Stepping Over the Line: A Stepbrother Novel (Shamed) Read Free Page B

and make Ella a queen, so he’s restructuring the entire government—replacing democracy with monarchy, putting photos of family and friends on all currency. I’m handling the legalities. You’d be amazed at the complexities.”
    “Gracious…”
Her blue eyes widened. “What country did he buy?”
    “Keep this between us…” My drink arrived. I downed it in a single gulp. “But Liam now owns Venezuela.”
    “What?”
She graced me with a not-very-ladylike gape. “He’s got
that
much money?”
    “More than Bill Gates or God.”
    “And you’re a
close
friend?”
    “Absolutely. My handsome mug will be on his country’s twenties. But personally, I’ve got my real estate agent looking into buying Brazil.” I winked. “I’m a big fan of topless beaches.”
    She cupped her hand on my thigh. “I’m not sure we were formally introduced. My name is Constance, and…” She zoomed in, whispering the rest of her speech directly into my ear. “I give
great
head.”
    Her statement was so absurd that during the lull in between
Louisiana Drum Meunière
and
Bananas Foster,
I slipped her into the deserted pro shop so she could prove her claim.
    Not bad, but I’d had better.
    The whole time she worked me, being the ass I am, I closed my eyes and saw Savannah. I smelled her perfume. Vanilla, jasmine, and the ocean. I craved a replay of our lone, forbidden night the way a fat kid craves Twinkies.
    We returned to the dining room just in time to see Dad stand, then clank his fork against one of the champagne flutes the waiters had distributed.
    I signaled for more scotch.
    Dad said, “I can’t thank all of you enough for being here. Delilah and I planned for this announcement to be a big surprise, but I’m guessing by now, that ol’ cat has jumped clean out of his bag.”
    Laughter. Applause.
    I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. Too much scotch. Too much rich food. Too much of seeing Chad fawning all over my stepsister.
    “But I digress. I’m not sure there’s a thing in this great big world that could make my heart happier than seeing my girl smile. Her mother and I dreamed of this night, and honestly, if we’d been given a catalogue of potential prospects, I doubt we’d have found a young man even half as suitable for our Savannah as Chad is.”
    Whistles accompanied applause from the groom’s portion of the party. Chad’s mother daubed the corners of her eyes with a monogrammed white handkerchief.
    “I had a formal speech written about how much pride fathers feel for their daughters, but damned if I didn’t spill my first drink on it, so honey…” With tears shining in his eyes, Dad took Savannah’s hand. “Let me just say I love you, and your mother and I think you did a real good job of picking your man.”
    “Aw, thank you, Daddy.” Savannah rose from her seat to give my father, and then her mother, a hug.
    Chad and his parents joined in on the lovefest with plenty of hugs, backslapping, and handshakes. And then the future groom slipped a rock the size of Gibraltar onto Savannah’s ring finger and I had to leave the room.
    I wandered into the bar.
    For a July Friday night, the place was relatively dead. Golf played on all five muted TVs. A golden oldies band butchered “Peggy Sue.” Four old geezers sat at the bar and three couples spun each other on the dance floor. Three more couples sat at a corner table drinking and swapping stories. The scene was quite ordinary. So why did my pulse race as if instead of witnessing an engagement announcement, I’d seen the dropping of a nuclear bomb? Why did my head and heart and stomach ache? Why was my mouth dry and stomach queasy?
    Why, with every fiber of my being, did I want to tear back into that dining room, scoop Savannah into my arms, and then run off somewhere crazy—like fuck, I don’t know, Switzerland or Australia? I’d take her anywhere in the world that wasn’t Julep, Mississippi. Where no one thought we were brother and sister,