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“Poor guys. Must be tough living in your shadow. My sister got all the talent in our family, so obviously I hate her and her flawless ability to do everything that matters well.” Like use chopsticks.
Doliver hums, stirs his soup with his straw. “I’m the youngest, and I don’t exactly cast much of a shadow.”
“What, are they movie stars?”
His gaze drifts. “Politicians.”
When he glances my way, whatever my face has done makes him tumble into another fit of laughter.
“If you’re the family disappointment because you aren’t in politics and they’ve made you think you aren’t enough for your beloved princess on account of it, we’re cutting them out of your life yesterday. I have craft scissors. Never used. Very sharp.”
He threads his fingers through his hair and grins at me, all dimples. It steals the breath from my lungs. “They’re not the worst. We’re just very different.”
“Yes, from the information I have heard so far, you have a soul.”
“Not all politicians are bad. At least not in the context I’m referring to.”
I arch a brow.
“They’re good leaders. Especially my eldest brother, Markov.”
“I’d ask what field they’re in or what they do, but I wouldn’t understand it at all, so…”
“Picture it like this: figuratively, Markov is king; the rest of my brothers are princes; I am a tree stump.”
I grimace. “No, I don’t like that picture.”
“Fine. I’m akin to the court jester, with my cute little songs and my funny little guitar.”
“Your guitar is beautiful, and I am accepting no slander against her.”
His brows rise. “My guitar is a girl?”
“Obviously.”
“What’s her name?”
In my fanfiction, he names his guitar after the girl. Since I’m not exactly a freak of nature, the girl is not named Brittny.
Ahem.
She’s named Britney.
Which is absolutely a common name and not incriminating in any way, shape, or form.
“Alana,” I say, inconspicuously refusing to meet his eyes.
He smirks. “Your sister’s name?”
I do not remember mentioning the name of my sister; however, I have forgotten more important things before. “It’s a great name. Everything about my sister is great. I’m the tree stump between us. She’s wild and free, and I’m just here, grounded.”
“Right. Is this the part where I call you a hypocrite?”
“Excuse you. I’m not letting my lack of confidence hold me back from confessing undying love and living happily ever after with a woman I’m not even sure is real at this point. Are we certain you’re not communicating with artificial intelligence? She might secretly be a robot.”
“I’m positive she’s not a robot.”
“Do you have a picture?”
