Page 23 of Painted Truths

In his lucid moments, Dad told me what had happened when I was just a kid, the whole sorry mess with my stepmother, more like step-monster, Lauren, and he begged my forgiveness for his abandonment all those years ago. Not wanting to burden an obviously dying man, I forgave him, keeping my secrets locked up good and tight while also taking on the burden of righting his wrongs as my own.

He’d known he had made mistakes with Alex, freely admitting that he’d spent years blaming him for things that were not his fault and refusing to allow his younger son into his life, firmly alienating him from his heart.

I’d agreed to his request to make things right for Alex wholeheartedly, aware that in doing so, I would need to build bridges between my brother and me, despite the reasons why that seemed an impossibility.

And in doing so, I knew I couldn’t come between my half-brother and someone he was seeing, or at least had an interest in seeing, despite the connection I’d had with her.

Forcing our interlude to the back of my mind, I had resolved to leave Peaches firmly in the past, even though here I am, two goddamn years later, still fighting myself to stop thoughts of her drifting through my mind.

“You’re in a right pissy mood!”

Mila’s voice brings me to the present as I notice her Converse resting lightly on the not inexpensive dashboard of my Ferrari.

“Feet!”

Crossing them at the ankles while settling herself deeper into the seat, she folds her arms and looks at me in challenge. I may worship my kid sister, but Jesus Christ, she does my head in when she wants to.

Changing tack, I lower my voice, keeping my eyes fixed on the road while softly requesting. “Please?”

I can feel her eyes rolling from here, but she does as I’ve asked, and within moments she’s forgotten her animosity at my inattention, launching into a story about one of her friends preferring iced tea to hot tea. The inner workings of a teenage girl’s mind will forever baffle me.

“And then, Eliza was like, ‘oh, you can’t do that,’ and I was like, ‘well, Simon told me I could,’ and she was like—”

“Who’s Simon?”

“Hmm?”

Turning to me with wide green eyes that mirror my own, she’s the very picture of feigning innocence, so I automatically know she’s about to try to fill me with shit.

“Simon? I’ve never heard you mention that name before. Who is he?”

We pull up at valet parking outside our favourite non-Italian restaurant just as I finish speaking. Since she has all the recipe cards from our Nonna’s kitchen that Dad had given to her, we don’t ever eat out for Italian. My sister is an outstanding cook.

Jumping out and rounding the car, I grab Mila’s door before straightening up and tossing the keys to the valet. Tucking her arm underneath mine, we walk in and are seated within moments.

Sitting opposite each other, I gesture for her to continue, but her full-on motor mouth seems to have suddenly and rather abruptly run out of fuel.

“So, you were saying?”

Her face flushes a deep red that I notice quickly, even under her olive tones, and I can’t help the self-satisfied smirk that grows on my face as I take in her discomfort. It’s not often my baby sister gets flustered, and even on those rare occasions, she’s capable of extricating herself from them with ease, though it’s looking like I’ve got her now.

“Isn’t that Nathaniel?”

She stands, waving him over with a bright, easy smile on her pretty face. The man in question is unable to keep his answering smile from his heavily bearded face once he spies us.

Well played, sis.

* * *

It’s almost three hours later and well past teatime when I’m finally dropping Mila home, promising to be back next week for a repeat of today. Our weekly dinners are one of my few highlights.

Knowing I’ve got an absolute barrage of work ahead of me, I’m unable to find the will to give a flying shit, having allowed my thoughts to roam free today after so long of self-disciplining myself to keep all memory of her firmly where it should be.

In the fucking past.

But she’s not in the fucking past, is she?

I’d tried to put her out of my mind, especially after inviting Alex to come and work with me. But, unfortunately, mending fences with my brother has been a slow one, and it’s not been helped by my inability to put her out of my head, only made worse once I’d seen that stupid fucking photo on Alex’s desk in his office.