“Asher, enough.” Mom uses her stern voice. “It’s such a rare occurrence to have Kill home and we are not going to turn this into an argument.” She beams at Glyndon. “You guys must be tired and hungry. How about you rest while I make lunch?”
“No, please let me help.” Glyndon gives me a reassuring glance, then her fingers release mine and she leaves with Mom.
“We’ll talk later,” Dad tells me under his breath before he and Gareth follow after them.
I predicted this, but now, I’m sure.
I fucking hate home.
32
GLYNDON
To say the atmosphere is intense during lunch and dinner would be an understatement.
I always wondered what type of parents someone like Killian would have. I would’ve thought maybe one of them would be like him, because I read somewhere that psychopathy is genetic and, therefore, can be hereditary.
But I wouldn’t call his parents psychopathic at all. In fact, Reina—that’s what she insisted I call her—has been nothing short of lovely. She reminds me of Aunt Silver—Ava’s mother. She just has elegant extroverted energy and a natural talent for making everyone around her feel at ease.
You can see in her eyes the amount of care and absolute adoration she has for her husband and children.
It’s Mr. Carson who’s a bit reserved, but not in a cold way. I think he’s more like Gareth—there needs to be a lot of interactions before he warms up to you enough to allow you close.
During dinner, Reina asks about school and is impressed when I tell her I study art. Then, she recounts that one time she auctioned one of Mum’s paintings for a charity.
Of course she did.
Killian swiftly intervenes, as if he knows I’m getting uncomfortable, and shows her my Instagram for some of the paintings I’ve posted.
I want to hide beneath the table.
“This is…different.” She traces the rim of her wine glass while going through every post. “In a unique way. You and your mother don’t even have the same style. This is refreshing.”
I swallow a piece of meatball. “Really?”
“Yes, anyone who understands some art can see that. Though, I’m nothing more than an amateur who buys beautiful things.” She laughs.
“No, you’re right.” I release a breath. “Mum said that when I was about nine, but I didn’t listen.”
And I kept holding a secret grudge against her because I thought she didn’t pass me down the right genes.
“You are different from your brothers, Glyn. Bran is day, Lan is night. You’re more special because you’re a mixture of both.”
Those were her words and I stubbornly put them on the backburner.
I need to talk to Mum later. It’s long overdue.
“I’m glad you can finally listen,” she says. “Not like these two. They never listen to me. I should’ve had girls.”
“You’re never going to let us live down the fact that neither of us is a girl, are you?” Gareth asks.
“Well, no. Rai has the most perfect twin girls and I don’t.”
“You’re right, Mom. Kill should’ve been a girl.”
“Why not you, big bro?”
“Because you looked cute as shit in that tiny dress as a baby.”