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Knowing he’s downplaying what’s going on between the four of us, I brush off his words. But I’m still playing catch-up. Next to me, Roo slides a comforting hand along my thigh. Does he notice me trembling a little? Our eyes connect. He looks deeply apologetic, but then it’s replaced with humor. “Well, this is unexpected,” he drawls. “You good?”
I don’t relay my thoughts or emotions back to him. He’s going to have to wait it out.
I’m still processing.
Sienna flicks her hair over a shoulder. “I’m just messing around. So, is this a temporary thing?”
“You’re so fucking nosy,” Reuben grumbles, his crisp, British accent making the reprimand sound so much worse for some reason. “Drink up and go home. We’re not skiing today, and you’re not invited to stay with us.”
“There’s a spare bedroom. I know it’s a four-bed cabin.”
“You’re not welcome,” Reuben repeats.
“It’s Christmas! Can’t we try and get on?” Sienna holds out her glass towards me, expectantly. I almost get up and reach for it, but Luca snatches it out of her hand and heads to the kitchen, filling it with pure orange juice.
“I’m twenty-three, asshole.”
Passing her the drink he tells her, “You shouldn’t drink and drive.”
Fuming, she downs the liquid and stands. “Fine. But I’ll be telling Daddy that I drove all the way out here to make peace, on Christmas Day, and you pissed all over my gesture.”
Luca drops to the sofa, his elbows resting on his knees as he blatantly ignores her.
“Brecken?” Sienna flutters her eyelashes, her mouth forming a moue. “Will you show me where the bathroom is?”
Wearily, he gets to his feet, escorting her to the half-bath by the front door. Low whispers carry towards us but I can only catch the odd word, none of it helpful.
Silently, we wait until Sienna leaves, Brecken not returning until she does. It’s as if he was checking she drove away. “Merry bloody Christmas,” he voices in a low tone, heavy with sarcasm. He runs both hands through his golden brown hair, pushing it away from his face in agitation, only for it to flop across his forehead again.
“Who wants to start?” I ask the room, not prepared to sit here, clueless, any longer.
“I will.” Luca. Out of us all, he and I have had the longest connection, even if it’s just by two days. But it counts. And in terms of what we’ve shared and discussed about Stein Hotel this past week, it’s also only fair he wrestles control of this cluster fuck situation. I’m meant to be working for him. I signed a contract, and he has a copy.
Can I withdraw my acceptance? I should’ve asked for a cooling-off period.
Rubbing a hand across his newly-whiskered jaw, he shuffles in his seat so that he’s facing me, his elbows still glued to his knees.
“Dad met Mom while he was working in London, specifically Hotel Balthazar in Mayfair. Mom got pregnant, they married, and I was born in a London hospital. When I was two years old, our little family of three moved to Aspen, to the mother ship—Chateau Balthazar.
“For a short time during those two years before we left, Dad had an affair with a British woman called Diana. It resulted in Roo. He grew up in London, not meeting Dad until he was sixteen, which is fucked up.”
Reuben told me the bare bones of this just the other night, but crucially, he made it sound different and apart from the Wolfford family. The sympathetic smile I was going to offer gets swallowed.
“As you know, he and Diana moved to the U.S when he was eighteen. Recently made aware of the blood connection, we met a few times, but mostly we connected whilst at Stanford.” A deep breath. “At some stage after moving to Aspen from London, clueless to baby Reuben, Dad had an affair with Brecken’s mom, Sofia. Mom found out and divorced him. He slept with many other women. He married twice more, both ending in divorce. The only other sibling we know of is Sienna, but we’re pretty sure that’s all.”
I am inno wayreassured by his phrasing. I’mpretty surethere must be others. Balthazar sounds like a chronic philanderer.
“In case it wasn’t clear, she’s his favorite, or likes to think she is at any rate. He loves having sons, wanting us to carry on the name, but he likes having a daughter to fuss over.”
“Hang on,” I interrupt. “Do you mean that hypothetically, because you both have different surnames?” I ask, looking at the youngest brothers.
Brothers. God, that’s going to take some getting used to.
“Neither my mother, nor Brecken’s were married to Balthazar Wolfford, therefore we didn’t take his surname. I didn’t meet him until I was practically a man! So, I’m a Moore and Brecken’s a Sainz.”
“Come on,” Luca interjects, “Dad didn’t know about you until your Mum reached out. When you were determined to study in the U.S.”
Reuben shrugs.
