By His Vow: A Billionaire Arranged Marriage Romance

A knock sounds on my hotel suite door and I make my excuses to end the call I’m stuck on before heading to open it.

Kian and Miles haven’t left the office yet, so that means it can only be one person.

I don’t bother looking through the peephole. Instead, I pull the door wide open and drag the man standing on the other side into a tight hug.

“Fuck,” he grunts when we collide. “Who the fuck are you, and what have you done with my big brother?” Kieran asks as I thump him on the back.

“Missed you, you little shit,” I confess before releasing him and inviting him in.

Little might be pushing it these days. Our scrawny little brother is now both taller and wider than both of us.

“Jeez, someone is feeling a little sappy. I guess that’s what happens when you fall under the spell of a feisty woman.” He flops onto the couch as if he owns the place, spreading his legs wide and resting his head back. “Is that it? Has Tatum Warner broken you already? Kian and I said that⁠—”

“The fuck have you two been talking about behind my back?” I bark. The two of them were always closer growing up. Kian loved playing football, although he was shit at it, while I was always too busy with my head stuck in a book, trying to figure out how to take over the world, one vacation resort at a time. But since Kieran ran off into the NFL sunset as it were, leaving Kian behind to play with numbers, we’ve grown closer. Kieran might be based in Chicago still, but we don’t get to see him much. He’s too busy with football, endorsements, and his foundation. I get it—I’m just as fucking busy. Doesn’t stop me from missing the times the three of us used to spend together.

“Just taking bets on how long it’d take for you to end up pussy-whipped by your new wife.”

“Fucking morons,” I mutter, grabbing two beers from the refrigerator and throwing one in his direction. He catches it with ease before twisting the top and lifting it to his lips. “So, what’s new?” I ask, mimicking his position on the couch opposite.

“Nah, not much. Just got back in from New York this morning. Had a photoshoot for some aftershave.”

“Is that why you smell like you’ve stumbled out of a brothel?” I tease.

“How the fuck would you know what a brothel smells like, Bro?”

“Kian told me about it,” I shoot back. “He goes most weekends,” I deadpan, making Kieran bark out a laugh.

“Pfft, there’s no fucking chance that motherfucker has paid for pussy. He’s too fucking tight.”

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.”

I stopped in on Mom. She told me to send her love and apologies for not attending,” Kieran says cautiously.

Anger knots my stomach.

“That’s great,” I lie.

“You didn’t even invite her, did you?” Kieran studies me, able to read the answer in my eyes.

“She doesn’t want to be a part of this,” I mutter.

Kieran’s mouth opens and closes to argue, but he wisely decides against it and changes the subject.

“So, how are things with the little lady then?”

Draining my beer, I place the bottle on the coffee table between us and stare him dead in the eyes.

“Women are a fucking head fuck.”

His eyes twinkle with amusement.

“Sweet little Tatum giving you the runaround?”

“Sweet? There’s nothing fucking sweet about her.”

“Oh,” he breathes. “Do tell.” He rubs his hands together in interest.

“I don’t know whether I’m coming or fucking going. One minute, things are…” I trail off, thinking of our weekend at the cabin. “Awesome. She’s smart, funny—really fucking funny—and⁠—”

“Hot?” Kieran asks. “You forgot hot.”

I quirk a brow. “Bro, have you got the hots for my fiancée?”

“Dude, do not tell me that you don’t remember her hanging out in that red bikini when we were kids.”

“You were a kid,” I point out. “You shouldn’t have noticed.”

His smirk grows. “You did though, didn’t you?” He chuckles. “Miles was such a fucking idiot for thinking she was safe with you. He thought you hated her, but the truth of it was that you were jerking off over her every night.’

“The fuck?” My temperature spikes. I want to say that it’s out of irritation. The fucking audacity of this fucker. But in all honestly, it’s because he’s fucking right.

“I wonder what happened to that itty bitty red bikini. I bet she’d fill it out good now.”

“I can uninvite you,” I remind him.

“Aw, Bro. Did I touch a nerve? Don’t tell me you keep the panties of that swimsuit in the drawer of your nightstand so you can sniff them before falling asleep?”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” They’re in my wardrobe, and I haven’t sniffed them for years. Not since her scent faded.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “You love me, though. So, what’s the plan? We’re not actually staying in your suite for your bachelor party, are we? That’s fucking lame, man, even for you.”

“I’m getting married tomorrow,” I remind him. “I’m not doing it with a hangover.”

Kieran raises a brow at me, clearly unimpressed with my plan.

“It’s not even a real fucking wedding. Who gives a shit if you turn up half-cut?”

Anger bubbles inside me. “I do. I fucking care.”

Kieran’s eyes widen. “Oh shit, Bro. Have you fallen for her?”

I force out a laugh. “No, I haven’t fucking fallen for her. Tatum War⁠—”

“Callahan,” he corrects like the smug asshole that he is.

“Tatum is the bane of my fucking life. Did Kian tell you about her cat?”This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org: ©.

“Her cat?” he echoes.

“Yes, her fucking cat. She moved it into my apartment.”

To be fair, he attempts to hide his amusement, but it doesn’t last very long because his lips twitch and then he throws his head back and laughs.

“You hate cats.”

“You don’t need to tell me that,” I complain.

“We need more beer for this,” he says, pushing to his feet and marching toward the fridge, pulling out four bottles.

“Fucking thing made me bleed,” I say, lifting my sweater so he can see the healing wound.

“Oh shit. I hope you made her make up for that.” I don’t react. Or at least, I don’t think I do. But something gives me away. “Oh, Bro. You are so fucked. I bet she’s fucking wild in bed. She’s got that glint in her eye that screams ‘I love it hard and dirty.’”

Kieran is getting too excited by his possible discovery to notice that the main door to the suite has been unlocked, or that we’ve been joined by two others. That soon changes when something heavy goes flying across the room. It brushes past my head, a beat before it collides with Kieran’s.

“What the fuck?” he bellows, letting the box of tissues drop into his lap.

“That’s the fucking least you deserve talking about my sister like that, asshole,” Miles sneers.

“Oh Jesus, give me strength,” Kian mutters, throwing his small suitcase and overnight bag over the end of the couch.

“I have beer,” I offer as a substitute.

“I’m gonna need something stronger if these two are going to bicker like little girls all night.”

“Apparently, we’re not allowed adult drinks tonight because they would be too much fun for the old man here before his big day,” Kieran deadpans.

“Yeah, no. Fuck that,” Kian mutters. “I’m not putting up with you lot sober. It’s just not happening.”

He marches over to the drinks cabinet and searches through the options.

“Who the fuck stocked this, our grandmother?”

“Our grandmother is dead,” I point out.

“Exactly,” he spits before picking up the phone and dialing for room service. “You need to get on to whoever is in charge of this shit. It’s not good enough, Kin—Oh yeah, please could we have two bottles of Macallan brought up?” He listens for a moment. “Yes. That’s great. Thank you. Uhh…two hours?” he tags on suspiciously. I narrow my eyes at him. “Perfect. Thank you.”

“What have you done?” I ask before he’s even put the phone down.

“Me?” he asks, pointing at himself as he marches over and swipes one of the bottles of beer from the table. “Nothing, Bro. You wanted a quiet night; I’ve just followed orders,” he agrees before winking at Miles and Kieran.

“I knew Miles should have been my best man. He wouldn’t pull this kind of shit.”

“He’s too busy walking his filthy sister down the aisle,” Kian mutters, earning a scowl from Miles. “And anyway, Miles has never listened to you. If he were in charge, you’d already have a stripper grinding in your lap.”

“He doesn’t want a stripper,” Kieran pipes up, understanding for once. “He wants Tatum naked and—fuck off,” he complains when Miles slaps him.

“Cut it out. It’s an arranged marriage. They don’t even like each other.”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not bumping uglies,” Kieran points out.

“Bumping uglies?” Kian asks, his eyes wide with horror. “What the fuck kind of bullshit are they teaching you in the NFL?”

Kieran smirks. “All the fucking good stuff, Bro. You should see the jersey chasers. Fucking epic, I’m telling you.”

“We’re more than aware,” Miles points out. “Enough of them have shared your intimate secrets all over the socials.”

“You don’t have to read it, you know. But I appreciate the support all the same,” Kieran says, blowing Miles a kiss.

There’s a knock at the door and Kian hops up, pulling his tie free and undoing the first few buttons of his shirt as he goes to answer it.

“Oh hey,” he starts, turning the charm up to max when he finds a girl on the other side.

“Leave her alone, Ki,” Miles calls at exactly the same time Kieran shouts, “Stand well back; he’s got crabs, and they can jump.”

I scrub my hand down my face. What the fuck was I thinking, inviting these three to spend the night with me before my wedding?

Once Kian has pulled himself away from temptation, he grabs four glasses, lines them up on the coffee table and sloshes the tempting amber liquid into them.

After handing them out, he holds his in the air.

“To my big brother. The guy I’ve been forced to look up to all my life. The man who’s taught me everything after I’ve watched him make every mistake in the book. I hope this arranged marriage brings you wealth, happiness, and most importantly, sleepless nights due to all the dirty fucking.” Miles groans as Kian and Kieran hold their glasses out and clink each other’s.

“To dirty fucking Miles’s sister,” Kieran agrees.

Miles punches him in the shoulder, but the fucker is so massive now, I doubt he even feels it before turning his eyes on me.

The warning within them is as clear as day. Hurt my little sister, and I’ll hurt you.

We might be best friends, but even that has its limits. And apparently, it’s Tatum’s heart that has the power to break us apart.

“Bottoms up, baby,” Kian calls before the three of them lift their glasses to their lips and down their drinks.

I hesitate, serious about not being hungover when I say my vows tomorrow. But then, all eyes turn on me and I begin second-guessing myself.

Tipping the glass up, the rich alcohol coats my tongue before sliding down my throat like silk.

Meh, what harm is one, anyway?