Page 16 of Claimed By The Other Brother

"I'll have what he's having."

We settle into our chairs, and the silence stretches. Two years. How do you bridge two years of barely speaking with a single conversation?

"So," I start. "Getting married. That's a big step."

Miles grins, and for a second he looks like the kid I remember.

"Yeah. I still can't quite believe it's happening. Saturday feels both far away and right around the corner."

"How long have you been together now?"

"Three years next month." His expression softens.

"We met at a PR event I was covering for work. She was there representing one of the firms. Started talking, and I just... I knew. She's incredible, Dax. Smart, beautiful, driven. I'm lucky she said yes."

The bartender brings his drink. Miles takes a sip, then pulls out his phone.

"Here." He swipes through his photos and turns thescreen toward me.

"That's Scarlett."

I look at the image. A blonde woman with blue eyes and a smile that could light up a room. She's standing on a beach somewhere, wind catching her hair, wearing a sundress and sunglasses. She's beautiful. Objectively, undeniably beautiful.

Something stirs in my chest. I ignore it.

"She's lovely," I say, keeping my voice neutral. I hand the phone back.

"She works in PR, you said?"

"Corporate PR. She works for a firm here in Chicago. Handles crisis management, media relations, that kind of thing. She's really good at it." Miles sets his phone down and leans back.

"You'll meet her tomorrow night at the rehearsal dinner. I think you'll like her."

"I'm sure I will."

Miles takes another drink, and I notice his hand is shaking slightly. Nerves? Or something else?

"How's Mom doing?" I ask.

"She's good. Flying in tomorrow morning. She's excited about the wedding." Miles runs a hand through his hair.

"I haven't seen her since Christmas when she stayed in Chicago for a few days."

"I saw her in August. Flew down to Florida for her birthday." I swirl the scotch in my glass.

"She seems happy there. The weather agrees with her."

"Yeah." Miles stares into his drink.

"Sometimes I think about Dad. How he'd feel about all this. Me getting married. You running the company."

"He'd be proud of you," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it. Dad always wanted Miles to join the business. He never understood why his younger son chose journalism over legacy.

"Would he?" Miles meets my eyes.

"Or would he think I took the easy way out? Ran away from responsibility?"

The honesty catches me off guard.