All right, that isn’t fair. I know Ty well. Well enough, I trust him.
He rests his back on the couch. Takes a long sip. Lets out an easy sigh.
He’s wearing a suit, but he still looks at home. But then isn’t today… a Wednesday? I’m not sure. I lost track a few days ago.
If Ian and Ty went into the office—it must be a workday. He’s supposed to be at work. But he’s here.
“You’re taking time off to babysit me?” I ask.
“None of my babysitters fixed me Manhattans.”
“No? Only straight gin on the rocks?”
He laughs. It’s an easy laugh. It lights up his eyes.
He really is handsome. He looks so much like Ian but so different too.
He’s confident, rich, sexy.
But I don’t want him. Not even a little.
He’s just… not Ian.
Ugh.
I take another sip. Let it warm my lips, tongue, throat. “I need to find that babysitter.”
“What am I?”
“Loyal to your brother.”
He nods fair. “But I mix a good cocktail.”
“Cheers to that.” I raise my glass to toast.
“Cheers.” He takes a long sip. Studies me. His eyes look so much like Ian’s, but the way he studies me is completely different. All concern, no fascination.
“Are you trying to loosen my tongue?”
“Why would I do that?”
I take another sip. Mmm, it really is good. Rich and sweet. Expensive. “To learn Ian’s secrets.”
“No offense, Eve, but I don’t have any interest in what my brother does when he ties you up.”
“Jesus.”
“I’ve heard enough for one lifetime.”
“I meant more…” Fuck, I can’t think. Damn Ian’s sex appeal. Distracting me even when he isn’t here. “Other types of secrets.”
“You have some?”
I nod. “And you?” It hits me with my next sip. The promise he asked me to make in New York. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Knew?”
“Don’t play dumb. You’re obviously quick. You knew he was reading my site.”
He nods. “He told me in New York.”
“You didn’t know before?”
“I had my suspicions.” His eyes flit to the bookshelf in the corner. “Ian doesn’t read a lot of literature.”
“Oh.”
“Six months ago… it was all he could talk about. This brilliant woman who had all these insights. How he never appreciated The Handmaid’s Tale or the appeal of intellectual women. His ex-wife is more…”
“A singer, right?”
He nods. “Smart, but not cerebral. Interested in things she sees and hears. Not abstract ideas. Or the themes in literature.”
“Music?”
“Yes, but not the lyrics or the theory. The experience of it. The melody, the rhythm, the feel of dancing. It was good for him being with someone like that. He was too much in his head. Especially after Dad died. But… no relationship is perfect.”
“If you’re trying to convince me to give him another chance, you can save your breath.”
“I know better than to try to convince you of anything.”
Uh-huh. “How’s that?”
“You’re stubborn.”
“Oh, it’s because I’m stubborn? Not because he’s full of shit?”
“Is he?”
Whatever. I finish my drink. Set it on the coffee table. Pull the blanket a little tighter.
Ty lets the silence fall. He finishes his drink slowly. Stands. Brings both glasses to the kitchen.
He’s methodical about fixing another round and bringing it to the coffee table.
He waits until he’s on the couch to speak. “Do you want to know what I think?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He laughs. “I really do like you, Eve.”
“Thanks.” I guess.
“When Ian told me you’d be at the party, I didn’t know what to think. He doesn’t invite women into his life. And his arrangements… you’re not on even ground. I suppose his parting gifts make that easier, but…”
“It’s not for you?”
“No. I’m not sure it’s for him, really. He wasn’t happy with a new woman every few months. He enjoyed it, sure, but there was something missing. He didn’t admit it. He didn’t see it… but I did. I know what he looks like happy.”
“Oh.”
“You make him happy. You’re good for him.” He takes a long sip. “We’ve just met. I can’t say if he’s good for you. But you did seem happy around him.”
“Because I didn’t know he was…” How could he not tell me? I take a long sip. It’s too much. So much I cough. But I push through it. I need to relax my thoughts. Make everything fuzzy. “I should probably tell you to fuck off. Since you knew.”
“Probably.”
“Would you have told me?”
“No. Like you said. My loyalty is to him.”
“So this… I can’t really trust a thing you say?”
“Probably. But that won’t stop me from arranging your flight. Or taking you to the airport.”
“I can find my own way.”
“I’m sure you can. But a promise is a promise.”
I guess that’s true. And I’m sure there’s no sense in arguing with him. And even though he is an awful traitor—even if he did have no reason to pledge loyalty to me—I appreciate the familiarity.
I can’t collapse in my bed and cry to my sister.