On Friday night, Shane and Priscilla walked up from her apartment to the main house together, her nerves in pieces as she anticipated an evening with her father and Elizabeth. And just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, Alice opened the front door to welcome them.

“Pris,” she said, leaning forward to kiss her younger sister’s cheeks European style before dropping her eyes to Priscilla’s billowy, peasant-style sundress and rolling them. “Still as Bohemian as ever, I see.”

“Alice,” said Priscilla, offering a meek smile. “You’re here.”

Priscilla and Alice had a complicated relationship, though far less rancorous than that she shared with Elizabeth. Alice was the oldest, several years older than Priscilla and incredibly intimidating: the Princeton grad, the overachiever who’d had the temerity to tell their father to go to hell and had started her own business. Priscilla simultaneously admired and feared her; one-on-one, Alice could loosen and warm up just enough to make Priscilla long for closeness between them. But when she and Elizabeth got together, Priscilla was, more often than not, the object of their ridicule.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” said Priscilla, no doubt alluding to the fact that Alice had not been welcome for Thanksgiving or Christmas last year as a result of her “uprising.”

Last summer, while Priscilla was temping, Alice, who’d had enough of being pushed around and kept in a position of unimportance by their father, had quit her job at Story Imports in a blaze of glory. Standing on top of one of the cubicle desks a la Jerry Maguire, she’d told her father to go to hell and invited any and all his employees to follow her to a new company she’d subsequently named Alice Story Imports. Only one employee had joined her—a mail-room clerk named Carlos Vega who’d been working for her ever since.

As far as Priscilla knew, the fledgling company had been struggling since, though, remarkably, it hadn’t gone under quite yet. Carlos acted as Alice’s receptionist, executive assistant, and shipping manager while Alice tried to find new revenue streams apart from her father. But many of their foreign distributors were reluctant to work with Douglas Story’s daughter, reticent to take sides in a family quarrel.

“I haven’t been invited for a while,” she answered briskly, closing the front door as Priscilla and Shane stepped into the foyer. “Olson, how’s it going?”

“Just fine, Alice.”

“Last time I saw you, you were dating my sister.” She paused for effect. “My other sister.”

“Things didn’t work out with Margaret.”

“And yet they have with Pris?” she asked, blinking at him.

“They have.” He nodded, pulling Priscilla against his side possessively. “I’m a lucky man.”

Alice chuckled humorlessly. “If you hit up Jane next, we’re going to have a problem. Got it?”

“I have no interest in Jane.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Alice, looking at Priscilla appraisingly. “Pris and I aren’t close, and I fully acknowledge she’s a flake, but if you hurt her, I’ll hurt you.”

And this was Alice in a nutshell: insulting on one hand and fiercely protective on the other.

“Well, Priscilla and I are close,” he said, an edge in his voice that spoke to his patience ebbing, “and she’s not a flake, she’s amazing. I’m with her for good.”

Priscilla’s heart swelled with love for her handsome husband, the words “for good” thrumming through her like a beloved melody.

“For good.” Alice raised her chin, looking at Priscilla with narrowed eyes, then nodded. “Good.”

“Is Elizabeth here?” asked Priscilla as they followed Alice to the sitting room.

“Of course.”

“And Daddy?”

“Stop acting like an idiot. It’s his house.”

Priscilla flinched, biting back a retort. It wouldn’t do any good. Alice, like Elizabeth and their mother, was brittle, and until something—or someone—was able to warm her up, that’s the way she’d stay.

“Bets is in the study with Father talking about some legal matter I’m not privy to anymore. We have time for a drink before dinner.” She glanced over her shoulder, her high heels click-clacking across the marble floor as they entered the sitting room. “What are you drinking, Olson?”

“Beer would be great.”

“Pris?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m on antibiotics. Club soda, please?”

Alice started, taking a step closer to her sister, her shrewd eyes scanning Priscilla’s face. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“Just an ear infection.”

Alice nodded, visibly relaxing. “Hmm. I’ll get your drinks. Sit.”

As she click-clacked to the kitchen, Priscilla turned to Shane.

“Whew,” he said. “She’s tough as nails.”

Priscilla nodded. “She is tough…but you have to understand, she was born with the weight of the world on her shoulders.”

“You’re fond of her.”

“Fond? I don’t know. She’s…Alice,” said Priscilla, sitting down with a sigh. “My oldest sister. She cares about us—all of us—in her own way. She just doesn’t show it very well. No one ever showed her how to be soft. Or warm. She didn’t have a teacher.”

“A Kaitlyn George,” said Shane.

Priscilla grinned at him. “Something like that.”

“Do you trust her? Alice?”

“Yes,” said Priscilla without much hesitation. “I do. I know she seems cold as ice, but she’s—it’s hard to explain, but she’d never hurt me, Shane. She’d never make a choice that put me at risk. I know that for sure. Yes, I trust her.”

He nodded slowly, clearing his throat as Douglas and Elizabeth entered the sitting room.

“Shane. Priscilla.”

“Hi, Daddy,” said Priscilla, stepping forward to kiss his cheek.

“Enough of that,” he grumbled.

“Bets,” she said, turning to her sister and hoping they could be civil for one evening. “How are you settling back into Philly?”

“Just fine,” said Elizabeth. “I’m going to be indispensable to Father in no time.”

If Elizabeth was trying to make her jealous, she was totally missing the mark. Priscilla couldn’t care less about Story Imports. In fact, she planned to resign from her position the moment she told her family about her pregnancy.

“Wonderful,” said Priscilla, turning to her father. “What a surprise to see Alice.”

Her father huffed. “Still out of sorts with that one.”

“I convinced Father that Alice should join us tonight,” interjected Elizabeth. “You never know where there might be an opportunity for Story Imports and Alice Story Imports to work in concert.”

“Doubtful,” said Douglas.

Alice returned with the drinks, her shoes announcing her presence before she turned the corner. “I’m meant to tell you all that dinner is served.”

Seated beside Shane at the table, Priscilla realized that the last time he’d dined with his boss at Forrester was the night last spring when he’d proposed to Margaret. She smiled at how much had changed since then.

For the good, she thought, taking his hand under the table and squeezing it.

“We got the Kirin contract,” said Alice, looking up at her father, waiting for a reaction.

“That right? Shit beer. Kirin Ichiban.”

“I’m so happy the rest of the world doesn’t agree with you,” said Alice smoothly.

“Shane slam-dunked the meeting with Hakemoto a few weeks ago.”

“From Suntory?”

“Two-year contract.”

“Impressive. Did they demand your firstborn?” asked Alice.

“Cheeky,” muttered Douglas.

Alice took a deep breath and sighed, as though resetting herself. When she spoke again, her voice was about as warm as it got…for Alice. “Glad we could bury the hatchet for tonight, Father.”

“The hatchet you buried in my back, gal?” clarified Douglas.

Alice dabbed her lips with her napkin, her voice cooler. “You were treating me like a secretary when I should have been promoted to CEO.”

“You weren’t qualified!”

“The hell I wasn’t!” yelled Alice, standing and throwing her napkin on the table. “I went to Princeton. I went to Wharton!”

“You needed more experience! Now sit down in that chair and act like a lady!”

“Act like a lady?! Act like a lady?! I’m more than a vagina and breasts!” cried Alice, panting with fury as she stared at their father. Reigning in her emotions, she raised her chin and spoke softly. “I shouldn’t have come here tonight.”

“So go!” barked her father.

“Gladly,” growled Alice between clenched teeth, pushing back her chair. She rested her hands on the ornate carved back and looked pointedly at Shane. She pulled a business card from her pocket and placed it on the table beside his water glass. “Nice work with Hakemoto. When you’re ready to work somewhere that would actually value you, I hope you’ll give me a call.”

“Poaching my top man? Get out!”

“Alice,” started Elizabeth, half-standing, “let’s just—”

“Shut up, Bets. I told you I wasn’t welcome here; you shouldn’t have pushed it. I’ll see you at home later.” She turned to Priscilla and gave her a tight smile. “’Night, Pris. You…” She nodded at Shane, then slid her eyes back to Priscilla. “You look good. Happy.”

“Thanks, Alice.”

And with that, Alice made another memorable exit after another scorching fight with their father.

“Ungrateful!” barked her father, his voice booming in the large dining room. “Back-talking, backstabbing chit!”

But Alice’s heels had long since cleared the dining room, and the crash of the slamming front door confirmed that she was gone.

Priscilla watched as her father threw his spoon down the length of the table. “Lost my damned appetite!” Then he pushed back his chair, stood up, and left the room.

Sitting in awkward silence, Priscilla, Shane, and Elizabeth stared down at their soup until Priscilla looked up at Shane, giving him a small smile. “How did you like the play, Mrs. Lincoln?”

He grinned at the old joke, perfectly timed. “How does pizza sound?”

“Perfect,” she said, folding her napkin beside her soup bowl. “Let’s go.”

She turned to Elizabeth, cocking her head to the side and trying on a warm smile. They were sisters, after all. “Bets, come and join us.”

“No, thanks,” said Elizabeth, turning cold eyes to her sister. “Someone should see to Father after Alice’s behavior.”

She truly was the spit and image of their mother…right down to running after their blustering boob of a father who’d just thrown a huge tantrum and ruined dinner.

“Well, you’re certainly the girl for the job,” bit out Priscilla, standing up.

“How exactly did this happen?” she asked after a sip of wine, gesturing back and forth between Shane and Priscilla. “You’re not a very likely couple, are you?”

Priscilla was sick to death of people assuming that they weren’t a good match simply because they weren’t identical twins. Were they different? Yes. But opposites can attract, and when the pull is magnetic, the packaging simply doesn’t matter.

“This?” she asked her sister, moving closer to Shane, who put his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Simple. He’s the hottest fuck I’ve ever had, Bets. And I intend to fuck him for a long, long time.” She winked at Elizabeth with a screw-you, eat-shit grin. “You have a great night, now, sis.”

And with that, she tugged on her husband’s hand and led him from the shambles of another Story family dinner.

***

After Friday night’s disastrous dinner, it surprised Shane a little bit that Douglas wanted to speak to him first thing on Monday morning.

“Take a seat, Shane.” Shane sat down in the guest chair and looked up at his boss. “Time to lay my cards on the table…now that you’re actually making headway with one of them.”

“‘One of them,’ sir?”

“My daughters,” said Douglas, nodding his head. “I have to say…I didn’t see it coming, and frankly, I’ve always thought there was something downright off about her, but one’s just as good as another, I s’pose.”

Resisting the urge to sneer at such a statement, Shane controlled himself by crossing his legs and folding his hands in his lap.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” said Douglas. “You need to marry her.”

It was a good opening to tell his boss that he was already married to Priscilla, but something held him back, and it was this: whatever Douglas was going to say next, Shane had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

“We’re just dating, sir.”

“Marry her,” demanded Douglas.

“What’s the rush?” asked Shane.

“Story Imports,” said Douglas, tenting his hands on the desk. “It needs an infusion of capital. Immediately. Quietly.”

Because Douglas alone held an upper management title, he was the only employee of Story Imports who had a full picture of the company’s solvency, so this news came as a bit of a surprise to Shane, who didn’t realize that the business was in trouble.

“Perhaps you should set up some meetings with investors, and—”

“No. I’m not opening up the books to public scrutiny.”

“Why not?”

“Let some financial firm in here to dig around in my finances? No, thanks. There’s another way.”

“Sir?”

Douglas narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “My girls have two options for taking over their trusts: when they turn forty or one year after they’re married, at which time the trust is signed over to be co-owned jointly by my daughter and her husband.”

Shane stared at his boss in surprise. He’d known that Priscilla would have direct access to her trust after they’d been married for a year, but he had no idea that he’d have direct access to it too. He made an internal note to check with her—to ask if she knew the details of her trust’s release.

“I’m still not following, sir.”

“Are you being purposely obtuse, son?”

“No, sir. I’d like you to spell out your intentions.”

“I’m counting on you. You marry her. I promote you. When Priscilla comes into her money, you will reinvest it here. At Story Imports.”

Ohhhhh, fuck, groaned a voice inside of Shane’s head. Now I get it.

It was never about Shane’s skill or promoting him to bring new ideas to Story Imports. No. He was merely a convenient conduit for financial resources. He’d marry one of Douglas’ daughters, then give over her trust to the company that her father, most likely, had been running into the ground.

Alice might have invested, but after he’d devalued her contributions to Story Imports, she’d never give her father a dime of her money. And Margaret, whom he’d tried to groom but also driven away, had purchased a vineyard for herself, and as soon as she married Cameron Winslow, she’d pour her trust into that business. Those two daughters weren’t useful to Douglas anymore. It came down to Elizabeth, Priscilla, or Jane.

And Shane, by chasing after his promotion and marrying Priscilla to secure it, had placed her trust squarely in the cross fire of her father’s intentions. If he didn’t give up the trust, he’d certainly be fired. But he highly doubted if—without his influence—Priscilla would agree to give her father’s failing company anything.

“I see,” said Shane.

Douglas cleared his throat and nodded, whisking his stubby fingers at Shane. “Get the show on the road, goddamnit. I need that trust.”

“Badly, I suppose.”

“We’ll stay afloat for the year it takes you to access it.”

“And then?”

“Goddamn it, son, what have I been saying? We’ll go under without it!”

“So just to be crystal clear: I marry Priscilla, and a year from now, I turn over her trust to you.”

“Precisely.”

“What if she won’t cosign?”

“Doesn’t matter. You can sign it over solo.”

“I’ll have total control over it?”

“It’ll be a ‘marital asset,’ belonging to both of you.”

“Those are the terms of the trust?”

“Of course! M’wife’s father, old Mr. Morrow, knew that a man had a better head for business and money than a woman. Why do you think he signed his daughter’s trust over to me?”

“And it’s gone,” murmured Shane.

“It’s been invested in Story Imports!” bellowed Douglas.

Exactly. It’s gone. You’ve spent or mismanaged it all.

“What if Priscilla doesn’t like it? That I sign her trust over to her father?”

“Divorce her,” he suggested with a shrug. “Once I have the money, I really don’t care.”

Shane stared at his boss, feeling—actually feeling—the last straw crack and break the camel’s back. Not in a million years would I betray her like that. Not for you. Not for career advancement. Not for anything.

“I get the picture,” said Shane, keeping his voice calm, though he wanted to reach across the desk and strangle his boss. He stood up and pushed the guest chair back under the desk. “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

“Counting on you, Shane. Great things ahead for the man who can follow in my footsteps.”

I’d sooner sweep sidewalks for the rest of my life than follow in your footsteps.

“Thank you, sir,” he said grimly, closing the office door behind him.

***

With September at their doorstep and Priscilla being less and less able to conceal her pregnancy a little bit more every day, she turned to Shane in bed one Sunday morning and said, “I’m ready.”

“For what, baby?” he asked, staring at his laptop screen as he typed an e-mail to a vineyard owner in Australia.

“To tell my family.”

He looked down at her, shifting the computer to the bedside table and rolling to his side to face her. “Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I am. We’ve been together since the spring, living together for months. They all know we’re together. I can’t really hide it anymore, and you know what? I’m just…ready. I want them to know.”

“Everything?” he confirmed.

She nodded. “Yes. That we’re married and having a baby. Everything.”

“Okay,” he said, pulling her into his arms with a happy grin. “When?”

“Well, it’s Jessica Winslow and Alex English’s wedding next Saturday, so all my sisters will be in town. I thought I’d arrange it for the day after. A Sunday supper here.”

“Here in the barn?”

She nodded. “I’ll make something nice. The dining table’s huge. We can certainly fit everyone. And it’ll be more, um, neutral than Forrester.” She paused, then added, “I want Alice to come.”

“Got it,” he said, grinning at her. “What do you think they’ll say?”

“Daddy will be surprised, but I know he’ll be pleased in his own way. He’s wanted you for a son-in-law for years. Meggie and Jane will be happy for me. Alice will be Alice, prickly and concerned. And yes, Bets will probably throw shade on us, but whatever. She would have done that anyway. Besides, I’ll have you by my side.”

“Always,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her.

“Really?” she asked, blinking at him. “Always?”

“I love you, P. I choose you.”

She smiled at him, about to tell him that she wanted him forever too when the doorbell rang.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Nope. You?”

“Nope. Probably nothing,” he said, sliding out of bed and pulling on some jeans. “When I come back, we continue this conversation with no clothes on. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, winking at him.

She was bigger and heavier every day, and soon, she supposed, she wouldn’t want sex as much as she still wanted it now, but she’d enjoy her hot husband for as long as she could. She eyed his tight ass with a sigh as he left their bedroom, knowing the feel of that ass under her fingers as he came inside of her, whispering that he’d love her forever. She rolled onto her back, closing her eyes and smiling at the ceiling as she felt her body ready itself for him to love her again and again and—

“Priscilla,” came Shane’s voice, cool and low, from the living room. “Get dressed and come out here.”

Her eyes popped open. “Why? What’s up?”

When he didn’t answer, she rolled out of bed and picked up the dress she’d been wearing last night. She tugged it over her head and stood up. Leaving her hair loose around her shoulders and her feet bare, she crossed to her bedroom door and peeked out into the living room.

“Shane? Who’s…?”

Shane, bare-chested and beautiful, stood facing her, arms crossed over his chest, his face stern. Her eyes slipped to his right…to find Xavier Pernaud standing just beside him.

“Priscilla!” he exclaimed, leaving Shane behind to cross the room toward her. “Mon coeur. Mon tresor.”

Priscilla’s mouth dropped in shock, but she quickly recovered.

“C’est vraiment des conneries!” What a load of bullshit. Flicking a glance at Shane, she switched over to English. “I wasn’t your heart or your treasure when you told me you’d pay for an abortion.”

“Look at you, my darling, so round—so ripe, avec mon bebe.” He stood before her, grinning at her winningly, reaching out to caress her cheek.

She lurched back, blinking at him. “Xavier, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you, mon chérie. For you and our child. I want to be with you. I’ve had a change of heart.”

“What about Sabine?” she asked.

“C’est fine!” he insisted, schooling his face into a sad expression. “We are…finished.”

“Too bad,” she said. “It est trop tarde.” It’s too late.

He looked pointedly at her swollen belly. “That’s my child.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Shane move, uncrossing his arms and fisting his hands. She slid her gaze to him to find his face murderous.

Oh, no.

No.

Absolutely not.

She wasn’t going to let her husband get baited into a fight with a snake like Xavier Pernaud.

She sighed. “Shane, could you…?”

“What?”

“I need to speak to Xavier.”

“You want me to leave?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “Are you serious?”

“I think it’s best.” Her shoulders slumped. “Just give us an hour to talk.”

“An hour?” he demanded.

“Half an hour,” she amended.

Staring at her for a long, dark moment, he crossed the room, walked into their bedroom, and exited a minute later with a T-shirt on. As he passed Xavier, he stopped, shoulder to shoulder with his rival, who looked much smaller and older than Shane.

“I’ll be back in half an hour. If you upset her or hurt her in any way, I will beat the living shit out of you. Got it?”

Xavier scoffed.

Shane cracked his knuckles, his voice low and lethal. “Got it?”

“Oui,” said Xavier tightly, his smile fading.

Shane stalked to the door, opened it, walked through it, and slammed it shut without ever looking back.