Ethan

I snatch the projectile out of the air right before it hits me in the forehead. She’s got excellent aim.

Ok, maybe I went a little overboard with the asshole attitude. Don’t judge me too harshly. I decided on the plane ride to give my soon-to-be-stepsister a tabloid test. In a few days, we’ll see if our meeting ends up on the gossip rag covers.

“Thanks.” I wink at her. “You could have just handed it to me.”

She twists back around in her seat. “You could use some manners.”

The slight lilt of her words takes the bite out, making them sound like a very polite chastising. It feels like I’ve just been spanked with a feather. I’m not sure why I’m enjoying this, but I am.

I’ll admit, I’ve been bored, lately. The life of a movie star is...well, it’s fucking great, but sometimes it does get tiring.

Everything feels like a chore. Might as well ask me to fold laundry and put it away.

But Nova? She threw a biscuit at me. No one in Hollywood would ever think about doing that to me.

Her pink lips curve downward as she peers into the white bag and pulls out her breakfast. I take a bite, and honestly, it’s pretty damn good. I’m sure my agent would remind me that abs don’t come from bacon or this buttery heart attack in my hand. It’s ok, though, I’ve got abs to spare.

She stares straight ahead as if she’s going to will me away. She’s a sexy little number with the girl next door thing going on. Blonde hair that sweeps past her shoulders, barely any makeup, and big brown eyes.

Shit. She’s going to be my stepsister, and I’m checking off all the things that appeal to me like I’m ordering a pizza. I uncheck all the boxes and glance out the car window to watch a young couple in matching yellow Polo shirts stop and talk to an older woman outside the restaurant.

It’s like goddamn Mayberry with people smiling and in no rush to get anywhere. It reminds me of something from the 1950’s.

Nova has nothing else to say to me. After we finish eating, she starts the car and pulls back onto the main road.

“I’m sorry for throwing the biscuit at you,” she finally says after a few minutes. “That was rude of me.”

Her apology, for something I probably deserved, catches me a little off guard. But again, we’ll see if she runs to the press. We’ll see if this interaction makes the front pages.

She reaches for the radio, and then the car is filled with my worst nightmare: country music.

Great.

One more reason to be wary of this wedding.

Some twangy guy sings about backroads and losing his dog, and I rest my head back against the seat, debating whether to throw myself from the car. I’ve done my own stunts—tuck and roll.

Luckily, the torture ends when we pull up to a white-siding house surrounded by open land. The two-story structure has a wrap-around porch, complete with a swing swaying in the breeze. The minute Nova cuts the ignition, the front door opens. A woman with long, blonde hair steps out with my father following closely behind. Her smile is wide, and her shorts are... short.

Nova mutters something under her breath before exiting the car, and I remain seated, not particularly wanting to deal with this drama. I’m not here to bond. Before I can do it myself, Nova rounds the car and opens my door. For a minute, I want to laugh she thinks I’m such an asshole I wouldn’t open my own door, but then I get back into character, “Great service.”

“Oh, I just wanted you out,” she says, deadpan.

I step onto the driveway and glance down into her brown eyes a beat too long, getting lost in the specks of gold hidden within. Gold. Gold digger, I remind myself.

“Ethan,” Dahlia chirps as we approach, “your father has told me all about you.”

And you’ll waste no time repeating it to the tabloids, I’m sure. “Dad, how’ve you been?”

He pulls me in for a hug. “Great. How was your flight?”

“Long.”

He steps back, his eyes darting between his soon-to-be-wife and me. “This is the future Mrs. Hale.”

I wince as he says the words. “Nice to meet you.” I shake her hand, never making eye contact.

“Let’s get you inside. Nova, honey, get his things and take them to his room,” she calls out to Nova who still stands beside the car.

“No, that’s ok. I’ve got it.”

After I grab my bag from the car, I step over the threshold, into the foyer, and my eyes take in the overabundance of knick-knacks. My God, they’re everywhere.

Without a word, Nova brushes past me and goes straight to the staircase. I watch her ass for a minute as she takes each step slowly before Dahlia, chattering away about making myself comfortable, leads me down a short hallway to the kitchen. Just inside the entry, a narrow wood curio cabinet stands against the butter colored wall. I stop and lean in to look at a whole lot of pussy—a glass cat figurine collection.

“Hmm,” I make a sound.

My father pats my shoulder. “Ethan, let’s talk outside,” he says.

“What’s up?” I ask, dropping my duffel by the door and following him out into the backyard.

“I really want this all to go off smoothly. I’d like for you to really try to get along,” he says.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Just be nice.”

I exhale, relaxing my shoulders. “Fine. Dad, you can’t seriously be thinking about marrying this woman?”

He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and his dark eyes catch mine. “Of course, I am.”

“I just think it’s a mistake. What if she’s using you?”

“She’s not.” He uncrosses his arms. “I asked you to come down early, so you could get to know her.”

“You’ve got a lot of money, Dad.”

I know this is pointless. He’s in love; she’s ‘the one.’ Great story, if I actually believed it. If I hadn’t heard it with ex-wife two and three. My old man has a track record of changing girlfriends and wives like his Polo shirt. He’s a good man, but just can’t seem to make it stick.

And, you know, it’s his business. But part of it is Mom’s, literally. The multi-million-dollar construction business dad owns is part hers. Which, she’s too wrapped up in her six-month African yoga retreat, with her new granola guru sex toy, to pay much attention.

“She’s not like that at all.” My father sighs, ready to move on from it. “I’m glad you came. I think it’ll be good for you to get away for awhile. It’s important you stay grounded and get your hands dirty.”

I’m not sure the studio would agree with him, but as long as I’m back for press obligations, they’ll have to deal.

On our way back to the house, the curtains shift in the second-floor window, and Nova peers down at me.

I smirk at her, and she closes the curtains with a whoosh.

“Nova has your things upstairs, where you’ll be staying,” Dahlia informs me, when we re-enter the kitchen. “It’s the first door on the right.” She places a small platter of streusel-topped muffins on the island. “Want one?”

“No, thanks.”

When Dad says, ‘Mm, I love your muffin,’ I excuse myself and go upstairs.

Ok, check it, I’m not a bad guy at all. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. But no, seriously, I’m a great guy. I’m just leery of the woman who’s cast a spell so strong on my father he got down on his knee after knowing her only a short time. And this same woman has done her voodoo and talked him out of a prenup. I mean, who are these people?

I find the first room on the right and, um, don’t really know what to think when I open the door. It’s large enough, with all the basic things— slate colored dresser and nightstands, yellow rug across the well-worn hardwoods—but it’s what’s on the bed.

I tread closer to stare at the white ‘Daily Mews’ comforter lying atop grey sheets. What the fuck? I laugh to myself at the sunglass wearing cat heads bursting through the printed headlines. Keeps Raining Cats And Dogs, The Cat Is Out Of The Bag, Cool Cat! There’s even little articles. Obviously, I read them, ‘cause how can you not? Even the pillow shams match. Ah man, this stay is going to be interesting. Well, unless they fail the test. And maybe it’s time to go speed this test along.

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