Emilia was both.

Daddy finally lifted his eyes from the paper. “Is that true, Rose? Did you always love Dean Cole?”

I couldn’t read his tone. Was it serious? Sad? Disappointed? Pleased? Did he think I was an idiot for loving a man who wasn’t mine to love, or did he appreciate the sacrifice I had made for my sister all those years ago?

“Always.” I blushed, looking down to my knotted fingers. “I’ve always loved him.”

And it was the uncomfortable truth no one wanted to hear. No one but the man who didn’t know it. Dean himself.

My father pushed himself away from the table, hands on his waist, looking ready for another argument.

“Is he taking care of you? We need to know.”

Jesus Christ. Either my dad was the biggest caveman to walk on Earth in the twenty-first century or he really thought I was a useless sack of bones. He trusted Emilia with my life when we lived together. He trusted Darren without even meeting him. But me? Nah. He’d put his faith in a crusty pair of underwear before he believed in me, so it seemed.

Taking a deep breath and closing my eyes, I offered a small nod.

“Yes, Daddy. He looks after me.” My jaw moved back and forth, every feminist cell in my body demanding I would put him in his place.

“Are you sure?”

“He packed my medicine and my supplies for me before we arrived here.” Biting my tongue to prevent myself from lashing out, I continued. “He sends me a taxi three times a week so I won’t miss my physiotherapy sessions. And comes with me to Dr. Hasting when he has the time.”

“When he has the time.” Daddy snorted, shaking his head. “Of course.”

“Paul,” my mother warned, looking down at the table.

“Yes, fine. I’m willing to talk to this man, but it changes nothing, Rose. We still want you here in Todos Santos. If you want your mama and me to stand behind you while you’re…doing whatever it is you’re doing in New York,” he waved his hand dismissively, but for the first time in the weeks since I’d visited here, didn’t look at me like I was unworthy of his time, “you gotta make some promises and changes to set our minds at ease. Because you are sick, Rosie-bug. And we’re worried. Everything we want and ask from you—is for your own benefit.”

Rosie-bug. Choking on my tears, I nodded.

Mama rolled her eyes. “Now can I please get a hug? This mama’s been missing her little girl.”

“And this future mama needs Rosie to make her kick-ass chocolate chip cookies,” Millie cooed, pinching my cheek and laughing.

I thought the worst part was behind me that morning.

I was wrong.

SOMETIMES LIFE IS A SNOWBALL and you have no way to stop it.

Sometimes you don’t even want to.

Everything moved fast. I had zero control over it. I wasn’t kidding when I told Trent you couldn’t prevent life from spiraling out of control. It just so happened that my chaos was drenched in mind-blowing sex.

Nina settled in New York. She called me every day. Every. Single. Goddamn. Day. I never answered.

It was ridiculous. It became even more ridiculous when one October day, right before I got out of the office to pick up Rosie so we could catch a Hugh Jackman movie (I still had my balls intact, thank you very much), I saw Nina waiting for me at the reception, clutching a damp, cheap coat to her chest. Her eyes were wide and, if I’m not mistaken, had huge-ass dollar signs in each pupil.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cole.” Sue rushed over to me, clasping her iPad and looking genuinely flustered for the first time in years. Nina had been trying to sneak into the building frequently, from what I’d heard, but my staff knew asses would be fired and people would pay if she stepped foot inside my domain. “I don’t know how she got past security downstairs. We’re in-between receptionists as you’re aware…”

Ignoring my PA, I walked to Nina. I was three inches away from her face, and my eyes burned their way into her soul when our bodies met. The kind of look that told her that next time she showed up at my office, she was getting out of it in the form of scattered body parts that would later be thrown into the Hudson.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

“He wants to see you.” She thrust her body into mine. Pathetic. Her words caught me off guard, but I maintained my balance, not letting her manipulating games get to me. Now that I was looking—really paying attention—I noticed her clothes were tattered, and that bright pink lipstick she loved to wear so much was smeared all over her face. Such a fucking mess. She was using again.

“I mean it, Nina.” My voice relaxed, but my posture didn’t. “I don’t care. Tell him I don’t want to see him. Now get out. I’d hate to call security. We both know you can’t afford another arrest with your criminal record.”

That should have been the end of her, but it wasn’t.

Nina didn’t show up again in person—I think she knew I’d follow through with my threat—but started sending me things that belonged to him to gauge my reaction. To get me to cave in and answer her calls. A black Raiders cap, to show me that he, too, loved football. A plastic cup with Birmingham, Alabama plastered all over it. A pen. Whatever. Fuck. I didn’t want these things to taunt me, but they did. They did and I needed to get away from it all. I was reaching the breaking point that made you crumble.

The decision to go to Todos Santos wasn’t only about getting away from Nina. It was time everyone knew what my intentions were about Rosie. I was going to marry the fuck out of that chick, soon. By the end of that month, we were moving in together, officially.

I was diving headfirst into a messy reality, and I didn’t give two shits. I chained myself to her destiny, knowing how it was going to end. Rosie started every morning with gulping down a ton of pills and wearing that vest twice a day. Every other afternoon, she would go to physiotherapy. When we took strolls, she would stop and lean against a tree, out of breath, smiling apologetically as she clutched onto her side. My girlfriend was not well. She was never going to be well.

And we were still going to make it work.

People had to know, accept, and move on with it.

The other reason I dragged her ass to Todos Santos was Trent. Jaime and I promised him we would get Vicious to agree to switch branches. The fucker was going to Chicago with Millie and the baby whether he liked it or not. I knew he wasn’t going to go down without a fight—hell, fighting was one of our favorite pastimes—and I was ready for battle.

Rosie’s meeting with my parents was supposed to be low-key and intimate, but when my mom realized I was bringing a girl home for the first time since…well, ever, she got a little too excited. And by “a little too excited,” I mean goddamn crazy. She called my sisters, and what do you know? Keeley planned a visit from Maryland, anyway, and Payton was just around the corner in NorCal, and this was how a quiet brunch with my folks and girlfriend turned into the mother of all shit-shows, hosted by yours truly.

“I’m so nervous I’m about to puke all over my cleavage.” Rosie clutched my hand when I parked one of Vicious’s cars in front of their house. “The bright side is, at least it will cover my tits. Looking gross is better than looking like a floozy, right?”

“Did you just use the word floozy?” I chewed on my right cheek to contain my smile.

“Weird, huh? I think it’s the nerves.”

“Holy shit, Baby LeBlanc. I didn’t know things were that bad.”

She’d never met any of her past boyfriends’ parents before. Never went this far with anyone else. It was almost like we waited for this moment so we could experience it together. We weren’t kids. I was kissing thirty. She was twenty-eight. We were emotional virgins, and it was like she just handed me her V-card.

This time I asked for it.

This time I took it.

And I loved that we got to experience a few first-times together.

“Just be you. I’m sure it’d be good enough. And, if not,” I shrugged, popping my minty gum, “I’ll replace you. You have a hot cousin, right?”

I punched the doorbell as Rosie shot daggers at me with her lake blues. Any other time, I would breeze right in, but she needed those few seconds. Her palm was sweaty, and she had a coughing fit she tried to tame by gulping deep breaths. Rosie had no idea that she already impressed my parents simply by dealing with my crazy ass and accepting me for who I was. I wasn’t going to reassure her of that just yet, though. I loved watching her make an effort. She wore a formal blue dress under her huge coat—and no, the cleavage wasn’t half as generous as she thought it was—and had braided her hair. That whole good girl act was a complete fucking sham, and watching her lie for me in that goody-two-shoes dress was a turn-on.

My mother opened the door, wearing her signature lime-green pastel cardigan and syrupy smile. She threw herself at Rosie and hugged her like they’d known each other forever, and Rosie melted in her arms, her stiff body shielding its armor. My dad shook Rosie’s hand and offered her a grin, the kind he saved only for his children. He then proceeded to pat my back and whispered something entirely inappropriate into my ear about my girlfriend. Payton and Keeley stood at the door like two stage-ten stalkers and complimented her dress. They then turned their attention to me.

“You’re still working out.” Keeley’s tone was borderline accusing. She tossed her dirty blonde hair.

“What, no gyms in Maryland?” I brushed my shoulder past her and squeezed her biceps playfully. Keeley had no time to work out, and even though she was a little on the fuller side, it suited her just fine.

“Oh, look, our brother is still super funny.” Payton elbowed her. I rolled my eyes, and my sister gasped. “What, no sense of humor in New York?”

Juvenile sparring aside, things started off on the right foot.

Rosie and I were led into the dining room, where White Trash Hash, cowboy breakfast bowls, bagels, and brownie cupcakes were waiting on the rustic modern table. Orange juice, coffee, and milk were sprawled, ready to be demolished. Rosie’s mouth almost dropped to the floor, her tongue rolling like a red carpet, and I wasn’t sure if it was because she was starving or because of what she was seeing. I suppressed a chuckle when I thought about how she’d probably imagined my family. A bunch of snotty assholes who only ate French-named dishes and lived in a mansion like Vicious’s.