“Wrong answer,” I grate out, pressing the point of the blade under his eye. “Isla deserves better than your big man swagger, your liberal dousing of Creed cologne”—I wrinkle my nose at the scent—“and stupid skinny trousers. She deserves better than you.”
She also deserves to be a fully functioning human, not some sexless deity who no one can touch. I’m working on how I can reach that point of acceptance. Meanwhile…
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“Whatever you say, man.” His hands rise slowly, his fingers outspread. Big fucking hands that might’ve touched her. I overcome the mad notion to pin one of them to the wall with the blade. “I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Right answer,” I breathe, the sake-drenched gust coasting his cheek. This is why I don’t drink. It brings out the devil in me. “So this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to go back and finish your delicious dinner. You’re going to pay her a couple of compliments and make her feel good. Then you’re going to kiss her on the cheek, like you would your grandmother, and put her safely into a cab—a black cab. None of this unlicensed minicab shit.”
“R-Right. I can do that. I can definitely do that.”
“Then you’ll call her in a day or two and tell her you want to be friends. You’ll be the long-distance type. Can you guess why?”
“B-Because I’m moving away?”
“Clever boy.” With a flick of my wrist, I slash the sleeve of his shirt. “Fold that up,” I grunt, pulling back. “If I see you with her again, I’ll cut off your balls and make you swallow them.”
And that, my friend, isn’t an empty threat.
17
Isla
THE MIDDLE - PRESENT
“There you are, you dirty little horticulturist.”
I laugh, turning from the colorful blooms bordering the lawn at the sound of Holland’s voice. After a long week of work, school runs, and general running around, I’m back at Kilblair Castle for Hugh’s birthday celebrations, which began this morning with a drive to the local airport. We were directed to the private terminal where I handed over one deliriously happy ten-year-old, his there-just-for-the-snacks younger brother, and their new cousin, Wilder, to my brother. Deliriously happy he was not. Not even at the sight of Van’s gleaming private jet.
“Dirty hor—” I press my fingers to my mouth and feign shock. “For a moment, I thought you were going to say something else.”
“I am shocked you would assume such a thing!” Continuing with the ridiculousness, Holland affects a Southern sort of bless-your-heart drawl. But Holland is from Oregon, not the deep South. Folding her arms, my sister-in-law comes to stand next to me. “Especially when I’ve been keeping your dirty secret from your fretting brother. For months… months!”
“If you’re talking about Van”—which she is, given she caught me creeping out of his room at a party last year—“Sandy already tried to warn me off this week. Not that he needed to.”
“Exactly. You’re old enough to make your own mistakes.”
“That’s one way to describe him,” I murmur under my breath.
“At least he’s a pretty mistake.” She wiggles her eyebrows ridiculously. “So last night? I guess you were just making real sure?”
“Are you suggesting I made the same mistake twice?”
“Something tells me he’s a repeat offense,” she replies, not bothering to hide her smirk.
“No comment.”
“It’s only really a mistake if you don’t enjoy it. If it helps, you can think of it as increasing your data sample size.”
“Size?” I quirk a brow, unable to stop myself.
“Yeah, in case you find yourself in the same situation again.” She pauses. “Which you totally wouldn’t if size was an issue.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I answer, picking invisible lint from my shirt.
“Okay. Just confirm it and we’ll move on.”
“Confirm what?”
“The sample size.” Holland snorts, then slaps her hand over her mouth. “That sounded like I was asking for specifics—girth and length and stuff.” She holds out her hands, like the fisherman describing the one that got away. “Which I’m totally not.” With a grimace, she slides her hands behind her back.
God, I love Holland. She’s like a breath of fresh air around this place.
“Again, no comment.”
“I just want to know you’re having a good time. God only knows how Alexander hasn’t noticed what’s going on between you two.” She fans her face. “Talk about sparks.”
“He rubs me the wrong way,” I mutter, ignoring the mention of my brother.
“Or maybe the right way, judging by… okay, I’m gonna shut up now.”
“The pansies are out early,” I say with a bland smile.
“They’re pretty. So we don’t usually get pansies in March?”
“It’s a little early, but the weather has been mild.”
“If you say so,” she says, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her. “Can’t say I’m much of a gardener.”
“Not a dirty little horticulturist, then?”
“Only when I can get away with it. I know nothing about flowers except they look prettiest in the ground and not in a vase.”