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“How’d you get so smart?”
He preens like a peacock, raking his fingers through his hair. “I was born this way, baby.”
We share a half smile, and then I stare down at my pasta salad as my demons rage.
That’s one thing my brother’s always had going for him, aside from good looks and incredible privilege. He marches to his own beat. After our parents divorced, he stayed with our father, against our mother’s wishes. He has an amazing radar for liars and frauds. He’s got his downsides, of course. He’s too cocky for his own good, which will probably get his heart broken one day.
But at least he’s out there living his life; expectations be damned.
Lightness fills me. It’s like watching a cloud on a spring day. Hopeful. Bright. Warm. Utterly addictive.
I don’t think there’s any going back to the way things were before this weekend. Not with my relationship with my mother. Not after learning about the heinous stipulations of my grandfather’s will.
“Isn’t relationship management sort of what you’re good at?” His eyes twinkle, and he shoots me the smile of a playboy who knows he’s won an argument.
“At work, yes.” In business, I assume everyone has an ulterior motive.
“How is this different?”
My emotions are tied to everything. Twisted and tangled. Except. . . those threads have been cut. I’m free. Not tied or enmeshed in the family drama.
“Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
I reach for my phone, pull up my texts, and reply to Kingston.
Katherine: I’m fine. It’s a long story, but I’m safe and sound. I’ll tell you all about it next time we talk.
Then I scroll down to my half-sister’s name.
Amy: where are you? Mom’s losing her mind.
Not for the first time, I think of asking her to move in with me. Mother and James are rarely home. Amy doesn’t have a terribly stable home life. She’s always out with so-called friends, and she’s obsessed with social media. Being seen.
But we’re not that close, and I don’t want to start a war.
Focus, Katherine.
Katherine: hanging with Ford-he won’t share his chips. monster! hope you’re having a good weekend!
“Done.”
He grabs his phone and circles the table.
“Next step is a snap of us. I’ll post it to my social, and then the press will pick it up and the fervor will die down.”
Okay, that makes sense, even if I don’t love the idea of more photos of me out there, especially without makeup. We both have enough experience with the press to know you can distract them with the story you want them to tell.
But old insecurities are hard to overcome.
“All right.”
If Alex is comfortable being uncomfortable, I can do that too. Right? I’m not sure Ford has ever been uncomfortable. In his skin. In situations. He just seems to glide through life.
Is it because he’s male? Whatever the answer, I’ve envied him for years.
He sprawls into the chair next to mine, throws an arm around my shoulders, and grins up at the camera lens. “Smile, sis.”
I manage something that looks pleasant rather than tortured.
