Stand Me Up? I'll Marry His Billionaire Uncle novel Chapter 9

Sunny was caught off guard by the abrupt question.

She'd just been teasing Tristan, but now the tables had turned—her smile vanished in an instant.

If Tristan was nervous around the man before them, Sunny wanted even less to run into Uncle Stellan.

—

When Sunny was sixteen, she spent a month rehearsing her confession in her head. Finally, one evening when the Lawson adults were out, she worked up the nerve to seek Tristan out and tell him how she felt.

She stood outside Tristan's bedroom, head bowed, eyes fixed on the tips of her shoes. Her palms were sweaty as she summoned every ounce of courage and knocked.

The door creaked open. Sunny kept her gaze glued to the floor, too flustered to look at the boy who'd stolen her heart.

With cheeks burning, she finally managed to whisper, "Tristan, I—I like you."

It was a memory she wished she could erase forever. Because the next thing she heard was a man's gentle, apologetic voice: "Sunny, Tristan's room is downstairs."

Horrified, Sunny's eyes snapped up—only to find herself face-to-face not with Tristan, but with his Uncle Stellan.

He stood there, a towel carelessly slung around his waist, the faint scent of soap lingering in the air. His eyes curved with mild amusement and a hint of confusion.

Sunny couldn't bear to meet his gaze. She blurted out an apology, spun on her heel, and bolted down the stairs without looking back.

For months after that, she didn't dare set foot inside the Lawson home.

—

"What are you daydreaming about?" Tristan tugged at her sleeve, pulling Sunny back to the present.

She immediately dropped her gaze, her voice shrinking to a mumble. "Good evening, Uncle Stellan."

Tristan clicked his tongue in mild annoyance. Just moments ago, Sunny had been fierce and unrestrained with him, but one look at Uncle Stellan and she turned meek as a mouse.

"Uncle Stellan, we were just talking about you. You've been gone for years—everyone's missed you."

She hurried to pick up the shards.

"Ow…" Luna hissed as bright red welled up from her finger.

"Careful!" Tristan rushed to her side in an instant, gently cradling her injured hand. There was a familiar warmth in his voice as he scolded her, "You're always so careless."

"Grandpa, I'll take Luna to patch this up."

Without another glance at the table—or the sour looks from the rest of the family—Tristan wrapped an arm around Luna's trembling shoulders and led her away.

Heh, of course he had to hurry up and tend to her. Any slower and the wound would have healed on its own.

Abbot wasn't the only one whose expression soured; Magnus, Tristan's mother, looked equally displeased.

As if anyone at the table could be fooled by their son's little secret.

Annabelle smiled gently, patting Sunny's hand. "Sunny, Luna's been frail since she was a child. Tristan's just used to looking after his little sister."