Chapter 4

Bianca

I was halfway through my breakfast the following morning—a healthy bowl of oatmeal with fruit to combat the feast I had last night—when Bjorn, Miles, and Xander sauntered into the dining room like they owned the place.

I immediately tensed when I saw all three of them together. They were always stronger as a trio, like three vultures picking at the same carcass.

“Well, well,” Bjorn’s booming voice filled the room as he spotted me. “If it isn’t our dear sister-in-law, all alone this morning.”

I continued eating my breakfast, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. Maybe if I ignored them, I thought, they would get bored and leave. But of course, that was wishful thinking when it came to those three.

“I heard Isaac didn’t come home last night,” Xander said, dropping into the chair across from me. “Not that I’m surprised. The yacht party must have been quite the event.”

Miles, the quieter but equally insufferable brother out of the bunch, took the seat beside Miles. “Must be hard, being stuck here while he’s out having fun with his… friends.”

The way he said “friends” made it clear exactly what kind of friends he was implying.

“I was perfectly content spending the evening alone, thank you,” I said calmly, taking a sip of my orange juice. “Some of us don’t need constant entertainment.”

Bjorn laughed. “Oh, I’m sure. But we all know how Isaac is. Once a playboy, always a playboy, right? I mean, can you blame him? A man has… needs.” His eyes flicked down to my swollen belly. “Especially when his wife is all…” He made a vague gesture with his hands.

“All what?” I challenged, my eyes narrowing.

“You know.” Bjorn’s smirk widened. “Pregnant. Fat. Hormonal. Gorging herself on pizza late at night with another man. Not exactly the picture of sexiness, is it?”

My fingers tightened around my coffee mug, and Clara growled, taking a step forward. Had they been spying on me last night? I was two seconds away from throwing the scalding liquid directly in his smug face. I could already imagine the satisfaction of watching him howl as the hot coffee dripped down his stupid beard.

“You can call off your guard dog, Princess,” Xander chimed in, kicking his feet up on the table. “My brother only speaks the truth: Isaac has always had a wandering eye. And now, with you looking like this, it’s only natural he’d seek comfort elsewhere. With women who still have their figures.”

That was it. I was going to murder all three of them. I was already rising from my chair, coffee mug in hand, when the dining room door swung open and Isaac himself walked in. Clara immediately straightened, although her face remained thunderous.

Isaac looked tired, with faint shadows under his eyes, but otherwise unrumpled in fresh clothes. If he’d been out partying all night, he’d at least had the decency to shower and change before coming to breakfast.

“Morning, Princess,” he greeted me with a smile and a forehead-kiss. “Bjorn. Xander. Miles. My my, all three of you in one room. That explains the smell. Are you bothering these two ladies?”

Miles bristled, but Bjorn said, “We were just keeping your lovely wife company. Telling her all about your wild night out on Ethan’s yacht. Must have been quite the party.”

Isaac’s expression didn’t change as he walked to the sideboard and filled a plate with eggs and bacon. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?” Miles chuckled. “No models on board this time?”

I watched Isaac carefully, but his face remained impassive as he added a piece of toast to his plate. “If there were, I didn’t notice. Bit of a sausage fest, if you ask me.”

Bjorn snorted. “Ah. Perhaps your tastes have changed, brother.”

Xander smirked and tilted his head, winking at me conspiratorially. “We always suspected your husband preferred male company, even as a little boy.”

Isaac finally turned to face his brothers, and I was surprised to find that his expression was perfectly neutral as he sipped his coffee. In fact, he even chuckled. Chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose I was always the one who picked flowers in the outfield during our childhood baseball games,” he mused.

I blinked, stunned. Isaac wasn’t just letting his brothers trod all over him, but he was practically helping them do it. Laying down belly-up and saying, “Here I am, brothers! Why don’t you step right on my balls, too?”

“Anyway,” Xander said, standing up, “We just wanted to say good morning. And remind you about the family meeting this afternoon. Try not to be late this time, Isaac.”

“Or do,” Bjorn added. “No one expects anything different from you anyway.”

With that parting shot, the three Stooges left the dining room, leaving a tense silence in their wake.

I turned to Isaac, still seething. “How can you let them talk to you like that? Not just let them, but assist them in it?”

Isaac took a bite of his eggs, seemingly unbothered. “I’ve had worse. Besides, what would you have me do? Start a fight at breakfast? That would really prove I’m mature and responsible.”

I wanted to argue—I mean, where was the man who fought Mason at our own wedding?—but I bit my tongue. Isaac had spent his entire life dealing with this kind of treatment. He’d developed his own ways of coping, and me getting outraged on his behalf probably wasn’t helping.

“So,” I said instead, changing the subject, “how was the yacht party, really?”

Isaac chewed thoughtfully for a moment. “It was fine. Just Ethan and some friends. Nothing wild.”

There was something off about his answer, though. A hesitation, a flicker in his eyes that suggested he wasn’t telling me everything. But before I could press further, he asked, “What about you? How was your evening?”

I felt a strange hesitation creep over me. “I worked late,” I said, which was true but incomplete.

“Alone?”

The question hung in the air between us, and I suddenly felt awkward about admitting I’d spent the evening with Zane. Not that anything inappropriate had happened—far from it. But given Isaac’s reaction to Zane in the past, I wasn’t sure how he’d take it.

“Actually, no,” I admitted finally. “Zane helped me with the Shelter Project. We ordered pizza and stayed up late.”

Isaac’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Clara wasn’t there?” He glanced at my bodyguard, who lifted her chin.

“Princess Bianca dismissed me earlier last night since Zane was with her.”

“It was just work, Isaac,” I said slowly.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t,” Isaac replied, but there was no mistaking the way his eyes flashed slightly. “I’m sure he was very… helpful.”

“He was. We got a lot done.”

No thanks to you, I wanted to say, but even I wasn’t that vindictive.

“Well, I’m glad you weren’t alone,” he said, pushing his plate away half-eaten. “And I’m glad Zane is being so attentive.”

There it was again—that slight edge to his voice when he said Zane’s name.

He was jealous. Very jealous.

After saying our goodbyes, I watched him leave, my breakfast forgotten. I exchanged a look with Clara, who seemed to be having similar thoughts.

Isaac was jealous—that much was clear. But why would he be jealous if he had actually spent the night with other women (or even men), as his brothers had implied?

No, there was no way Isaac had fallen back into his old habits. His blatant jealousy proved that. How could he be jealous if he was doing the very same thing he was jealous of?

Which made me wonder… what really went on last night that he wasn’t telling me?