Then Miles snaps, “Fuck this. I’m going to find Clementine. I want to hear it from the horse’s mouth.”
And before either of us can stop him, he storms off.
CHAPTER 25
Miles
“Clementine? Clementine?”
I storm through the front doors at Burlington and march down the corridor, throwing open every door to check she’s not behind them. When I reach the kitchen and come up empty again, I turn back.
Crossing the great hall, I head toward the opposite wing of the house.
“Clementine! Where the fuck are you?”
Peering into Lando’s study, I find him sitting at his desk.
“Have you seen?—”
“Oh, good,” he says, totally oblivious to my obvious agitation. But that’s my big brother for you. Oblivious.“I was just about to message you. Don’t forget it’s Holiday’s opening night on Tuesday, and we’re all going.”
“What?”
“Holiday’s opening night? Tuesday.”
“Right. Fine.” Whatever. “Have you seen Clementine?”
He shakes his head and goes back to whatever he’s working on. Now that he’s passed on his message, he has no use for me.
“Not in the last half hour.” He gives me one final glance, and I’m sure he’s going to ask me to close the door, but instead, his head tilts. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
But he doesn’t buy it. Getting up, he circles his desk, grabs my shoulder, and guides me into the chair in front of his desk. It’s the one I sat in when I told him I’d married Ruby.
“Milo, what’s wrong?” he tries again, taking the chair next to me instead.
I sigh deeply and stare at him. The bright blue eyes of our father—the ones we all inherited—stare back, and I search to see if there's any semblance of recognition as to why I am looking for our sister.
It's bad enough that Hendricks has been keeping this secret from me since February. But if I found out thateverymember of my family was keeping me in the dark about whatever this fucking situation is, I’d really lose my shit.
“Do you know?”
“Know what?”
To give him credit, he looks as confused as he usually does whenever he's dealing with me. For the most part, Lando gets on and manages his own shit. He's too busy with the day-to-day Burlington world, while the rest of us implode around him with “trivial problems” as he once called them.
But this isn’t trivial.
“About Clementine,” I say.
“What about Clementine?” He frowns, annoyed. “I don’t know what Clementine does with her days since she graduated.”
“About her and Torres.” God, even saying the words aloud makes me want to punch something, hard.
“Who?”
“Lando, will you please fucking pay attention to me for once? Santiago Torres?—”
