Seduced by Stratton (The English Brothers Book 4) (16 page)

Val wasn’t ready to settle down. And she certainly wasn’t anywhere near ready to have children. In fact, although she loved Carolina’s kids, Val wasn’t totally convinced she wanted children of her own at all. All she knew for sure was that she wanted to work at UPenn, Drexel, or LaSalle, and eventually earn tenure. She wanted to finally make enough money to
enjoy
living in the city. She wanted to publish several books on the science of courtship and possibly continue her studies, even after her doctoral work. Did she want a boyfriend? Absolutely. Marriage? Maybe, someday. But kids? They just weren’t on her radar right now, though she was fairly certain they were an imminent priority on Joe’s.

And the second of the two problems—which she only admitted to herself in weak, quiet moments?

Stratton English. She simply couldn’t shake him.

Joe was, arguably, just as good-looking in his own way. He had a good job, if not the stratospheric success of the English brothers. He treated her well and never blurted out awkward comments that made her face heat or hurt her feelings.

And yet, when Joe kissed her, her toes didn’t curl. (She’d paid attention. They didn’t.)

When he held her hand, there were no currents zapping between then. (None. It was just two clammy slabs of flesh pressed together.)

His interest in her work and studies went no further than politeness, and he’d certainly never learned enough about her dissertation to ask her to read him a love letter. (Ha! She bet he couldn’t actually explain her dissertation because his eyes had glazed over as she told him about it.)

They’d been dating for almost two weeks, and he had no idea she loved vintage Jack Nicholson, probably because he was always watching “the game,” and he’d never stopped by her studio for a dance lesson. (Heisman on the foxtrot.)

When he smiled at her, she smiled back, but when she was away from him, he only crossed her mind a little. (“A little” defined as “not at all.”)

He didn’t infuriate her or delight her. He didn’t make her rage or cry. He didn’t search her face with agony, and when his hand brushed against hers, her skin didn’t burn. He didn’t make her heart race or her breath catch or heat pool in her belly with longing.

The terrible, awful long and short of it?

Val wasn’t in love with Joe, and she likely never would be . . .

. . . because she was already in love with Stratton.

Hastening the upsetting thought from her mind, she looked up at Joe’s dark brown eyes as they exited the building into the cold night air.

“You, me, and a big bowl of pasta,” said Joe, squeezing her hand. “I can think of worse ways to spend forever.”

Val’s heart sank, but she forced an uncertain smile as they continued to Antonio’s.

***

Stratton looked up again, sure he’d heard the elevator ding. Damn it, but he wanted to have this conversation with Amy and get it over with. And once it was finished, he needed to get his head on straight and figure out what the hell he was going to do about Valeria.

Fitz had been a good listener, recalling Étienne’s egregious behavior toward their cousin, wincing as Stratton described his infatuation with Amy, and rolling his eyes over the many nights wasted on rom-coms and ice cream. When Stratton started talking about Valeria, Fitz’s face had grown more serious and more sympathetic, and Stratton could tell that his brother was recognizing his own feelings for Daisy within Stratton’s monologue about Val. When he finished, Fitz merely confirmed what Stratton already knew.

“I hate to say it, Strat, but it sounds like you’re falling in love with her.”

“Yeah,” muttered Stratton, exhaling in a huff. “I pretty much knew it already, but it’s weird to hear you say it.”

“I get your feelings about Étienne. We all hate that bastard, but I doubt Kate ever found out about ‘Easy English,’ and from what Alex told me, he beat up Ten pretty good.”

“It’s the principle of it,” argued Stratton. “He’s doing it again, right under my nose.”

“Except Amy’s not complaining.”

“Of course she’s complaining! Rom-coms? Ice cream? They’re cries for help!”

Fitz shook his head dismissively. “She always goes back to him. She weeps on your shoulder, but she goes back to Ten. What does that tell you?”

“That Étienne is taking advantage of someone who isn’t strong enough to leave him.”

“No,” said Fitz. “That whether you like it or not, she loves him, she wants him, she chooses him.”

“Do you think I should tell her? About Kate?”

“I don’t think it’ll change anything,” said Fitz.

“So, I should say nothing? Come on, Fitz. He’s cheating on her. You know it and I know it. And he’s probably bringing home diseases and—”

“Strat!” interrupted Fitz. “Again: do you think it’ll change anything?”

Stratton shrugged with frustration. “Probably not.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Why should Étienne win again?”

Fitz cocked his head to the side and gave Stratton a shrewd look. “You know? I can’t figure out if this is about Kate, Amy, or Étienne. Is this revenge for Kate? Worry for Amy? Or just desserts for Ten? Maybe you should figure out your motive. Because Kate’s doing fine, Amy keeps going back to Ten, and if Amy dumps him, he’ll just find someone else to play with. What’s your endgame? Because, as far as I can tell, you’re not going to win this.”

Stratton sighed, wrinkling his forehead.

“I hate to say it, little brother,” said Fitz. “But you can’t fix everything.”

You. Can’t. Fix. Everything
. Kate’s exact words from last week.

Fitz stood up, pushing in the chair and heading for the door. Just before he got there, he turned around. “What about Val?”

Stratton shook his head. “I stupidly thought she’d be free when I was. But she’s dating someone. I’d be a selfish bastard to ruin her chance at something good.”

“Sorry, Strat, but I totally disagree. All’s fair in love and war. I went after Daisy with everything I had, and guess what? I got the girl. It sounds like you and Val have a chance, you know? At something way better than just ‘good.’ If I were you, I don’t think I’d give up that easily.” He paused, holding his younger brother’s eyes seriously. “I know I wouldn’t. And you shouldn’t either.”

“Throw everything I’ve got at it, huh?” asked Stratton.

“Hell, yes,” answered Fitz before opening the door and pulling it shut behind him.

You can’t fix everything. Everything I’ve got.

The words had circled around and around in Stratton’s head since Fitz left his office—on his walk home, as he made himself a chicken breast and salad for dinner, and even now, as he waited to hear Amy unlocking her door finally home from Japan. They were confusing in their contradiction—to give Val everything, he’d have to fix things with her, right? Or was it not about fixing, perhaps? Maybe it was less about fixing and more giving—

The knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts, and he put down his fork, moving quickly to see who was there.

“Stratton!” said Amy, bursting into a huge, cheerful smile when he opened the door. She threw her arms around his neck, and after a moment of shock had worn off, he clasped her to him, her small frame wispy and unsubstantial in his arms.

“Amy,” he answered, still a little stunned, but incredibly relieved that his heart didn’t flutter and swell from being near her again. “You’re home.”

“Yes!” She leaned back, still beaming, her eyes wide and expectant as she rubbed her chin with her hand.

He couldn’t help feel like she was waiting for something, for some response unknown to him. “Uh, how was Japan?”

“Bliss!” she declared, scratching an itch on her nose.

He nodded, feeling awkward and uncertain. Why was she smiling so broadly at him? What was he missing? “Good . . . weather?”

She tilted her head toward him, making a big show of tucking a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. “Gorgeous!”

“Great,” he said, trying very hard not to furrow his brows in confusion.

Her expression asked “Guess what?!” but he had no idea what she was trying to tell him.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Stratton!” she said, holding her hand up in front of his face, and that’s when he finally noticed it—a rock so big it would have filled the Grand Canyon. Amy was wearing an engagement ring.

His eyes widened, and almost impossibly, Amy’s smile did too. His first thought? He didn’t know she had so many teeth. His second? Holy shit. She’s marrying Étienne Rousseau.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Can you
believe
it?!” she asked, fluttering her hand in his face. “I’m getting
married
! It all happened so fast! One minute I was—”

Marry
that bastard, Étienne? He
couldn’t
let this happen! Stratton interrupted her. “Amy! Wait! You have to know . . . I have to tell you that Étienne—”

“. . . is a dog,” she finished, wrinkling her nose as her smile faded a little. “Étienne Rousseau is an asshole of the highest order. I found out my first weekend in Tokyo. He was cheating on me the whole time.”

“You—you found out?”

“Why do you think I texted you about the movie and ice cream?”

“I . . . just thought . . .”
you missed me.

“He thought he was sending a bunch of texts to my friend, Betsy, confirming drinks and telling her what he was planning to . . .
do
to her while I was away. But he sent them to me instead.”

“Geez, Amy. I’m so sorr—”

“Nope!” she chirped. “You can’t feel bad for me. It was the
best
thing that ever could have happened.”

“Amy?” called a man’s voice from the hallway.

“Ken! You have to meet my friend, Stratton!”

Stratton pushed the door open a little wider and found a very tall Japanese man headed toward them with a warm smile. Once he reached them, he put one arm around Amy, pulling her gently against his side, and held out the other to Stratton.

“You’re Stratton English,” he said with a British accent. “Ken Tenaka. Such a pleasure. Amy speaks very highly of you.”

Amy continued in a happy rush. “We met four days after I arrived in Tokyo and haven’t spent a moment apart since!”

She tilted her neck to beam up at her fiancé, and Ken released Stratton’s hand before dropping his lips to hers in a chaste, tender kiss. If the look on Ken’s face told Stratton anything, it assured him that Amy had finally met someone who would safeguard her heart the way Stratton had always hoped.

“You have no idea how happy I am to meet you, Ken.”

Ken turned back to Stratton and grinned, his eyes cheerful, if a little confused, and Stratton chuckled lightly. A huge weight fell from his shoulders as he realized he didn’t need to have the awful conversation about Étienne with Amy, after all. He hadn’t fixed a thing, but somehow, everything was fixed. His good friend, Amy Colson, was out of harm’s way, and Stratton . . .

. . . was free to follow his heart.

“Stratton, just remember, she’s probably still pissed. She’s not just going to be swept off her feet because you’ve finally decided to show up,” cautioned Kate in a rush. “It’s been almost three weeks since you’ve seen her. And she’s dating someone else. And you never called her or chased after her or told her how you feel, so just—”

“I get it, Kate!”

“I just don’t want to see you hurt,” she said gently.

“You know, that’s probably inevitable. I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me again.” Which was precisely why he’d decided he needed to see Val in person and not call or text her. He was certain she wouldn’t respond, and he was committed to giving this his best effort.

“Remember, this is a war, not a skirmish, not a battle. A war. On her heart. No prisoners. Only victory.” He could almost see Kate pumping her fist in the air as she finished.

“Whoa, General English, calm down.”

“I’m a warmonger for love, Strat.”

He rolled his eyes, but honestly, he only had himself to blame for Kate’s involvement.

As soon as Stratton had toasted Ken and Amy’s engagement, assuring them he’d attend the wedding in Tokyo this summer, he called Kate to update her about everything. Kate had immediately flown into big sister mode, giving Stratton two hours’ worth of advice, and calling him again the next day to reconfirm “the game plan.”

Kate’s “game plan” was pretty simple. She wanted him to romance the pants off of Valeria. Literally.

“You have the flowers?”

“I’ve got ’em,” he confirmed, looking down at the wrapped bunch on his lap. Kate had insisted that red roses—two dozen, long-stemmed—were the only option. She said that since Valeria was an expert in courtship, she would know that red roses symbolized passionate love. Stratton had dutifully ordered twenty-four blooms to be wrapped with greens and baby’s breath, though when he arrived at the shop, he’d been instantly distracted by a bucket of deep purple flowers in the corner.