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Shane frowned, “You don’t have to hang with me, dude.”
I walked toward him, standing up. “I know,” I answered with a smile. “However, I have no desire to be with business associates tonight. Even though your sister only says the words good morning and good night to me anymore, I still have this insane desire to keep her around. So, if I have to go on a date with a Hoover, I figure it’ll be you.”
Shane rolled his eyes and chuckled, “All right, I do know where I want to go. But I’m afraid to tell you.”
I half smiled as we stepped into the elevator, “Cough it up, and you don’t need to be afraid of telling me anything.”
He chuckled. “All right, then,” he let out a breath. “Can we go to Fleet Street?”
I blinked at him. “Why was that so embarrassing for you to ask?” I grinned slowly. “Are you a Sweeney Todd guy? Did you think I’d judge you for your love of musical theater?”
He bit his lip diffidently before shrugging. “It’s a masterpiece. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen it onstage, where the performers are playing their own instruments, but it’s fucking excellent.”
I held up my hands. “Hey, I’m not here to judge. Let’s go to Fleet Street.”
The two of us left my office and headed for the East End, where the true crime junkies liked to gather at the Jack the Ripper museum and head to the Tower of London, looking into the Traitor’s Gate while they were at it.
“No offense,” he said, “but I’ll admit that you don’t exactly seem like the type of person to be into musicals.”
“Well, I’m into good shit. And you did state that it was a masterpiece,” I replied as we made our way to the tube station. “Actually, my grandmother loves the opera. She always took my siblings and me to performances before my father passed away. We’d go to the Teatro alla Scala opera house in Milan. It was quite extraordinary. Most children would hate the opera, but my Nonna gave us no choice in the matter. Consequently, I enjoy it immensely.”
Shane was quiet for a moment as we took our seats on the underground. “I didn’t know about your dad. I’m sorry.”
“You couldn’t have known,” I said, “and I’m the one who brought it up. You’re fine.”
Fortunately, the conversation became more casual as we continued toward Fleet Street and Whitechapel. He told me about how he’d studied sound mixing and engineering and even pulled out his phone to play me some songs he’d mixed.
I had to admit that I enjoyed our time more than I had imagined. We had a particularly good time exploring the museums in the East End, traversing Fleet Street all afternoon, and even stopping by a bookstore so that Shane could pick up a compilation of old Penny Dreadfuls from the eighteen hundreds before heading back to Mayfair.
When we arrived back at my place, we saw Nat sitting in the kitchen with a plate of spaghetti, reading a book quietly. I nearly froze where I stood, seeing her sitting there, wearing simple clothes, her hair loosely pulled up, and wearing reading glasses. She was beyond beautiful, lost in the world of her book.
“You’re both a little late,” she said, picking up her plate after taking her final bite and bringing it to the sink. “I’ve already had dinner.”
“That’s okay,” Shane said. “We stopped for fish and chips while we were out. We had some boy-bonding time without you. It was awesome.”
She chuckled. “Good for you.” She yawned widely and picked up her book, heading for the stairs. “Listen, I’m beat, so don’t throw too big a party down here, will you?”
“Say less, Mom,” Shane said.
We both suppressed smiles but didn’t look at each other as she headed for the door, letting it swing shut behind her the way she had on her brother’s first night here.
How the fuck did we wind up in this place?
I looked over at Shane, a newfound determination set in me now. “I’m going for something strong tonight. Would you care to join me?”
“I’ll take whatever you’re having,” he said.
“Bourbon, then,” I said. I walked over to my bar in the living room, pulled out my best bottle, and poured it into two glasses.
“The good stuff, eh?” Shane said as I placed his glass in front of him.
“I figured you deserved a nice drink,” I said, “for what I’m about to ask you.”
He went briefly motionless as he studied the bourbon in his glass before lifting it to his mouth and taking a sip. “I figured this was coming. It’s because Nat’s been stonewalling you about our dad; am I right?”
“You might say that,” I replied. “It’s pretty impressive, actually. She’s remarkably adept at shutting down any attempt I’ve made to get to know her in the beginning. It’s like she doesn’t believe I’ll actually stick around once I hear what she has to say. So, if she’s not going to talk,” I raised my glass to him and crossed my ankle over my knee, reclining into my chair, “you will talk. What the fuck happened with both of you and your dad?”
I didn’t give a fuck anymore. I wanted answers, and Shane would give me those answers.
