e scowls. “Never happen.”
“Just hypothetically,” I say, being perverse, which isn’t like me.
“I’d give her a chance to tell me what happened…after I broke the guy’s arms.” Elliot grows thoughtful. “There’d have to be a good explanation…like the fucker drugged her or something.”
I look to see if he’s just messing around, but he’s serious.
Even as I’m happy for him, I ache for myself. Elliot found a woman he can trust even after finding her in a compromising position. Dominic and I, on the other hand, still can’t let go of our stuff. He doesn’t trust me, and I don’t want to tell him anything until I know I won’t be wasting my breath.
It’s so hopeless…and so crazy that there’s a teeny part of me that still wants to try…bang my head against that wall one more time, because it just doesn’t hurt enough already.
“You okay?” Elliot asks, peering at me.
“What? Sure. I’m just nervous is all.”
He leans closer. But then the door opens, and Blake and Lucas walk in. Blake is the oldest, and has the Pryce looks—the dark hair, classic profile and even features. He’s extremely handsome, but his appearance doesn’t really stand out because of Ryder. Lucas is Elliot’s twin, identical in every way except for his hair style—it’s longer than Elliot’s—and the scar on the left side of his face.
“Finally, you’re here. Thought you’d never come,” Elliot says.
“Of course we’re here. I’m not letting you guys down,” Lucas says.
Lucas is usually grim, but now there’s lightness to him that I haven’t seen since his accident. His new wife must be the reason. It’s taken a lot of effort and compromise for them to work things out, and I’m glad they have. They both deserve to be happy.
“Are you feeling better?” I ask Blake, whose complexion is still a little sallow.
“Yes. Much.”
“Good.” I don’t really buy it. He’s had way too much to drink—more even than our infamous metabolism can handle—if he looks like that.
Just that moment, the door opens again and Dad walks in, sans Number Six. I let out a sigh of relief. The last thing I want is her simpering face and faux-motherly gaze directed in my way.
Dad’s movements are brisk, belying his age. The lights glint on his golden hair, and he halts at his desk and spins around crisply.
“You think you’ve won?” he says in a deathly quiet voice.
I meet his gaze levelly. Yes, yes, I do.
“What did we win?” Ryder asks.
“The portraits.”
Ryder, Elliot and Lucas gape at our father, while Blake’s gaze slides to me, questioning. I give him a helplessly confused look and a shrug.
“Are you trying to weasel your way out of the deal?” Elliot demands.
“No,” Dad grinds out. “I’m giving you your damned portraits early. But mark my words. Blackmail only works once. Try it again, and I’ll burn every piece of your grandfather’s art just to make my point.”
I frown at his threat. Still petty.
But he’s right. I won’t hold the information over his head a second time. Continued blackmail doesn’t work as well, and only enflames enmity.
“Jarvis will show you where the portraits are. You’ll take them before leaving this house in the next hour, or I’m tossing them all into the fireplace,” he snarls.
“Fine,” Blake says.
“You may now thank me,” Dad says between clenched teeth.
“Why the hell would we do that? You’re only doing this because you have no choice, not because you actually want to be nice.” Blake shrugs. “I hope you understand I want to check my portrait before leaving, to make sure.”