, certainly not one of the blonde bimbos she all but accused me of dating. But there’s a magnetism inside her that draws people to her, even me. I don’t know how I never noticed it before.

The smile takes over her lips, lifting them fully. Her inner beauty radiates, and I feel lucky to be so close to it. And then I see the shutters close deep in her eyes when she remembers what we’re doing. She thinks I’m faking, but I meant it. She is beautiful in a distinctively unique way all her own. She laughs awkwardly, the sound choked, and turns back to Elena. “You’re right, he is a flatterer. But I really would like to see one of Thomas’s paintings before we go.”

Go? I’m not going anywhere until the deal is done. But a quick glance at my watch shows that it is late, and Grace is yawning widely. I bet she’ll be asleep in the car before we’re out of the driveway.

Elena leads us to a large library where a poster-sized canvas portrait of a much younger version of her likeness hangs on the wall. It’s surrounded by simply framed sketches, clearly precursors to the final creation. “See? An old man’s doodles.”

Thankfully, she’s fully dressed in the painting. However, I will admit that Elena was a good-looking woman in her youth.