Craving The Wrong Brother (Sloane and Knox) novel Chapter 151

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~~SLOANE~~

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“Well,” the officiant says with a friendly smile on his face, “we’ve made it to the moment that matters most. Knox and Sloane, you’ve chosen to stand here today, just the two of you, because what you have is rare, and real, and enough. You’ve asked to exchange your own vows, so let’s begin. Knox, whenever you’re ready.”

Knox’s fingers tighten around mine the second we’re given the floor.

Seeing the look in his eyes, I know that I made the right decision dragging him to Vegas to get married.

The chapel is small, just as we wanted. There’s a faint floral scent in the air—fake lilies, I think. The windows are frosted, making the whole place glow as light filters through.

It’s the kind of peace I wouldn’t have gotten if I’d let Grandma June take over the wedding preparations.

God.

I’ve learned the hard way that when you’re freshly engaged and still high off that moment, the absolute worst person you can call is your grandmother. Especially when you’ve been avoiding the rest of your family.

You can never be more excited than a grandmother. It’s impossible.

I called her the night of the proposal, still breathless, my hand shaking as I stared at the ring Knox had slid onto my finger just minutes before. She gasped so hard I thought she’d faint, and before I could get through the sentence, “I’m so happy,” she was already calling half of Manhattan.

Within three days, I’d received over seventy texts from people I hadn’t heard from in years. Former classmates. Former coworkers. Distant relatives who once held me as a baby, apparently. Some messages came with congratulations. Some with unsolicited advice. Some with awkward emoji-heavy reactions that made me want to throw my phone across the room.

And every day after that, Grandma June would call with new ideas. A garden theme. A vintage theme. A modern minimalist theme. She wanted cascading flowers. Rose gold chairs. A choreographed dance. She even brought up hiring a celebrity impersonator as the MC. I swear I’m not making that up.

She already had a P*******t board made with my full name on it.

One day, she sent me an image of three almost identical pink nail polish swatches and asked which shade I wanted for the wedding. When I replied, “Aren’t they all the same?” I got a two-minute voice note in return telling me I had no eye for detail and that if I didn’t want to look washed out, I’d better take nail color seriously.

I threw myself face-first onto the bed and groaned into the pillow while Knox sat on the couch and laughed like it was the best comedy he’d seen all year.

“You’re mad because she loves you,” he said, sipping his drink with that smug grin on his face.

He wasn’t laughing when his own family started calling me, though.

His number? Unreachable. On purpose.

Mine? Apparently still open for business. And I kept getting these calls from numbers I didn’t recognize. At first, I ignored them, assuming they were the usual telemarketers or distant cousins trying to squeeze themselves onto my wedding list. But then one of those unknown numbers sent a message.

It was from Julian Hartley. Knox's father, or technically, his uncle. The first time I heard the story, the one about how Julian’s sister had given birth to Knox and disappeared right after, leaving him to be raised by Victoria Hartley, who hated Knox for it… I’d nearly seen red. But with all the chaos coming from my own family, I didn’t have the luxury of being angry for too long. I had to channel it elsewhere.

“Hi, Sloane,” the text said. “I got your number off Finn and was hoping to speak with Knox. I feel like we left things in a bad way, and there were a lot of miscommunications. Let me know if he’s open to talking.”

I knew what that meant. It was his way of saying sorry, probably after his wife spent hours talking him into it. Miscommunication? Really? That's one way to put it. You ruined his life.

When I showed Knox the text, he stared at it for a full thirty seconds, muttered something under his breath, and then deleted it from my phone. He never brought it up again.

Just like that. Over and done.