The Hidden Heiress: Married to My Ex's Brother novel · Chapter 1 of 32
Chapter 1: Big Brother
Etta overhears her fiancé brag that he married her friend, breaks a bottle over his head, and sits in his older brother's lap, and Lance has no idea he just traded away the heir to the Conway Group.
"Lance, you've been married to Liza for two days and Etta still doesn't know?"
I stopped with my hand on the door.
"Five years, man. That's cold."
"She's gorgeous, though," another voice said. "Kind of a waste."
The private room at the back of the club stood an inch open.
Four men were inside. One of them was my fiancé.
I had come up those stairs to tell Lance a secret.
I'd practiced it in the car. My real name. My grandfather. The reason he'd never met my family.
Now I stood in the hallway in my good black dress and couldn't feel my hands.
"So she's pretty," Lance said. "So what?"
Ice clinked in a glass.
"My mom's a Beckford now. Nobody calls me the bastard anymore. Etta drives a ferry. She doesn't fit next to me."
"And Liza does?"
"Liza's a Brewster. Brewster money, Brewster friends." His voice went hard. "My dad still likes Rem better. With her family behind me, I can take the chair."
Rem.
Remington Beckford. His older half-brother. The real heir.
Lance couldn't say that name without his jaw going tight.
"You don't love Etta anymore?"
"Grow up. Love doesn't buy shares."
For five years he'd told me money didn't matter.
He'd never even spent the night. A girl should respect herself, he said. We should wait until we're married.
"How long's it been going on with Liza?"
Lance laughed. "Three years. She took her dress off in my car the first week. She made friends with Etta just to be near me."
"Bro. What if Etta finds out?"
"Etta's slow. I bought her earrings for her birthday. She'll cry, and then she'll calm down."
I touched my ears.
I was wearing them.
I took them out, one and then the other.
Then I kicked the door open.
Lance was sprawled on a leather couch with a glass in his hand.
He saw me, and the glass slid out of his fingers and broke on the floor.
"Etta?" His face went white. "What are you doing here?"
Leather couches. A bottle of forty-year scotch. Four grown men in loafers with no socks.
"Wow," I said. "Is this where you practice being villains? It needs work."
One of his friends laughed, then stopped.
Lance shot up so fast he banged his knee on the table.
"Babe. Let's go outside. Don't make this a thing."
He reached for my arm. I stepped back.
"Outside? You were so brave with the door closed."
"You heard it wrong. You're twisting it into..."
I picked up the scotch by the neck.
"Go to hell, Lance."
I swung.
The bottle hit the side of his head with a thick crack.
He dropped back onto the couch with a hand clamped to his temple.
Blood ran out between his fingers.
"Are you insane?"
"We're done," I said. "As of right now."
"Etta..."
"Say my name again and you get the other side."
He shut his mouth.
I dropped his earrings into the ice bucket.
"Congratulations on the wedding," I said. "You and Liza deserve each other."
I walked out.
I made it down the stairs and onto a bar stool before my hands started shaking.
I ordered one whiskey and held it with both hands.
I texted Dina in Italy with my thumb shaking.
Lance married Liza. Two days ago. I hit him with a bottle.
Three dots. Then: GOOD. Are you okay??? I'm getting on a plane.
Bass thumped through the floor. Lights swept the dance floor in purple and blue.
Then I saw him.
He sat alone in a corner booth with one leg crossed over the other, a glass resting on his knee.
Half his face was in shadow.
He looked like Lance. The same strong nose, the same heavy brows.
But Lance always looked desperate to get into a room.
This one looked like he owned the room and found it boring.
I knew his face from Lance's phone, zoomed in so I could see how arrogant he was.
Rem Beckford.
Lance had betrayed me.
Lance hated his brother.
His brother was twenty feet away.
Was it a good idea? No.
Did I care? Not even a little.
I slid off the stool, walked straight across the floor, and stepped between his knees.
Then I sat down in his lap.
"Hi," I said. "Want to do something stupid?"
The table beside us went silent. Somebody said "oh my God" under the music.
He didn't push me off.
His hands settled on my waist, warm and steady.
"You've got the wrong man, sister-in-law."
So he knew exactly who I was.
That word made me want to bite something.
I wound my arms around his neck and leaned in until my mouth almost touched his.
"No," I whispered. "I came for you, big brother."
Then I kissed him.
It was messy and angry and hot. He tasted like whiskey and smoke.
Good girls don't kiss their ex's brother in a packed club.
I'd been good for five years. Look where it got me.
He let me kiss him for a few seconds.
Then he caught my jaw and eased me back an inch.
His gray eyes moved over my face.
"How much have you had?"
"One whiskey. I'm not drunk. I'm furious."
"At my brother."
"I just hit your brother with a bottle of scotch."
The corner of his mouth moved.
"So that was the noise upstairs."
"If you're not interested, say so. I'll find someone who is."
I meant it. I started to stand.
His arm locked around my waist and pulled me back down against him.
Then he stood up with me in his arms, like I weighed nothing, and carried me toward the private elevator.
"Too late," he said.
The doors slid shut on a dozen staring faces.
He set me on my feet and backed me into the mirrored wall.
His hand slid around the back of my neck. His mouth came down on mine again.
This kiss was different.
Slow at first. Deep. Like he had all night and meant to use it.
Then it turned hungry.
His other hand moved up my side through the thin silk of my dress.
His thumb brushed the underside of my breast and stayed there.
I arched into him before I could stop myself.
His mouth went to my jaw, then down the side of my throat.
"Who kisses better?" he said against my skin. "Me or him?"
"You. It's not close."
That was the worst part. It was true.
Lance kissed like he was waiting for applause.
Rem kissed like he noticed every breath I took.
A ferry driver, Lance had said. A girl who didn't fit next to him.
He was half right.
I did drive a ferry. I took the 7:10 across the bay to Bainbridge every morning.
But my name wasn't Etta Lane.
Lane was my mother's name.
My name was Henrietta Conway.
My grandfather, Walter Conway, built Conway Group. Half the Seattle waterfront. Every ferry with our name painted on the bow.
I was the only heir.
I'd hidden it for five years because I wanted a man who loved me with nothing.
Tonight I'd come to tell Lance he'd passed.
The elevator opened onto a quiet hallway and one black door.
Rem walked me to it and stopped.
He held my face in one hand. His chest was rising as hard as mine.
"Last chance," he said. "Go home, or come in."
He'd traded the Conway Group for a Brewster.
He just didn't know it yet.
I grabbed his brother's tie and pulled him through the door.
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