Love Redesigned (Lakefront Billionaires #1) by Lauren Asher

And while some were willing to accept that about me at first, all of them had the same reaction when I told them I wasn’t interested in having kids—at least not in the way they wanted.

My mom frowns. “Her mother said Annabelle felt something special between you two.”

“Better wife her up before she comes to her senses,” Dahlia adds.

I glare at her. “She wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Obviously not if she thought you two were special.”

Remember that apology you practiced? Forget it.

“Dahlia!” Rosa chides.

She winces. “What?”

Her mom shoots her a look. “You know what.”

“Perdón.” She sinks deeper into the dining chair.

Perdón: Sorry.



I fight back a smile.

Dahlia scratches the tip of her nose with her middle finger.

“That’s it.” Rosa throws her napkin on the table and points a finger at her daughter. “You’re in charge of dishes.”

“But I got my nails done yesterday.” She holds up her hands, showing off her intricate nail art.

“Wear my rubber gloves, then.”

“Here you go.” I place my plate on top of Dahlia’s cleared one, making her scowl.

My mom throws her napkin on the table with a dramatic sigh. “Since you’re in the mood to be helpful, you can do the dishes too.”

“What?”

“Dahlia wouldn’t be in trouble if you didn’t keep bothering her all day.”

“She’s the one who started it.”

“And I’m ending it. Go.”

I scoot my chair out and stand with a scowl. “Fine.”

Dahlia and I silently collect everyone’s dishes before entering the kitchen.

“You wash and I dry?” she asks as the door swings shut behind her.

“You don’t have a dishwasher?”

“It broke last night.”

Great. “I’ll take a look at it once we’re done.” I place the dirty dishes in the sink before rolling up my sleeves.

Dahlia tracks my every move with heated fascination, making my stomach clench.

Shit. “Do you have gloves?” I ask.

She snaps out of whatever trance my arms had her in. “Um, yeah.” She digs through the cabinet beneath the sink and pulls out a large pair of pink gloves.

I grab them from her, ignoring the tingle of her fingers brushing across mine. Both of us pull away a little too fast. I put the gloves on with too much force, nearly ripping one of them.

Dahlia searches the laundry room for a clean towel while I busy myself with the dishes.

She returns, only to pause midstride so she can snap a photo of me washing a plate. “Aw. The color of the gloves really brings out your cheeks.”

“Delete that.”

“Nope.” She tucks her phone into her back pocket and leans against the counter beside me.

I drop the dish in the dirty water. Soap suds and water droplets fly from the big splash, landing on both of us.

“Hey!” She wipes a few drops off her face.

I take advantage of her distraction to steal the phone from her back pocket.

“Give that back!” Dahlia reaches for her phone, but I hold it above her head.

I struggle to rip one of the rubber gloves off thanks to the soap covering it, but somehow manage to bite down on the tip of one finger and pull.

“Julian!” She claws at my arm with her freshly manicured nails.

I can vaguely overhear Rosa speaking from the other room, asking if she should go check on us, only for my mother to assure her that everything is fine.

“What’s your password?” I ask while attempting a few number combinations myself.

“Screw you.” She turns her attention toward the spot between my ribs that has me jolting.

“Give it back.” She tickles me again, and my grip on the phone slips.

Oh fuck.

Her phone falls into the sink full of water and lands at the bottom with a sickening thud.

“Oh my fucking God! I’m going to kill you!” She dives for the phone and pulls it out. Water drips everywhere as she does everything in her power to turn it back on.

I rip the other glove off and run my fingers through my hair. “Shit. I’m so sorry.”

She scowls hard enough to make me take a step back. “You’re sorry?”

“It slipped.”

“It wouldn’t have been in your hands had you not accosted me.”

“Accosted? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” A small laugh escapes me.

My reaction seems to fuel the fire behind her eyes. “I’ll show you dramatic.”

With a burst of impressive speed, she grabs my phone from my back pocket and tosses it like a football into the sink. The glass screen hits the side of a heavy metal pot before plunging to the bottom of the sink.

Both of our mouths drop open as the cracked screen flickers once before going black.

“I can’t believe I did that.” She stares up at me with wide eyes.

“I can.” I seethe.

Five deep breaths.

Except five doesn’t exactly cut it. Twenty breaths later, I’m still fighting the urge to snap at the woman beside me.

El que se enoja pierde, my dad’s go-to proverb, echoes through my head, easing some of my irritation.