Page 5 of Vows of Silence

Dress conversation forgotten. Thank you, Marco.

“Oh, you!” she laughed, swatting at his arm. “Where have you been lately? I feel like we don’t see enough of you!”

“Houses to sell, women to fuck. It’s a hard life,” he replied with a grin, earning himself a squeal from Mum and another laugh from Dad.

“Little sister, looking as twatish as ever,” Marco said, taking his seat next to me and ruffling my hair. It didn’t escape my notice that Frank stepped closer to me at the interaction, and I saw my father discreetly dismiss him with a wave of his hand.

Frank did back up a couple of steps, but he remained closer to me than he had been, and it had been on the tip of my tongue to ask my scowling dad about it. But then my attention was distracted by Marco and I forgot the weird interaction altogether. I wielded my fork like a weapon, stabbing it into the top of his hand as he reached for some of my food.

“Acting as twatish as ever as well,” he mumbled, pulling his hand back and rubbing the bruise.

“You don’t mess with a woman and her food, Marco,” I replied back. “Get yourself to the kitchen and request your own.”

He scoffed under his breath, and I rolled my eyes as I caught his cocky grin. Not a second later, the cook came rushing into the dining room, apologising profusely for having not made Marco a meal—as though it was his fault Marco came and went as he pleased, and as though he was expected to have something prepared daily, on the off-chance Marco was going to grace us with his presence.

“How did the deal go with the Mayfair property?” my dad asked, his eyes glued to Marco. There was an undercurrent of tension, as though my dad was expecting the worst. But Marco puffed his chest, pride replacing all irritation he felt towards me.

“Like a dream. They practically snapped my hand off. Twenty-five over the asking price, and thirty upfront.”

“That’s my boy!” Dad beamed. “I knew you had it in you! He’s a chip off the old block, isn’t he, Frank?”

“Never doubted him for a second, sir.”

“Hang on—what are we celebrating here? Twenty-five and thirty, what?” I asked.

“Percent, little sister. Sweet, sweet percent. And my commission.”

“You earned twenty-five percent commission on a house in Mayfair?” I gasped, mentally calculating how much that one sale had earned him.

Whilst I was happy that Marco was finding his feet in the world, and that our dad had taken him under his expert wing—after all, he had one of the largest, if notthelargest, real estate company in the country—I couldn’t help but feel jealous.

Marco already had more money than he knew what to do with. And though I didn’t go without, thanks to the generous allowance I received, I still resented him being able to do what he wanted with the money he hadearned.

My money came monthly from Daddy’s credit card, and purchases had to be approved.

And, before I could stop myself, I couldn’t help but think I wouldn’t be in this position if I was able to earn a living. I would never be able to live as lavishly as my parents, but I could be comfortable.

My life would be my own.

But that was never going to happen. Marco got opportunities. I got an engagement ring. That was the way our lives worked.

Luca:Money isn’t everything, little ember.

My thoughts exactly.

“We’re so proud of you, sweetheart,” my mother said to Marco, her eyes softening towards her favourite child.

“And what haveyoudone today to make the parents proud?” Marco asked mockingly, spinning in his chair to face me, resting his hand on his chin, his eyes wide and dancing with humour.

“Oh, me?” I asked, biting a carrot off my fork and acting nonchalant. “I picked a dress.”

“A dress?!” he gasped. “Goodness. And did it solve world hunger?”

“Are you donating your twenty-five percent to the starving children, brother dearest?”

“Oh, of course,” he said earnestly, placing his hand over his heart. “As soon as the banks open, I’ll be writing that cheque.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I bit back, stabbing at my food.