The Anthony Brothers - Accidental Love (#1), Contemporary Romance Series by Harmony Bryce Page A
Authors: Harmony Bryce
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especially considering their rather unconventional upbringing.
The pensive expression on her beautiful face was replaced with a smile, the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes crinkling as she thought about what was to come that day.
My sons are coming home. She shut her eyes, anticipating the noise that would replace the constant silence of the large Victorian home she’d lived in for the past decade. I miss them so much.
The house had been so lonely since her sons began to forge lives of their own one by one. They didn’t need her to hold their hands anymore. This was even true of her younger son who technically still lived there, but was usually away in pursuit of his now very promising music career.
She was happy for them, but she missed them.
None of Mavis Anthony’s five sons were born out of her womb, but every single one of them was born out of her heart and they were hers – she was their mom. Nothing could dampen her spirits that day, because they were all coming home.
Chapter One
The knock on the door jolted Mavis awake, making her sit up on the bed with a start. She blinked her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She saw the scrapbook on top of the bed and was reminded of how she’d been reminiscing. She frowned. I must’ve fallen asleep. A surge of panic hit her as she began to wonder what time it was. I wonder where they are. Fond images of her sons began to once again play in her mind.
Once again, someone knocked on her door.
“Ma?” a questioning voice called up from outside her open window.
She could immediately tell who it was and clapped her hands together. She wasn’t sure why he was knocking; he technically still lived there. It was her youngest son. “Come in, Santana!”
The knob twisted and the door creaked open, footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. Santana’s handsome face emerged around the corner of the master bedroom to see her, smiling wide. “Did I wake you?” he asked, concern suddenly traced in his brown eyes.
“No,” she lied. She then pointed at the scrapbook she still held on her lap. “I was just… remembering.”
Santana made his way inside and sat on the edge of her bed, a small smile forming as he looked at the worn scrapbook with affection.
She studied his features – his black hair and bronze, sun-kissed skin – such a stark contrast from her once golden locks and alabaster complexion. When Simon brought Santana home sixteen years ago, he was a frightened three-year-old who’d been passed on between five foster homes in the span of three years since he was put up for adoption. Now, he was a confident, charismatic musician who was already forming quite a following in their hometown.
“Did you get back just now?” she asked him. He’d been away for the past three days for an out-of-town gig with his band.
Santana nodded. He then brushed a stray strand of her hair from her face, tucking it beneath her ear. “You alright, ma?”
She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. He’d always been the affectionate one among the brothers. Santana. Always so passionate about everything that he does. Always refusing to be held captive by rules and regulations -- never afraid to chase after his dreams. She nodded. “I’m just excited to have you and your brothers all in one roof again.”
A mischievous grin then appeared on his face. “Then you’ll be happy to know that three of them are already waiting for you in the living room.”
Her face lit up like a light bulb and she couldn’t get out of the bed fast enough. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? How long have they been there? Who’s there?”
“Relax, ma,” Santana chuckled as she frantically searched the room for her slippers. “They’re not going anywhere. Don’t break your back running after them.”
She was giddy, and absently muttered, “now, where are those slippers?”
Santana got up from the bed to crouch on the ground, checking underneath the bed. As always, her
The pensive expression on her beautiful face was replaced with a smile, the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes crinkling as she thought about what was to come that day.
My sons are coming home. She shut her eyes, anticipating the noise that would replace the constant silence of the large Victorian home she’d lived in for the past decade. I miss them so much.
The house had been so lonely since her sons began to forge lives of their own one by one. They didn’t need her to hold their hands anymore. This was even true of her younger son who technically still lived there, but was usually away in pursuit of his now very promising music career.
She was happy for them, but she missed them.
None of Mavis Anthony’s five sons were born out of her womb, but every single one of them was born out of her heart and they were hers – she was their mom. Nothing could dampen her spirits that day, because they were all coming home.
Chapter One
The knock on the door jolted Mavis awake, making her sit up on the bed with a start. She blinked her eyes, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She saw the scrapbook on top of the bed and was reminded of how she’d been reminiscing. She frowned. I must’ve fallen asleep. A surge of panic hit her as she began to wonder what time it was. I wonder where they are. Fond images of her sons began to once again play in her mind.
Once again, someone knocked on her door.
“Ma?” a questioning voice called up from outside her open window.
She could immediately tell who it was and clapped her hands together. She wasn’t sure why he was knocking; he technically still lived there. It was her youngest son. “Come in, Santana!”
The knob twisted and the door creaked open, footsteps taking the stairs two at a time. Santana’s handsome face emerged around the corner of the master bedroom to see her, smiling wide. “Did I wake you?” he asked, concern suddenly traced in his brown eyes.
“No,” she lied. She then pointed at the scrapbook she still held on her lap. “I was just… remembering.”
Santana made his way inside and sat on the edge of her bed, a small smile forming as he looked at the worn scrapbook with affection.
She studied his features – his black hair and bronze, sun-kissed skin – such a stark contrast from her once golden locks and alabaster complexion. When Simon brought Santana home sixteen years ago, he was a frightened three-year-old who’d been passed on between five foster homes in the span of three years since he was put up for adoption. Now, he was a confident, charismatic musician who was already forming quite a following in their hometown.
“Did you get back just now?” she asked him. He’d been away for the past three days for an out-of-town gig with his band.
Santana nodded. He then brushed a stray strand of her hair from her face, tucking it beneath her ear. “You alright, ma?”
She smiled at him, squeezing his hand. He’d always been the affectionate one among the brothers. Santana. Always so passionate about everything that he does. Always refusing to be held captive by rules and regulations -- never afraid to chase after his dreams. She nodded. “I’m just excited to have you and your brothers all in one roof again.”
A mischievous grin then appeared on his face. “Then you’ll be happy to know that three of them are already waiting for you in the living room.”
Her face lit up like a light bulb and she couldn’t get out of the bed fast enough. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? How long have they been there? Who’s there?”
“Relax, ma,” Santana chuckled as she frantically searched the room for her slippers. “They’re not going anywhere. Don’t break your back running after them.”
She was giddy, and absently muttered, “now, where are those slippers?”
Santana got up from the bed to crouch on the ground, checking underneath the bed. As always, her
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