A nagging voice reminds me that if anyone's making her choose, it's me. If I could just get on better with Ware, she could happily have us both.

As hard as I'm trying, I can't find any real reason to hate Ware. I think...he's a good guy.

The knowledge hits me hard, but brings me a deep sense of peace. I have a brother, and he's a good guy. If I stop being a d.i.c.k, maybe things could be good between us. I'm sure I won't accomplish it overnight; it's going to take me some work to mind my tongue. But Chelsea is worth trying for. Though, if I'm being completely honest, I'm going to do it for myself as much as her.

So that's Ware, but what about Mom?

I think if I remain angry at her, I have to at least direct some of that anger at my dad. She tried to come back and settle things, and he kept her away out of pride or some bulls.h.i.t like that. And I fully believe it, because isn't that sort of what he's doing with Vanessa? Yeah, he's making sure Vanessa knows he wants her to come home, but he's also taking a hard line. Come home now, or end this. My father is a great businessman, and he's a great father. But I'm not so sure he was a good husband.

So maybe I can understand Mom wanting to leave, and if he'd let her, she would have taken me. I'm really not sure which of them is truly at fault, so maybe my only way forward is to forgive them both. Can I really do that? I don't know, but I'm sure as h.e.l.l going to try.

I'll call Ware tomorrow and ask him to be one of my groomsmen. But this time, I'm not doing it because Angel asked me to. I'm doing it because someday I'm going to look back and be glad I had my brother by my side.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

a-aa- I'm working at the bar on Monday afternoon when the phone rings. There's a brief flutter in my chest when I see Angel's name.

"Hey, baby. Everything okay?" I don't mind her calling me, even when I'm at work, but she almost never does.

"No!" she screeches. "Not okay! Everything is not okay!"

I have to force myself not to panic. I'm already shoving my wallet in my back pocket and reaching for my keys to hurry home. "What's wrong?"

"There are people here!"

I swallow. "In the house?" Did she not have the alarm system on?

"Yes. They say you sent them. I told them to leave, but they keep insisting that they're supposed to be here." She snorts in frustration.

"Oh! The interior decorators. Yeah, I'm sorry, baby. With everything going on I completely forgot to let you know I'd called and scheduled them. They're there to put up the Christmas tree. Dad and Vanessa use them every year; they're great."

She's silent, and for some reason, the silence worries me.

"Angel?"

I look down at my phone and see the call has ended. Did she hang up on me, or did we simply lose the connection?

I try to call her back, but it goes straight to voicemail.

s.h.i.t.

"Chelsea! I'm headed out. Call if you need me," I holler as I head out to my truck.

I don't know whether to be mad or amused, and I still haven't made up my mind by the time I reach my front door.

Holy h.e.l.l. My house is absolute madness.

Angel is barricading the doorway, while a man in an ugly Christmas sweater and black dress pants yells at her, his hands on his hips. "Mr. Chadwell said to be here today. He pays us, not you. We do what he says, not what crazy lady says."

Oh h.e.l.l no. I tap him on the shoulder while Angel shoots daggers at me with her eyes. "I'm Mr. Chadwell, and I don't like people who p.i.s.s off the future Mrs. Chadwell. You're fired, and you have thirty seconds to disappear." Clearly, I need to add a new rule to my list: don't let people p.i.s.s off Angel.

He huffs out an aggravated breath, muttering to himself as he instructs his team to retreat. I don't catch everything he says, but it's something about the other Mrs. Chadwell not using him either, and stinking rich b.a.s.t.a.r.ds with no loyalty. I make a mental note to tell Dad that if Vanessa hasn't had someone put the tree up at the farm, he should schedule that soon. With a different company. He turns back just before leaving and shouts, "Good riddance!" and flips us the bird. I caught that part just fine.

I'm chuckling, and so is Angel when I spin around to look at her. Until she catches me looking, and then she's back to p.i.s.sed.

She does at least move out of the way so I can enter my own home, though I get the sense that it's grudgingly. After I empty my pockets of my wallet, keys, and phone and deposit them on the kitchen counter, I turn to her. "Do you have something against Christmas trees?"

Angel crosses her arms against her chest, leaning against the front door. "Do you have a problem with doing things yourself, instead of paying people to do them for you?"

Ouch. I take a moment, considering my response. "I won't apologize for having money, Angel."

She sighs, and as her anger slips I see she's fighting tears. I resist the urge to go to her. "I don't mind that you have money. I mind the way you use it. This is our first Christmas as a couple, and I thought we'd be decorating our tree together." She bites her lip. "Mom and I always made a day of it. It's kind of a thing."

Dammit, I f.u.c.ked this up without a clue. "Baby, all you had to do was say so. If you want to decorate a tree, we'll decorate a tree."

"I didn't realize I had to say so. I think most normal people do their own trees."

I try to remember back to when Mom was around, and I think I can vaguely recall something about popcorn and yarn, but that's about it. It was such a long time ago. "Baby, just be patient with me. I'm going to screw stuff like this up, but I'm willing to learn. Let's decorate the tree."

"Okay." She still looks a little p.i.s.sy, but she's coming around. "Where are your decorations stored? I'll start getting them out."

Oh. She wants to decorate the tree today. "We don't have any."

Her brow furrows. "How can you not have decorations?"

I wave my hand in the air. "Um, we just went through this. We hire people to do it, remember? They coordinate it and make it look good, and we don't have to deal with the ha.s.sle."

She's pouting again. "It's not a ha.s.sle, A. It's special! What about all those special ornaments for things like aBaby's First Christmas,' or ones with your childhood pictures in them?"

"I don't have anything like that, Angel." Now that she mentions it, I wonder if I was missing out. One more casualty of my mother leaving. I have to look away for a minute, to settle the storm brewing inside.

She walks toward me slowly, wrapping her slender arms around my neck. "Then I guess now's as good a time as any to start."

Three hours later, I've frozen my b.a.l.l.s off at a tree farm. Angel pointed out twenty different trees that all looked the same, expecting me to tell her which I liked. I finally just pointed, but she made a face. So I pointed to a different one, and then another one, until at last I pointed and she beamed. "Perfect!"

The store didn't go much better, but eventually we came out with eight strands of lights that will probably have my feet tied together by the end of the evening, and an entire cart full of ornaments. There were plenty of multi-packs of ornaments that we could have just grabbed and been done with it, but she had to pick out each individual one. And dammit, seeing how happy it made her, I'm finding it hard to be cranky. I even picked out one I liked, a silver-and-white angel.

Angel found an angel for the top of the treeawhy can't we just put her picture up there?aand now I'm standing precariously on one of the stools that goes at our center island, pretty sure I'm going to break my neck before this d.a.m.n angel stands up straight.

At last Angel gives her approval, and I climb down.

"What's next?" I ask.

Angel takes me by the hand. "We take a break, and I thank you for being such a good sport. We should make another Christmas memory." She starts to lead me to the bedroom.

This decorating thing might not be so bad after all.

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

a-aa- The morning of the Gala is cold, but clear. There's not a cloud in the sky, and it's one of those perfect winter days. The type of cold that makes you think you're going to freeze your b.a.l.l.s off is right around the corner, but for now everything is balanced on the cusp, not quite winter, not quite fall.

Angel's not liking winter nearly as much as she liked fall, but she's adapting, and more and more I think she's going to be willing to stay here permanently with me. Her mother arrives on Sat.u.r.day, and she's looking forward to seeing her, but I don't get the sense that she's longing for the warmer temperatures of Arizona as much as I feared.

The girls are doing something to get ready that Chelsea says will take them all afternoon. She doesn't want me to see Angel's dress until it's time to go, so I'm getting ready at the bar. I think she believes if I see Angel getting ready I won't let her finish, and we'll never make it out to the Gala. She might be right, on any other day, but this time I'm not dreading the black-tie affair. I get to walk arm in arm with Angel into a room of my father's most powerful friends and have her announced as my fiancee. My chest swells with pride. I don't know why she chose me, but I sure as h.e.l.l want the world to know she did. So my sister doesn't have to worry, there will be no staying home tonight.

I've been thinking about Chelsea a lot lately, and I've come to the conclusion that I've been completely wrong about her. Reflecting back over everything I know regarding my sister, I realize she does want more out of life, but she's so selfless that she focuses on taking care of everyone else. It isn't that she doesn't have ambition, it's that she doesn't ever put herself first. I don't know if that will ever change, but I can at least make sure she's valued, and work my a.s.s off to help her do things for herself, not just for others. She's smart, talented, and loyal to a fault. To start with, I'm going to officially promote her to front-end manager, but more importantly I'm going to trust her judgment on decisions. And I'm going to bide my time until I can figure out what else she might want. I bought her a little sudoku book for Christmas. It cost me less than a dollar, but I'm hoping it's the gesture that will matter, that she'll see that I'm trying to tell her I support her interests, no matter what they are. She doesn't have to hide from me. She shouldn't hide from anyone.

And she certainly doesn't need to hide my fiancee from me. I cringe when I look at the clock and find it's barely moved. I wonder if Ware's as anxious as I am about tonight.

Speaking of Ware, I don't know if he's getting ready with the girls or not. I hope not, because it's not fair for him to be there and me not. I almost call him, maybe ask him to snap a couple of pictures and text them to me, but I don't want to show how anxious I am. So I pout alone in my office, trying to distract myself until it's time to slip into the tux that's been hanging behind my office door since I picked it up from the cleaners a few days ago.

I briefly consider going up to the apartment to shower and shave, but I shaved this morning before I left, and Angel likes running her hands over my five o'clock shadow. Plus it makes me look older, less baby-faced. I decide to forgo the shave and just slip into my tux. Then all that's left to do is watch the clock until it's time to go.

The stubborn-a.s.s clock doesn't want to move. What can I do in the meantime?

It comes to me in a flash of inspiration, and I can't believe I didn't think of it earlier. I check in briefly on Ian and River who are doing prep work in the bar, and when I'm satisfied they can handle it, I climb in my truck. Working the bar isn't the best use of Ian's skills, but tonight I need him to. I thought about calling Dougie, but I didn't think he'd take it well if I called him to come to Tuck's when I need him, yet otherwise expect him to stay away. Kevin a.s.sured me Ian can handle it. It's rare for neither Chelsea nor I to be at the bar, but it's just one night. I trust my staff to handle it.

The florist shop has exactly what I need, and then I'm on my way to the townhouse, my throat tense with nerves, like I swallowed a bunch of the brittle brown leaves that carpet most of the ground near my yard.

I almost feel like I should knock before entering my own house, but f.u.c.k that.

The girls are just coming out of the bedroom when I walk in.

Holy s.h.i.t, Chelsea has outdone herself! Her keen eyes are dark and mysterious, her lips are cherry-red, her hair is curled and pulled back. And to top it all off, her silver gown is like a delicate snowflake, spun into a magnificent garment just for her. My sister is stunning, and I think Ware is going to have a h.e.l.l of a time keeping unwanted attention off of her.

As beautiful as Chelsea is, it's Angel who takes my breath away, leaving me unable to form words. Her hair is swept up, tamed into something I think girls call a achignon' and it makes her look very sophisticated. If I didn't see her bare face every day, I'd think the only makeup she was wearing was lipstick. She's a natural beauty, and it shows. Her blue gownathe same one she was trying on when I proposedashimmers around her as she moves, reminding me of a waterfall glistening under the moonlight.

Angel doesn't seem to be suffering from my lack of words. "You brought me red roses!" she squeals. Our eyes meet above the bouquet in my hands, and I know she remembers.

"Don't you dare cry," Chelsea cautions.

My love for Angel is d.a.m.n near overflowing as I look at her, unable to truly believe she's mine. f.u.c.k, this girl. She destroys me with her touch, and slays me with just a look. I cannot imagine what my life would be like without her, and I'm glad that now I don't have to. "Well, you said yes, so I sort of figured we'd reached that point." I once told her that I knew red roses symbolized love. At the time she was only willing to accept friendship, so I'd brought her a mixed bouquet of yellow and red roses while promising her that someday, they'd be all red.

I turn to Chelsea, offering a tentative smile. I still haven't apologized to her for the way I acted when I saw her and Ware kissing. I've been busy, between wedding plans and working with the architects and contractors to develop our renovation plans for the new location. "Forgive me?" I hand her a single summer's rose, which have always been her favorite, from behind my back.

"Always." She takes the rose, then brings it to her face and sniffs.

"I still don't like the thought of you and Ware, but I promised Tess I'd behave and try to come to terms with it. Speaking of, where is the little s.h.i.t?"

Chelsea's happy expression flees in an instant. "He isn't with you?"

Why would he be? "I didn't realize he was supposed to be. I just a.s.sumed you and he had worked that out."

"No, he was supposed to call you to make arrangements. f.u.c.k."

Chelsea's bordering on panic, but this isn't a big deal. He can just drive himself there, and then drive himself and Chelsea home afterwards. "Just text him the address and tell him to meet us there."

"He wasn't at the apartment before you left?"

I don't remember hearing the sounds of anyone moving around upstairs, but I wasn't listening for it either, distracted with my own thoughts. "I don't know, I didn't go upstairs. I had my tux in my office so I just changed in there."

She shoots me a withering look before grabbing her phone, glancing at it at least once every two seconds as I chauffeur us to the gala. I watch her worriedly in the rear view mirror, hoping that Ware isn't going to disappoint her tonight. I feel only slightly guilty for not making sure I knew what the transportation plans were, but if she told him to call me and set it up, that's on him. I talked to him the other day about being a groomsman, and he sounded distracted but said he'd be honored. He didn't mention anything about riding over to the townhouse with me then. So yeah, it's not my fault.

That doesn't mean seeing Chelsea trying not to freak sits well with me. Obviously he and I are going to have to have a talk, and I'm going to be talking as her brother, not his. I'm willing to make an effort to accept them together, but he d.a.m.n sure better not make her cry, or her rusty spoon will be the least of his worries.

I pull into a long private driveway, lined with mature trees that have been adorned with millions of twinkling white lights for the occasion. We're about twenty minutes outside of the city, and it shows in the vast amount of s.p.a.ce surrounding the property. The Pennsylvania Horseman's Prestige Society holds their annual Christmas Gala at a different member's home each year, open strictly to members and their dates. Vanessa is more than a little peeved that Chadwell Farms has never been selected to host. This year, we're at the farm of one of my father's oldest friends in the horse business.

At the end of the driveway, I pull up and help both of the girls out of the back seat, handing my keys to a valet. The mansion's front columns have been wrapped in fresh green swags, filling the air with the pungent scent of pine. Matching swag garlands adorn the banister of the grand staircase just inside the doorway. There's a guest book on a pedestal to our left as we walk in, sitting next to glowing cinnamon and vanilla candles.

A butler takes the girls' wraps, and then we pause near the entrance to the ballroom. My chest thrums with excitement; the moment I've been antic.i.p.ating is finally here. My mood is only dampened by my worry for Chelsea. Typically, each of the unmarried couples in attendanceausually the children of full-fledged membersaare announced as they enter the ballroom so that the older generation can ooh and ahh while making judgmental comments on the various matches. Who-brought-whom will be a hot topic of conversation for the rest of the evening, trumped only by talk of who came alone.

I hate that Ware is leaving Chelsea to face this alone. For me, entering with Angel will be bliss. But for Chelsea, who hates this entire event, this is going to be torture. The only thing I can do is insist that she enter with me and Angel, so the talk of our engagement can act as a shield for her.

"Ready?" I ask her.

She looks like she's fighting an internal war, but then her face settles into a mask of determination. "I'm going to wait for Ware."

I have a really bad feeling about this, but I'm trying to be better about respecting Chelsea's right to make her own choices, knowing that all I can do is be there for her if she crashes and burns. I give her a quick nod, then lead Tess toward the ballroom. I give our names to the master of ceremonies, then pause on the threshold with Angel's arm tucked tightly onto my elbow.

"I'm nervous," she whispers to me.

"No need to be. You look beautiful, and everyone here will love you. Like I do."

She smiles up at me, and for a moment, everything but us fades away.

"Entering now, we present the newly engaged Axel Chadwell, and fiancee Tess Sterling."

I can tell the exact moment the words sink in through her nerves, and she beams, her eyes radiant. Yes, I feel it too. That heady notion that this is all real, and that after everything we've been though, we actually are here, together, ready to start the rest of our lives.

The room is filled with thunderous applause as I lead her to our table, where Dad is already seated with Vanessa.

Vanessa is her normal unpleasant self, looking like she'd rather be getting a lobotomy than sit here. And yet she's sitting close to Dad, touching him every so often, and when she catches me looking at her she flashes me a fake smile.