The poor girl looks scared and rushes away, forgetting her tray.
I see red.
I rush at my brother and tackle him to the floor. Then I start laying into him. He tries to fight back, but he’s never been one to work out. His groomsmen eventually pull me off him, and we’re both bloodied.
“What did you do to her?” I scream at him while my chest heaves with the anxiety that’s building inside me. It takes him a couple of moments to get up off the floor with blood streaming from his lip. He spits some of it to the side.
“What didn’t I do?” He smirks at me. “I will say she was worth every single penny. She’s the best of all the girls you’ve brought around.” He chuckles.
I try and lunge at him, but George’s friends hold me back.
“Get the fuck off me,” I scream at them. “Don’t think my brother hasn’t fucked your wives,” I say, pointing at every one of them.
A couple of their faces drop, and their eyes narrow on my brother.
“What the hell’s going on in here?” Dad asks as he walks in, looking at the two of us.
“Brother here is upset that I found out his woman wasn’t who she said she is. Did you know she’s a prostitute?” my brother says to my father.
My father turns and raises a brow, and I shake my head because she wasn’t a prostitute.
“He’s upset because she propositioned me before my wedding. I thought he needed to know,” he says to my father.
The lying, conniving sack of shit.
“Come on, son. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Dad says, pulling me out of George’s groomsmen’s grasps.
We walk silently back into the house, and he takes me to the mudroom to clean me up, so none of the guests can see.
“Seems like your brother is worse off than you,” he states with the tiniest of smirks. He pulls a first-aid kit out of the closet with a bottle of scotch. “Think you might need this more,” he says, handing me the bottle.
I open the lid and throw back the golden liquid courage, feeling the burn slide down my throat.
“Want to tell me what happened?” he asks, looking up at me.
I give him the look ofhell nobefore silence falls between us again.
“I don’t care if Eloise isn’t your real girlfriend,” my father adds.
“She is, though. We may not have had a conventional start, but what we have between us is real.”
My father nods, takes the seat beside me, and grabs the scotch bottle from my hand then throws it back himself. “I don’t believe for one minute she would have propositioned your brother,” he says, handing the bottle back to me.
“She’s gone, Dad. She left me a note saying sorry. All her stuff is missing too.”
He claps me on the back. “Maybe she thought you were better off without her. Especially with George spreading lies about her.”
“She’s not an escort. It wasn’t like that,” I plead my case with my father.
“Maybe you should start from the beginning, son,” he says, tapping me on the knee.
Maybe I should.
So, I do.
I tell him everything about Eloise and me.