All Chapters of My Sister's Fiance: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

111 Chapters

travel-size forgiveness

Nathan’s kitchen was not a kitchen.It was some kind of culinary museum that happened to have a sink.Dark marble stretched across the massive island like the surface of night polished until it could reflect small sins. Copper pans hung neatly above the large stove, not the kind of pans normal humans used to cook eggs, but the kind of pans that might make someone whisper in French before sautéing onions. In the left corner, an Italian chrome coffee machine stood arrogantly, full of tiny buttons and levers that looked like they could summon the mafia if pressed incorrectly.The large windows overlooked the wet forest behind the house. Pine trees, thin mist, dark soil, leaves still holding on to rainwater. Everything looked peaceful.Because this house did not have my two children as its official owners.Max was already sitting on a tall stool by the island, one knee up, his preschool shoe almost touching the side of the marble. He was eating pieces of fruit from a crystal bowl like nob

the notary would cry

Max was trying to take one piece of strawberry from the side of Issa’s mug.Issa saw him. Her hand moved fast, small and ready to pinch.“Aw!” Max pulled his hand back, his lower lip immediately pushing forward. “Issa!”“That’s my strawberry.”“Your name isn’t on the strawberry.”“I saw it first.”“That’s not ownership.”“That’s destiny.”Nathan was still watching them with an expression far too entertained for a man whose countertop was currently being threatened by a fruit war.Max pouted, turned his body slightly, then very slowly took the small spoon from beside Issa’s red mug.Issa immediately turned her head. “Maxime.”Max froze with the spoon in his hand. “I’m just borrowing it.”“You’re stealing.”“I’ll give it back later.”“You always say later. Later is where all my things go to die.”I lowered my glass. “Max, give your sister back her spoon.”“I need a spoon.”“You have a spoon.”“Mine isn’t powerful.”Issa let out a small growl. The sound of a four-year-old with Gómez bloo

if my life had mercy

Max narrowed his eyes. “You are not food.”Issa turned slowly. “Good.”“You are a cupcake that fell on the floor.”Issa blinked once. “I am an expensive cupcake,” she said. “You are a nugget someone forgot to cook.”Max immediately pouted. His round cheeks pushed forward, his blue eyes deeply offended in a way far too adorable for a boy who had stolen a spoon ten seconds ago. “I’m not a nugget.”“You look like a nugget when you sit like that.”“I’m handsome.”“Nuggets can have confidence too.”“Isabella,” I said.“What?” She looked at me with a face so innocent it failed completely, because her mouth was still holding back a smile. “I’m just saying the truth.”Max folded his arms over his chest, his mouth puckering. “I don’t want to talk to you,” Issa picked up her strawberry and took a small bite. “Finally. Peace.”“Okay.” I exhaled softly. “One more criminal sentence from either of you and I’m sending you to preschool in potato sacks.”Max turned fast. “What color are the sacks?”“

tough genes

Night fell over Oregon in a way far too polite for a house currently being ruled by two tiny four-year-old criminals.Outside, rain clung to the large windows of the family room, its lines sliding down slowly like someone was trying to clean the world from the outside. Inside, the world refused to be cleaned. My linen sofa had lost two pillows. The expensive rug in the middle of the room was covered in LEGO pieces, Max’s socks, one of Issa’s plastic tiaras, three empty string cheese wrappers, and the tiny trail of something I sincerely hoped was chocolate.I sat on the sofa with one leg tucked beneath me, my hair still half damp from the shower I had taken too quickly earlier that afternoon after getting home from Nathan’s house. My cream sweater had slipped slightly off one shoulder. In my hand was a mug of chamomile that had gone cold because every time I tried to drink, one of my children decided they needed to declare a new war.Beside me, Bianna slept like the victim of a ritual.

girls time

It took twenty-seven minutes, one threat involving a house slipper, two water negotiations, three accusations that Max was “taking too much oxygen,” and one lullaby from my mouth that was officially insulted by my own daughter before the house finally stopped sounding like a military training center for rich children.“I’m just saying,” Issa whispered from under her purple blanket, her eyes only half-open but her mouth still full of energy for crime, “Mommy’s voice is a little off-key.”I stood in the middle of their room with the night-light glowing soft yellow, my hair partly dry now, one hand on my hip, the other still holding the unicorn water bottle she had requested and then refused to drink from.“Isabella Maria Gómez,” I said quietly, “I just sang you a bedtime song after you tried to escape brushing your teeth on the grounds that the toothpaste did not respect your aura.”Issa gave a tiny yawn. “It’s still a fact.”In the next bed, Max lifted his head from his dinosaur pillow.

room to lean

Sienna blinked once. Arianna stared at me like she was waiting for the next word. They both knew that name. Of course they knew that name. They had seen me at MIT when Zach still came to the lab in a leather jacket, his hair wet from Boston rain, his blue eyes making smart women suddenly want to believe in stupid things.They had been there when I stopped saying his name. They had been there when I came home from Boston with my face carefully arranged, too little luggage, and a body already hiding two small lives.“In Colombia,” Arianna repeated.I nodded. “At Fiona’s engagement party.”Sienna took in a small breath.I smiled. Not well. I could feel it in the way I was holding my napkin too neatly. “Because he’s her fiancé.”Arianna’s mouth opened.Sienna did not blink.I took another fry because I was an adult woman and tragedy should not be allowed to interfere with my salt intake.“Sorry,” Arianna said at last, her voice flat in a way that was very unlike Arianna. “I think I just h

the booth, the booze, and the blue eyes

I told them everything.Not in any pretty order, because apparently my life had never been given that courtesy.I told them about Northlake, Casa de Sanctis, Zach walking into that conference room like he owned my fate, the black package, the photos from Nathan’s yard, Issa’s hair clip, the message about Fiona, the security plan I accepted because I wasn’t stupid enough to let my ego babysit my children.I even told them about Karl. About him standing in the rain, his face bruised, still calm enough to make me want to scream. About Zach calling Max and Issa his children in a voice that made the floor under me feel crooked.Sienna didn’t interrupt much. She just sat there, spine straight, the warmth slowly draining from her face every time I added another piece.Arianna, on the other hand, reacted like she was watching a season finale written by someone who hated women. She kept opening her mouth, closing it, raising a hand, lowering it again, until finally she said, “I seriously need

all my anger, wearing your cologne

Zach let out a slow breath. His eyes dropped to my face, to the glass of water in front of me, to the dance floor, then back to me.“Drunk.”“Brilliant.” I slapped the table once, except my hand landed on a napkin. “Did Casa de Sanctis acquire observational skills too?”He smirked.“What are you doing here, Zach?”“Picking you up.”I laughed. “No. Try again. You are not picking me up. I’m not a Northlake package, not some rogue service account, not one of the little red dots on your arrogant map.”His gaze moved behind me.I turned to follow it too quickly. The world swayed with me. Near the bar, two men who had been standing by the edge of the dance floor earlier were now looking toward our booth. One of them immediately looked away the second Zach’s eyes landed on him.Oh.Interesting.Or it should have been interesting. My brain only filed it away like a wet sticky note: men looking. Zach angry. Zach pretending not to be.“I’m fine,” I said.“You almost called the weather app.”“I

the god i shouldn’t pray to

The world went dark slowly, like someone lowering thick curtains over my eyes. I felt my body floating... or maybe Zach was carrying me.Then there was nothing but the distant bass from the club and the sound of his breathing, close and steady.When I opened my eyes again, the light that greeted me wasn’t the club’s.My head throbbed with a dull rhythm, like a little man knocking from the inside. I tried to sit up, but the bed beneath me was too big, too soft, and definitely not mine.The room was dark, lit only by a small bedside lamp in the corner casting a warm, golden glow. Dark wood walls, tall windows with heavy drapes, the scent of expensive cologne that felt way too familiar mixed with clean linen. This wasn’t my place back in Oregon. It wasn’t some cheap hotel room either.I stared at the ceiling. “Where am I—”His lips were on mine again. Soft at first, brushing my mouth like a question. Then deeper when I didn’t pull away as fast as I should have.Zach.He was over me, one

six-thirty and ruined

My head was heavy.Not regular heavy. Not the kind of heavy you got from not sleeping enough or sitting through too many meetings with corporate people who treated “urgent” like a lifestyle choice. This was the kind of heavy that felt like someone had poured wet cement into my skull and left it there overnight to harden.My body, on the other hand, felt too light.Strange. Unfair. Deeply suspicious.I opened my eyes slowly, and for the first few seconds, everything was just gray. A dark ceiling. Morning light slipping through the gap in the curtains. The smell of clean linen. Expensive wood. The smell of—I froze.Cologne.This was cologne my brain recognized in a humiliating way. Dark, clean, expensive, like someone could buy every moral law in existence and then burn it in a fireplace.No.No, no, no.I lowered my gaze to my own body and immediately glared.A white blanket covered me up to my chest, but underneath it, my skin was touching fabric directly. No dress. No bra. Nothing b

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