When I ring, a housekeeper answers the door. She’s dressed in a pristine shirt and tidy slacks. Her comfortably roun
ded face creases with a big, welcoming grin. “You must be Court. Tony told me you’d be coming by. I’m Shelly.”
“Hi, Shelly.” I smile.
“Come on in.”
She leads me into the foyer. Lots of shiny marble, chandeliers dripping crystal tears and bright natural light. The interior is classy and modern at the same time, nothing like the sterile place Tony used to live in. Ivy clearly had a hand in the design.
Shelly brings me to a living room large enough to host a football game. My eyes zero in on its best feature—a fully stocked bar in the far corner.
Shelly leaves, closing the door behind her. I spot Edgar and Tony in armchairs set near huge bay windows. A couple of thick rugs sit in front of a huge unlit fireplace.
Edgar is sturdy and physically imposing, like our dad. Unlike Tony and me, he took after our sire in more ways than one. That includes his drive to see Blackwood Energy succeed and grow even more. And not even an azure polo shirt and shorts can diminish the stark intensity of his presence.
Tony, on the other hand, is more like me, at least in appearance. We both got our looks from our mom. He’s totally relaxed in a simple V-neck green shirt that matches his eyes and loose, lightweight khakis. His pose is lazy and content—Ivy’s doing. She’s done a lot to turn him from a tormented soul into this epitome of satisfaction and bliss.
“Where’s Ivy?” I say, ready to whisk her away so my whipped bro can prep for their first anniversary.
“Julie came by this morning to take her shopping,” Tony says.
“Oh. Well, okay. Cool.” That’s probably more fun for Ivy than hanging out with me. Julie’s not only hilarious, but Ivy’s best friend. “Was she my backup?” He never said anything about having one.
“Nope. She just showed.”
“Why did you ask me to come, then?”
“Because Julie wasn’t here when I texted you.”
“So I came here for nothing,” I say in token protest, then move to the bar and pour myself a drink, which is clearly the least I deserve. Not for showing up, but for putting up with how the day began.
Tony quirks an eyebrow. “Not nothing, apparently.”
“Why don’t you get me a drink too?” Edgar says.
“What are you in the mood for?” I ask. He usually prefers brandy or whiskey, but sometimes he drinks wine.
“Whiskey’s fine.”
I bring both the drinks.
“So. The gift. Is it here yet?” I say, settling into my seat.
“The guys should get here any time now to set it up.”
Just then, the intercom buzzes. Tony checks his phone. “Aaand speak of the devil.”
While he goes to take the delivery, I drink the whiskey. I should be relaxed and happy with my brothers around. I like them, and they’re cool and supportive. But relaxed and happy is the last thing I’m feeling right now. I keep thinking about Skittles—and what she did.
I tap my knee slowly. Did I do something to upset her last night? Maybe I said something I shouldn’t have? But no matter how hard I try, I can’t come up with anything. Unless Skittles doesn’t like being told how hot she is.
And let’s say I did say something stupid I don’t remember. Why did she run like that? If she was upset, she could’ve just said something.
Did she think I’d go through her stuff and try to find out who she is? It’s true I want to see her again, but I wouldn’t violate her privacy that way.
Maybe she went through my stuff… Hmm. No, I doubt that. She didn’t seem like the type. Besides, it isn’t like my name is Harcourt Bluebeard.
Maybe she had a bad experience with some motherfucker. Damn it. This is why there needs to be an anti-asshole society that beats up assholes who scar women.