Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

Amazon ring. "Divas, my baby brother needs prettied up," she said, and the next thing I knew they were stealing Alan. He was probably outside before he even knew I wasn't with him. I tried to protest but Bea cut me off.
    "You're with me for a few— Lukas." She sat in Alan's chair, crossed her legs and broke off a corner of his brownie. "So. Convince me," she said.
    She'd just kidnapped my fiancé. I didn't feel like playing along anymore. "He's twenty-one. I don't have to."
    "Now, see," she said, "I'm already not impressed with your smarts, because I can break you in two if you get mouthy, and Alan's in a Hummer with four girls who'd wrestle alligators for him— I got him a job as our gopher last summer, so they know and love him— and you can't call them but I can." She tossed her hair. "But Alan's no idiot, so I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Let's talk while we get you something decent to get married in." She looked me up and down and shook her head. "Honestly, flannel? My dad owns that very shirt. I can't believe Alan let you anywhere near him."
    This was Alan's beloved sister, I reminded myself. All the family he still had. He adored Bea, and she treasured him, and being hostile wouldn't bother her at all but could really hurt him. "He teased me about the flannel," I admitted, "but he never told me that."
    "Yeah, of course not." She sipped the coffee and made a face. "God, that boy and his sugar." I don't know how she stood up without leaning forward and falling out of her dress or leaning backwards and falling over, but she did. "Where's your car?" she asked, pulling on a leather jacket as we walked out.
    "I'm… not sure you're going to fit," I told her, and pointed out my truck.
    "…yeah." She shrugged. "I'm sure as hell not walking, so let's try."
    "Holy shit," she said when I got in. She'd maneuvered herself into the passenger side, sitting sideways on the seat with her legs folded and taking up a good bit more space than Alan did. "How old is this sardine can?"
    "Twenty years, and it runs perfectly." I switched the garbage hanging on the shifter from her side to mine so it wasn't pressing on her leg. Her heel had to be four inches high. "I've always wondered how women walk in those things."
    "Smart ones don't." She made a face. "But we're the Candy Girls— go ahead, tell me how original that is, I dare you— and stiletto heels are part of the uniform. Until I can do a spinning Crucifix toss without a wobble, I wear them all day every day. God, I love hotel rooms with thick carpet when I'm in for the night."
    "I bet." I checked my mirrors and pulled out. "I don't know where I'm going."
    Bea pulled a touchscreen phone from her tiny purse, tapped it with long fingers. Her nails were short and unpainted. "Go to the light and make a left," she said. "Mall, two miles away. I'm thinking Brooks Brothers will work for you, even if Alan wouldn't be caught dead in there."
    Alan might have felt that way, but I did catch sight of a shiny black Hummer as I drove around the parking lot looking for the Brooks Brothers store, and I felt better.
    "So," Bea said as I "helped' her out of the truck and she barely touched my hand, "I know you're in film school too. What are your plans for the future?"
    I told her as we shopped. She asked about my family, my current and expected income, the home I meant to bring Alan to, and good God did I not know he was afraid of dogs?
    "He likes the swarm," I told her as she shoved me into a dressing room with a formal suit she was sure about though I wasn't. "And Twiggy has claimed him as her human."
    Bea snorted. "Fine. Now listen." Her voice got lower as she talked through the louvered door. "I've spent twenty years trying to keep those damn fools who raised us from killing Alan. He's such a good son, sometimes he tries to do it for them. You need to know how to keep him safe."
    "I… saw that. Over his birthday. He didn't tell you?" It was awkward changing with her voice so close. I distracted myself with the fact that Bea wouldn't be telling me about Alan's depression if she hadn't decided to trust me. That meant I'd be getting my fiancé back without— probably— a fight.
    "Fucking hell," she growled, "I knew it! He didn't say a word, but Mom— what did they do to him?"
    I told her as I took off my flannel shirt and put it in the garbage. Outside the dressing room something crunched violently. Someone gasped.
    "I'll pay for that, sorry!" Bea exclaimed. "Here's