“Why are you looking through my phone?”
“I didn’t charge mine, and I couldn’t find your charger. I was bored.”
“Fine, surf the internet or Facebook or Insta, but why are you reading my shit?”
“I didn’t read anything. A text came through. I didn’t read it even though I really wanted to.” Her eyes cut away from him and then returned quickly. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I did scroll through your pictures. Thankfully, you didn’t have any inappropriate snaps.”
He shook his head. “Really, Sheena?”
She shrugged. “Guys do stupid things. Dick pics, et cetera.”
Tristan shook his head. “You’re cracked.” He picked up his ID and money clip, shoving them in his pocket. “Let’s go.”
“Don’t you want to read your text?”
“Shut up, Sheena.”
Sheena pushed him in the shoulder. He glared at her before he shoved her back. She flicked him in the ear.
“Why was I excited to see you?” he asked as he reached out and pulled a lock of her hair.
“You love me.”
“Not right at this moment. But, aye.” He held the door open for her. “Room 812,” he directed.
“Are you going to tell me?” Sheena asked.
“No.”
“You should have made something up,” she said thoughtfully. “Now, I know whatever it is you’re withholding is a big deal.”
“You know nothing,” he countered confidently.
If he showed weakness to his siblings, Sheena especially, it was like inviting the big bad wolf into your house. Big eyes, big ears, big, sharp teeth in a big, loud mouth.
“Mom loved the picture. She said—”
Tristan pulled up so abruptly that Sheena took several steps before she noticed. His face must have registered some horror because she walked back to him, looking contrite.
“You did not send that picture to Mom.” A statement.
Sheena’s perfectly tended eyebrows furrowed. “I did.”
“Sheena.” His voice was plaintive and whiny. “Bloody hell,” he swore. He leaned against the wall and hung his head. “What were you thinking?”
“Have you seen that picture of the two of you?”
He had. Over the last week, he’d studied it, smiling every single time. His chin resting on her shoulder, their heads tilted together, her ice-blue eyes sparkling, even in the dim light from the bonfire.
“It’s cute as hell,” she continued. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a picture of her smiling, let alone on the verge of laughter. And you … you look like you were just awarded that trophy for the best footballer.”
“Ballon d’Or,” he responded absentmindedly.
“Right, that. I wasn’t thinking anything other than Mom would get a kick out of seeing it.” She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Ya know, if you posted that picture on your social media, the Ice Princess would have a whole new image.”
He grunted.
“I’m