“You won’t,” Mateo said flatly.
“He won’t, but I will,” said Wesley, “because you’re a grown man who deserves to make your own choices. But you’re also both compassionate and exceptionally intelligent, and I don’t think you’ll put your softhearted big brother through losing you to magic again when your logical mind can appreciate we haven’t yet explored every other path.”
There was a pause. “Well played,” Mateo muttered.
Wesley looked up again, and found Sebastian’s eyes on him, softer with gratitude.
Mateo stood. “I can at least help you question the staff here before I go. Maybe someone saw who slipped the letter into your paper.”
Their questioning, however, was fruitless. They found the member of housekeeping who had left newspapers in front of all of the suites, a short man who’d been at work since midnight and kept yawning. But he swore he hadn’t knocked.
“Your room had a note not to disturb you,” the man said.
Wesley exchanged a look with Sebastian. “Did someone give you my mail to deliver with the paper?”
“No, and I wouldn’t have taken it if they’d tried.” The man sounded sincere. “I would have told them to leave it at the front desk.”
“Did you see anyone when you set out the papers?” Mateo asked.
The man shook his head. “It was barely dawn and no one else was on the floor but me.”
The knock on his door had come well past dawn, Wesley could attest to that. Not to mention the man had just blithely admitted he had no alibi and didn’t seem to think there would be any reason to need one.
They renewed both rooms for another night, and Wesley arranged for a cable to be sent to his footman Ned back in London, so he’d know not to tell another damn soul where Wesley had gone. From the hotel, they went with Mateo to Grand Central Station to catch his three o’clock train.
“Write to Isa,” Sebastian said, as the three of them stood on the platform next to the train cars of the Ohio State Limited.
“I do,” Mateo said, sounding affronted. “I send lots of letters to everyone. You’re the one who never writes and makes everyone worry.”
Sebastian was suddenly very interested in his cuticles.
“Send me postcards from your travels with your viscount,” said Mateo. “It’s fucking cold in Ohio in the winter, I want you to send me something from San Juan and make me jealous. And take Fine to Spain.”
“Aren’t your parents there?” said Wesley, alarmed.
“It’s not like you’re going to saycheerio, Mrs. D, I’m fucking your son,” Mateo said, and Wesley nearly choked. “They miss Sebi and want to see him. And they’ll love you. Our mom will saymijo, who is your handsome friend?and Sebastian will saymami, este viscount pobrecito has no parentsand she will gasp and kiss your cheeks and feed you.”
Wesley glanced at Sebastian, who nodded. “But I’m a grown man,” Wesley protested.
“She won’t care,” Mateo promised.
The porter’s voice rang across the platform. “All aboard!”
The brothers hugged tightly, and Wesley carefully did not think about the last time he’d seen his own brother, at a train station in Sussex before Colin had met his death in France.
They hadn’t embraced. They hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.
And then Mateo let go of Sebastian and turned to hug Wesley.
Wesley’s eyes widened as Mateo wrapped his arms around him and clapped him on the back. “You write to me too.”
“What?” Wesley said, in inelegant surprise.
“Escríbeme, I want your letters too,” said Mateo. “And take care of Sebi. Make each other smile, you both need it.”
And then Mateo was climbing aboard the train.
“I’m glad he’s returning to the studies he enjoys,” Wesley said, as they watched Mateo disappear. “But it wasn’t terrible to have him around.”
