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For the next half hour, Davit told me stories of Crystal, and I didn’t let on how much I enjoyed them.
And I did enjoy them, very much.
Sure, I pretended like I was put upon, but I loved seeing my brother and his new family.
Could barely admit it, even to myself, but I lived vicariously through him.
Got a taste of the kind of life that would never be mine.
And while I might be jealous—just a little—I was happy for him.
“Looks like he’s on his way,” I said.
I was looking out of the window and saw the three SUVs pull up.
Davit walked across the room to look out of the window.
He snorted. “I hadn’t realized how little Father appreciated subtlety,” Davit said.
“What, you think a convoy bigger than a president’s is too eye grabbing?” I said.
He shrugged. “It’s maybe not the way I would have approached it,” Davit said.
“Yes, but as with everything, Father is sending a message, and not just to us,” I said.
“So you suspect we have eyes on? I thought we might,” Davit said.
“I don’t doubt it. I know every family with the wherewithal is keeping an eye on us, trying to figure out if and when they can make a move. So, Father’s little display is to make sure they know he’s back,” I said.
“Yeah,” Davit responded.
He was great with machines but left the craft and pageantry of running the family to my father and me.
Oh, Davit was happy enough to make someone disappear if they needed to. My father was the same, but he also loved to put on a show.
I fell somewhere in between, though in this case, I could appreciate my father’s methods.
Whatever might be going on with us was exactly that.
Something for us.
To the outside world, the Petrosyan family needed to present a united front, and if that meant my father put himself at the head, then I’d tolerate it.
For now.
Five minutes later, the door to my office swung open, and my father walked in.
He grabbed my face and kissed both of my cheeks, then did the same for Davit.
He held Davit’s head and looked down at him.
“What is this?” he asked, looking down at my brother, disgust on his face. “You’re dressed like a miscreant.”
Which was somewhat true.
Davit’s now-standard attire of cargo pants and T-shirts was a far cry from the hand-tailored suits that my father and I wore.
My father backed away from Davit and looked at me. “You think this is acceptable? You let your brother present himself this way?”
