Under My Sister's Roof

A Place to Stay

The last thing I wanted was to move back in with my older sister at twenty-five.

Unfortunately, life had never cared what I wanted.

I stared through the taxi window as Atlanta’s skyline came into view, forehead pressed to the cool glass. Three years abroad, one failed career, and too many bad decisions had dragged me right back to the beginning.

Home. Or rather, my sister’s house.

My phone buzzed.

Vanessa: Where are you?

Me: Almost there.

Vanessa: I’ve been waiting! Did you eat?

I smiled despite myself. That was Vanessa, location and stomach in the same breath.

The taxi turned onto a quiet street of enormous houses and manicured lawns. When we stopped in front of hers, I almost told the driver to turn around. Two stories of pale stone and glass sat behind a black gate. Warm lights glowed through the windows. A dark SUV and a sleek black sedan waited in the driveway like they belonged in a magazine.

I paid the driver, dragged my suitcase out, and pressed the intercom. The gate opened at once.

Vanessa flew down the path in her slippers and wrapped me in a fierce hug.

“Janine!”

“Let me breathe,” I laughed.

“Three years. You don’t get to complain.”

She pulled back, eyes scanning me. “You’ve lost weight.”

“Hello to you too.”

“Have you been eating?”

“Yes, Mother.”

We grinned at each other the way we always had, then she took my hand and pulled me inside.

The house was ridiculous, floor-to-ceiling windows, cream furniture, a chandelier that belonged in a hotel, fresh flowers that somehow looked expensive. I turned in a slow circle.

“Okay. I see you.”

Vanessa laughed. “What does that mean?”

“It means even the flowers are richer than me.”

She smacked my arm. For a few minutes it felt normal, just two sisters teasing. Then her eyes drifted to my suitcase.

“Any word from the companies you applied to?”

I looked away. “Not yet.”

“How many…”

“Vanessa.”

Her face softened. “You’re welcome here as long as you need. You don’t have to figure everything out tonight.”

The kindness stung more than the questions. “I appreciate it.”

“You’re my sister. You don’t have to thank me.”

I glanced around. “Where’s the famous Liam Anderson? I need to meet the man who stole you.”

“Study. Finishing work. Come on, I’ll show you your room first.”

The guest room at the end of the hall was larger than most apartments I’d lived in. King bed, walk-in closet, private bathroom overlooking the garden. I stood in the doorway, stunned.

“This is the guest room?”

“Yes.”

“Then what does yours look like?”

She laughed, set my suitcase down, and left me to unpack. For the first time in weeks I could actually breathe. Find a job. Save money. Get my own place. Simple plan.

I was still folding clothes when a car door slammed outside. Moments later the front door opened.

“Vanessa?”

The voice was deep, smooth, unmistakably male. It slid under my skin like heat.

I changed into a cleaner top, checked the mirror, and went downstairs with my pulse already too fast.

Their voices drifted from the kitchen. I stepped into the doorway.

“Excuse me. Private meeting, or can the unemployed relative join?”

Vanessa smiled. “There you are. Liam, come meet my sister properly.”

He stepped into view.

Every clever line I’d prepared vanished.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark navy shirt rolled to the forearms, black trousers that fit like they’d been made for him alone. Silver watch at his wrist. Neat hair, sharp jaw, dark eyes that landed on me with quiet, assessing interest.

He looked expensive. Controlled. Dangerous in the exact way a man shouldn’t look when he belonged to your sister.

“Janine,” Vanessa said, “this is my husband, Liam.”

He offered his hand. “Good to finally meet you.”

His voice was even better up close.

I took his hand. Warm. Firm. The contact shot straight up my arm. I should have let go.

Instead my gaze dropped, just for a second, completely against every rule I had.

The trousers were tailored so closely the soft, heavy outline of him was unmistakable. Thick. Resting along his left thigh. The fabric strained just enough to show the shape, the weight of it. My mouth went dry. For one reckless heartbeat I imagined the heat of it under my palm, how it would fill my hand the way his handshake already did.

I jerked my eyes up and released him too quickly. His eyebrows lifted a fraction.

Heat flooded my neck.

“So,” I managed, “you’re the man who stole my sister.”

Vanessa groaned. “Janine!”

Liam’s mouth curved. “Stole her?”

“She used to answer my calls.”

“You called during a meeting,” Vanessa protested.

Liam chuckled, low, brief, devastating. The sound loosened something in my stomach.

“Vanessa talks about you often,” he said. “Mostly good things. She did mention you have a talent for trouble.”

I gasped in mock betrayal. The conversation turned light, old stories, purple hair dye, laughter. But every time he smiled, every time his forearm flexed when he reached for something, my attention snagged. And the memory of that thick outline stayed burned behind my eyes.

Dinner was served. I sat across from him and tried to act normal.

“What kind of work are you looking for?” he asked, unfolding his napkin.

“Something that pays enough to get me out of your guest room.”

A faint smile. “Reasonable. Your sister said marketing.”

“Communications degree. Some experience. Looking for the right fit.”

“Real estate companies always need marketing and client relations people. Send me your résumé. I’ll have someone look at it.”

He said it like a simple fact, not a favor. I nodded, grateful and unsettled at once.

Throughout the meal I kept catching myself watching him, the way he listened to Vanessa, the quiet way he reached for her hand, the controlled strength in his movements. They looked perfect together. Established. Happy.

I was happy for her.

I was.

But I also couldn’t stop noticing the crease between his brows when he concentrated, the low timber of his voice, the way those black trousers shifted when he leaned back, reminding me all over again of what I’d already seen and shouldn’t have.

After dinner Vanessa showed me the rest of the house. Liam disappeared to his study. When we finally reached my room she leaned against the doorframe.

“So. What do you think of Liam?”

Safe answers existed. Nice. Polite. Helpful.

My mouth betrayed me. “He’s very handsome.”

She burst out laughing. “I knew you’d say that.”

“I’m not blind.”

“No, you’re not.” Her smile softened. “He’s a good man, Janine. He works hard. He takes care of the people he loves. He’s always been there for me.”

The quiet certainty in her voice made the room feel smaller.

“I know,” I said.

She hugged me. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

When the door closed I leaned against it, then crossed to the bed and checked my phone.

Maya: LANDING CONFIRMED? MEET THE FAMOUS BROTHER-IN-LAW YET?

Me: Yes.

Maya: AND?

I stared at the screen. Dark eyes. That voice. The warm pressure of his hand. And the unmistakable thick bulge I hadn’t been supposed to notice, hadn’t been able to stop noticing.

Me: He’s ridiculously handsome.

Laughing emojis flooded back.

I dropped the phone and covered my face.

This was ridiculous. I was here to find a job, save money, get my life together. Not to fixate on a married man. Not to keep replaying the exact shape of him behind those tailored trousers. Not to spend my first night under my sister’s roof wondering how heavy he would feel in my hand.

I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed.

Tomorrow I would update my résumé.

Tomorrow I would apply for jobs.

Tomorrow I would be sensible.

But as I closed my eyes the same inconvenient truth followed me into the dark: I had known Liam Anderson existed for three years. Meeting him in person, seeing the way those trousers clung, feeling the strength in his grip, catching that one forbidden glance at the thick length of him, had changed everything.

Getting used to having him around was going to be much harder than I expected.