Twist of Fate

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

Wearing nothing but a pair of jeans and a bad ‘tude, Diego Stone sprawled on the sky bridge of his boat and stared up at the low, pewter-gray San Francisco sky. It was bone-deep cold, restless, and moody— which suited him just fine.

Some people meditated. Diego glared at clouds until they backed off. He had no idea why he’d left sunny, warm, sexy San Diego.

Oh, wait, he did.

He’d received a text asking him to show up for his brother’s important, all-hands-on-deck wedding planning lunch that, as Rocco’s best man, Diego was required to attend. A text. And not from Rocco, but from his fiancé, Tyler, who used emojis like punctuation.

Hands behind his head, feet crossed, Diego purposely relaxed his body one inch at a time. It was a technique he’d learned early on during a childhood as tempestuous and unstable as the sky above him. A childhood he’d spent right here in San Francisco.

The difference was the sky eventually cleared. His family drama never did.

When he emptied his head of the past the best he could, he rose to get things over with. A week back in this city already felt like too long. He knew of only one way to get through it, and that was to plow straight ahead.

As far as command performances went, he could’ve tried a little harder to muster up some enthusiasm, but after ten years of being an island of one, he was out of practice at the whole family thing.

The French House at one p.m., the text had said. And, apparently, his presence was both needed and required. Hilarious, considering that once upon a time when Diego had desperately needed and required Rocco’s presence, he hadn’t gotten it.

Damn. And here he’d told himself that he was over the past.

He’d spent the past few years running a small boat charter service for a guy who didn’t like to get his hands wet. Since he loved being on the water, the job had been tailor-made for him. He also moonlighted as a tattoo artist as well to keep his skills honed, and he loved that gig, too. But “dressing up” these days meant a clean t-shirt tucked into board shorts and calling it effort

The French House was a high-end restaurant he was pretty sure no one in his family had ever been to, but he was willing to bet the place frowned on jeans. Adulting, party of one. Moving below deck, he stripped and stalked to his closet where he upgraded to black pants and a slate-colored button-down, both of which at least matched his mood. At the last minute, he added a jacket because why get this far, only to get refused at the door.

He paused with the jacket, listening to the rigging tick in the wind and the slap of bay water against the hull—home sounds that usually calmed him. Today they only made the silence louder.

He hit the road, still brooding. Russian Hill tried to buck him off the motorcycle, the wind knifed through the seams of his jacket, and the air smelled like ocean and coffee and wet pavement—pure San Francisco.

It’d been a long time since he and Rocco had been in the same room at the same time. Even longer since they’d been in the same room at the same time without yelling at each other.

When he finally walked into the restaurant, a maître d’ with blue, spiked hair and a bowtie greeted him. “I’m here for the Stone wedding planning lunch,” he said.

The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty and wore his bowtie like a warning label. He shook his head. “I don’t see a wedding planning lunch… Oh, but I do see a Stone reservation. This way, sir.” And then he turned and started walking through the restaurant. The place had been built over the pier in such a way that, combined with all the glass walls, it felt like they were walking right on the waves.

For a guy who lived on the water, it was annoying as hell to feel off balance on land. Oh, wait, that wasn’t the water at all, but the fact that he could see a table nestled in a corner of glass walls just up ahead. A table for four. And three of the seats were occupied. Rocco, his fiancé Tyler, and…a blast from Diego’s past that he had thought to never see again.

Daisy Evans.

He staggered back a step as if he’d been shot. Pierced in the damn heart. He put a hand to his chest, shocked to find that he wasn’t actually bleeding. Could’ve fooled him by the amount of pain he was suddenly in.

Ten years, and one look still hit like a rib-cracking wave.

The three at the table looked cozy. His brother, the guy’s fiancé, and the woman Diego had once loved more than life itself leaning into each other, speaking quietly but earnestly, smiling easily, laughing…

The sight stung like salt in a fresh cut.

Diego realized that he’d stopped in his tracks right in the middle of the restaurant. Rocco glanced over and saw him. “Diego,” his brother said, coming to his feet, gesturing him closer.

Diego’s feet took him there, though he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from Daisy. Ten years. It was almost too much to process. It’d been ten years, and just the sight of her still rocked him off his axis. Her hair was darker, sleeker, the curves he remembered were now paired with a lethal kind of poise. But her eyes—those slay-me gray eyes—were the same. With immense difficulty, he tore his gaze off her and looked at his brother.

Rocco grinned. “It’s good to see you.”

Diego didn’t smile or speak. Wasn’t even sure he could. His tongue felt like sandpaper and his chest like a locked box.

The maître d’ was trying to get him to sit. He’d pulled out the empty chair and was gesturing to it with a flourish of his hand. Like he was defusing a bomb.

Not wrong.

Rocco looked at Diego with a half-smile and some worry in his eyes.

He should be a helluva lot more than worried.

Tyler, who Diego had never met, came out of his chair and moved around the table. And then he wrapped Diego up in a hug. The guy was a foot shorter than Diego, but that didn’t deter him one bit. He just gave Diego a warm squeeze as if they were old friends and then pulled back—leaving his hands on Diego’s arms—as he smiled up into his face. “You’re as gorg as the pics promised,” he said. “Nice to finally meet you. Won’t you sit? We’ve ordered, I hope you don’t mind. But Daisy’s on a lunch break from her office and has limited time today.”

Tyler’s smile was weaponized sunshine, resistance was futile.

And then, somehow—Diego would never know how—Tyler gently nudged him into his chair, fussing over him a moment and making sure he had his water and napkin.

Diego let it happen because tackling the social octopus would cause a scene, and he was trying—really trying—not to be that guy.

Tyler then turned and did the same to Rocco, letting his hands linger. “Darling, you too. Let’s sit. Let’s toast. Let’s lunch. Let’s have our little chitchat to clear the air, it’ll all be good.”

Diego’s brother took a deep breath and nodded. Downed a glass of something that was most definitely not champagne. He started to speak but stopped, then swore beneath his breath and rubbed his eyes.

“He’s all verklempt,” Tyler explained to Diego.

Diego nodded. Same. “So…this isn’t a wedding planning lunch,” he said, wishing he had more than a glass of water in front of him. “It’s what? An intervention?”

Because if it was, someone should’ve warned him to pre-game.

Daisy met Diego’s gaze for the first time. Her eyes were still stunning, framed by inky black lashes that drew a man in like she was the only warm haven in a world gone mad. “Diego,” she said softly.

“Daisy.” Hey, look at that. His voice sounded perfectly calm. Casual. Not at all like his heart was about to pound right out of his chest. The heart she’d once slayed.

Points to him for not visibly combusting.

“Diego.” She didn’t seem surprised to see him. As for what her thoughts might be, she kept them damn well hidden, though her voice when she spoke trembled a bit. “Thanks for coming,” she said, like this was a normal thing and not the first time they’d seen each other in ten years. “We’re all just hoping you and Rocco can talk out any…issues so we can make sure things are smooth for the wedding.”

Professional. Polite. Completely devastating.

Her voice was still quiet but husky, just as it used to be, the same tone that had given him more sexual fantasies than any other.

But these days, he no longer thought about her. At least, not that he’d admit. “You’re here…why?”

“Because I asked her,” Rocco said.

At his older brother’s words, Diego cocked his head but didn’t take his eyes off Daisy. “Because…?”

“She’s our wedding planner,” Tyler said smoothly, waving down a waiter and signaling for more wine. “The best in the business.”

Of course she was. Daisy had always turned grit into gold.

Daisy smiled at Tyler and then turned back to Diego. “It’s nice to see you.”

What the hell? He’d fallen asleep on the boat and was dreaming this, right? Nice to see him? Was she kidding? He’d told her that he loved her, and then she’d left. Moved to New York for college without looking back. He opened his mouth to remind her of that fact, but Rocco stood up and tugged on his arm.

“I think we should talk outside.”

Diego wrenched free without looking at him and turned to Daisy. “I need to talk to you.” He had no idea what game she was playing, but he intended to find out.

No plan, just a pulse and too much history.

Daisy opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, Rocco once again put a hand on him.

Diego looked down at his arm. Rocco was older by two years, but at six foot four, Diego had four inches on his brother—most of them harder and leaner. Rocco with his bulkier mass outweighed Diego and was more badass when it came right down to it, but Diego was working on a lot of resentment and anger, so it’d be a solid match.

Which, in a restaurant built on glass, was probably not the vibe.

And a fight long overdue. The words hummed in his bones.

Rocco dropped his hand, dragging his fingers through his shaggy black hair — the same dark, stubborn mess as Diego’s. Apparently his brother had learned a little restraint over the years, but not enough; he jerked his head toward the door and strode out.

Diego followed without looking back.

Which took real effort, because Daisy still lingered behind his ribs like a phantom ache. She looked different. Still girl-next-door pretty, but now there was polish and quiet confidence layered over it. The blue suit dress and matching heels made her look like she could take down Wall Street before lunch, and the way she filled them out made his throat go dry. She’d grown into herself — and maybe out of his league.

She’d always been girl-next-door pretty. And part of what Diego had loved about her was that they’d had a lot in common. Both had grown up on the wrong side of the tracks, the poor kids who didn’t have a penny to their name.

“Well,” he heard her say to Tyler as he walked away. “That went about as well as expected.”

Tyler’s soft laugh followed him out, utterly unconcerned that his fiancé might be walking into a fistfight.

Ahead of him, Rocco pushed out the restaurant doors and walked down the pier to a relatively isolated spot. Instead of turning to face Diego, his brother leaned on the piling and let out a whoosh of air.

Diego stood behind him, waiting.

Finally, Rocco straightened and faced him.

“Nice blind side,” Diego said.

Rocco winced. “I knew you’d take it like that, but Tyler thought a neutral spot would be best.”

“Since when is a place like The French House neutral?”

“We both know you wouldn’t have come to Dad’s house or the tat shop, so I don’t know what the hell your problem is.”

“My problem,” Diego said keeping his tone level only by force of will, “is that you didn’t even try to contact me yourself. And then to sit there like we’re having tea with the queen, only it’s Daisy, my—” He broke off. First love? Hell, first everything. But he wasn’t about to say that. “You could have called me.”

“You wouldn’t have come if I asked.” Rocco shook his head. “I should’ve told you to stay the hell away. Because telling you not to do something makes you do the opposite. You were like that as a kid, too. When Dad told you not to sneak out, you’d do it twice and take pictures.”

True. And besides the point. “I agreed to be your best man,” Diego said. “Why wouldn’t I have come?”

“Because we haven’t gotten along since the day you took off ten years ago.”

Diego stepped closer until they were toe-to-toe. “You think I wanted to leave ten years ago? You think I enjoyed walking away?”

Rocco jabbed a finger into Diego’s chest. “You don’t know what it was like here after Dad died. You’re my brother — you should’ve—”

Diego leaned into the jab, cutting him off. “I’m the one who took care of him for two years after the diagnosis. I was eighteen, juggling classes and hospice visits. Where the hell were you?”

Rocco’s silence was its own confession.

Growing up, Diego and their dad had fought. A lot. Diego got it. He’d been a handful and trouble-bound. Rocco had been just as wild, but he had a way of hiding it, and he’d definitely been the favored son. He and their dad had shared a real relationship that Diego had robbed himself of.

He’d always planned to resolve their issues, he’d just never known how. But time had run out because the ALS had hit hard and fast, and he’d been gone before they could resolve shit. At the time, Diego had wanted to keep him in hospice because all medical opinions led to one thing—his dad wasn’t going to come back from this. The man had been fiercely proud, and Diego knew that being at home in that condition with his sons having to take care of his personal needs would have killed him even faster. He’d never have wanted to be that helpless in front of them.

But Rocco had disagreed. Vehemently. And one night after Diego had left the hospital, Rocco had checked their dad out. It’d taken him half a day to realize his mistake. That in fact, he wasn’t capable of the level of care their dad required. But by then, the insurance wouldn’t cover the costs of readmittance—not unless their dad ended up back in the ICU.

The next morning, Diego had woken to find Rocco gone. He’d left a note saying that he had to get away.

Leaving Diego alone and in charge.

And Rocco had stayed gone. Turned out he’d been in the Bahamas, falling in love and finding a life thousands of miles away.

Their dad had died two years later. Diego had waited until the funeral, which Rocco had shown up for. He’d handed Rocco a stack of medical bills and the keys to the house and The Canvas Shop—the tattoo parlor that had been their dad’s legacy. “My turn,” he’d said and left town.

That had been a decade ago.

Now, they stared at each other until Diego shook his head. “You wanted me here, and I came. Let’s just do what has to be done.”

That’s when he heard it — the sharp, confident click of heels on the wooden planks. The kind of sound that could stop traffic or, in this case, brothers mid-fight. Even before she rounded the corner, he knew.

Daisy.

Her hair was pinned up in a sleek twist that begged to be undone. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but her mouth — soft pink, slightly pursed — told him enough. She looked calm, composed, gorgeous, and completely unimpressed by his bad mood.

“Look,” she said, stopping a few feet away. “If I wanted to watch two men go at each other, I’d stay home and stream reality TV in my PJs.”

There she was — the sass, the spark, the woman who’d once wrecked him with a smile and now looked like she’d invoice him for emotional labor.

Rocco started to speak, but Daisy lifted a hand. “This is clearly a family thing, so I’m heading out. Rocco, I’ll see you tomorrow at the cake tasting.”

“Daisy,” Diego said, her name rough in his throat.

She hesitated a moment before meeting his gaze, making him wonder if she felt any of what he did. As for what the hell it was that he felt, he couldn’t have put it into words even if someone had a gun to his head. “We need to talk too,” he said.

That got him the barest hint of a smile, one completely devoid of humor. “That’s me,” she said lightly. “Always second in the lineup. Why am I not surprised?”

Ouch. Direct hit. He almost admired the aim.

And just like that, she was gone, heels striking the wood like punctuation.

Diego stared after her, every nerve alive. The pier swayed beneath him, but maybe that was just his equilibrium giving up.

*

“Listen,” Rocco said. “I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m getting married next week, and you’re my only family. I want you there. I need you there.” He jabbed a thumb toward the restaurant, which thanks to the glass walls, meant they could see inside.

Tyler was still at the corner table, alone now, watching them. When he saw them look his way, he gave a small finger wave and an encouraging smile.

“See that?” Rocco muttered. “He thinks we’re civilized enough to be trusted alone with each other simply because we’re brothers. That’s how his mind works. And I love him ridiculously enough to want him to keep believing that this is going to be okay.”

Diego studied his brother — older, steadier, and somehow softer than the guy he remembered. Marriage had sanded down his edges. Or maybe Tyler had. Either way, it worked, and he took an extra second to really soak in the sight of the man in front of him, the one he hadn’t seen since…well, their dad’s funeral.

Christ, that had been a day.

“Look,” Rocco said quietly, more seriously, his eyes solemn. “I get it. I shouldn’t have tricked you into coming here, calling the lunch a best man’s thing. But I just…I just wanted to see you, man. I wanted you to be involved this week leading up to the wedding. I wanted… Shit. I wanted it like old times. I was hoping that maybe this could be a chance for us to put our issues aside. Or, hell, maybe we can even figure them out.”

At the unexpected mature side to his brother, Diego took a step back and ran a hand over his face. “When did you grow up?”

Rocco managed a crooked grin. “The day I messed things up with you. Been practicing ever since.”

Diego exhaled. “Why is Daisy your wedding planner?”

“She’s one of my best friends.”

This caught Diego by surprise on a day where he’d thought he couldn’t get more surprised. “Since when?”

“Since she came back to town like five years ago.”

Five years. She’d been here, in his city, while he’d been floating around pretending she didn’t exist. And somehow, his brother had been the one to keep her in his orbit. Perfect. He could feel his chest tightening. He and Daisy had once been best friends—and far more—but they’d not managed to keep in touch once they split. Though somehow, his brother who was the king of not keeping in touch had taken up a relationship with her. It shouldn’t have pissed him off, but it did.

“She’s the best at what she does,” Rocco said. “I need her. But I need you more.”

Diego had no choice here. He wasn’t a complete asshole. And if he were being honest, he’d missed Rocco—much more than he was ready to admit. “Okay. You’ve got me. What do you need?”

Rocco’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Tomorrow’s cake tasting. We’ve had a last-minute change of bakery. Daisy arranged this new one.”

Diego groaned. “If you want this to go smoothly, having me and Daisy in the same room probably isn’t a great idea.”

“I need you both, man.”

Manipulated again. The Stones never missed an opportunity. Diego stared out over the water, jaw tight. “Fine. But I’ll talk to Daisy first.”

Rocco pulled out his phone, tapped something. A second later Diego’s pocket buzzed.

He glanced at the text.

“Daisy’s address,” Rocco said.

“She lives in the same building as The Canvas Shop?”

“Yep, fourth floor.” Rocco gave a small, guilty smile. “Call it a peace offering. Just, uh…maybe don’t tell her I sent it. No sense in her hating both of us.”

Too late, Diego thought. But thanks for playing.