Page 71 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

I nudge his arm. “Anything I should know about? What’s with the moony grin?”

Sadie’s probably home for longer than usual from traveling for work. Or they’ve made specific wedding plans. Or honeymoon plans.

He shrugs a shoulder. “Just had a good morning. And I love seeing Max’s art up.”

Huh. I expected something splashier to put the extra wattage in his grin, but after the life we’ve led, this makes sense too. Simple stuff can hit hardest. “You should be damn proud of Max. Which ones are his?”

Beaming—swear to God, the guy could double as a glow stick—he gestures to the two frames closest to us. One sketch is of a classic airplane, but half of it is transformed into a mythical bird, as though it’s flying into another dimension, where it exists in a different corporeal form. The other is a winter landscape beside a pond, but the image reflected is more fantastical. The trees and rocks and flowers are dripping with jewels and grandeur.

“These are amazing. He’ll be better than E soon.”

Des grunts and lifts his chin.

“You scored in the kid department.”

Another guttural sound, definitely in the chuffed neighborhood. My brother excels at nonverbal communication.

“As well as the fiancée department,” I add.

This low rumble is accompanied by a long perusal of Sadie. Then he faces me. “You met with Dad.”

It’s a statement, not a question, and it’s my turn to make a nonverbal sound. Mine hovers in snarl territory. Since Mrs. Jackson’s unpleasant email, I’m more pissed than ever about Dad’s book money. I’ve reached out to her about her property. Her sale price is fair. Her buyer is a friend of a friend of hers who might not be able to get financing, so nothing is set in stone. I, however, have money in a bank account ready to be used, and I’m pretty sure I could convince Mrs. Jackson to sell me her property. But every time I debate making the move, the words blood money swim through my head.

Des stares at my face, so intently I start to overheat. I expect him to launch barked questions, digging for dirt on why the Life Wrecker asked to meet. Why I shut the family out afterward, rock-climbing instead. The last thing I want to do right now is rehash that meeting. I’ll just obsess more over Dad’s dirty book money and his latest text I’ve studiously ignored. There’s something else you need to know. Today is supposed to be a proud, happy day for Desmond.

A muscle worms in his jaw as he studies me. “Maggie still giving you a hard time?” he asks.

The question is a sharp U-turn, but I relax ten notches. I guess Des doesn’t want to ruin today either. “Yes and no. We went on our first official date a few weeks ago, and we’ve seen each other a bunch since. Dinner at her place or mine.” With naked calisthenics before and after, I don’t add. “But she puts on the brakes when emotions run high. Won’t do sleepovers or admit I’m her boyfriend.”

He runs his tongue over his teeth. “Be patient. She’ll come around.”

She comes around me plenty. It’s the idea of opening up more fully that’s the issue. “Do you think she’d be pissed if I pulled the spark plugs on her Jeep? Stranded her so she has to sleep over?”

“Considering she seems like the type of woman who’d gather your favorite hipster clothes and light them on fire for a stunt like that, I say go for it.” He slaps my back. “I’ll bring over marshmallows to roast.”

Maggie wouldn’t stop at lighting my clothes ablaze. She’d include my mountain bike and climbing gear. Rightfully so. “Guess I just need to be extra charming.”

Des nods and stretches his neck, then his posture straightens. “Or I could help.”

He struts toward the entrance, where Maggie just walked in. She looks stunning in her high boots and a green wrap dress, but I don’t have time to appreciate her breath-stealing beauty. Not when my brother’s about to do something that will no doubt embarrass the shit out of me.

Des walks right up to her. She startles briefly, then smiles at him. He smirks and leans closer to her, saying something quietly in her ear. I hurry over, but she already has a hand over her mouth and she’s cracking up.

“Have a great night,” Des tells me and punches my shoulder. The betrayer returns to his family.

I pull Maggie to a quieter end of the gallery. “How badly do I have to hurt him? Bruises, a break, or until he needs his jaw wired shut?”

Still laughing, she says, “Probably just a break.”

I drop my head back and scrub my hand down my face. “What did he tell you?”

“Nothing bad. Just that you’re a great cuddler.”

“Okay…” I say slowly.

“From the time you got into bed with him,” she adds, beaming. “He said you excel at spooning.”

Honest to God. My fucking brother. “I was drunk. Totally shit-faced, and his room was right next to mine. Did he also mention he broke my rib when he sent me flying out of his bed?”