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“Hey, Ezzy.”
“Happy birthday, Anders.” She offers her cheek to her brother, purposefully avoiding looking directly at me. As if that will make me disappear.
“Thanks for planning all of this,” he responds, kissing her.
“You only turn thirty-six once.”
“I lost count after thirty, if I’m being honest.”
“Haven’t we all.” She rolls her eyes. “But this is an important one. For many reasons.” Her light expression falters.
She doesn’t have to say why it’s such a significant birthday for Anderson. Their own mother didn’t make it to her thirty-sixth birthday, having succumbed to the disease that now plagues Anderson when she was only thirty-five.
But Anderson’s been doing great, all things considered. He still can’t overexert himself, but he’s finally taking his diagnosis seriously, especially once he reconnected with Nora. No more drinking alcohol or coffee. And he follows his nutritionist’s diet to the letter.
“Come on in. I have quite the feast planned for you.” Esme steps aside, allowing us to enter.
“Your Highness,” I say with a slight nod as I pass, her scent wrapping around me in the small space of Harriet’s entryway.
“Captain.”
“Don’t you two start with that bullshit,” Anderson snips out. “Not tonight. He’s not my CPO. I’m not heir apparent. And you’re not the bloody Princess Royal. We’re all just normal people celebrating the fact I survived another trip around the sun. Got it?”
“Of course,” Esme says with a forced smile.
Anderson arches a brow in my direction, waiting for me to agree.
“Sure.”
He looks between Esme and me, and I’m confident he’s about to call us out on the tension growing thicker with every passing second.
“Jesus Christ.” He throws his hands up in frustration. “I’m starting to think we’d all be happier if you two would just bang it out.” He spins on his heels and heads into the open living area, a chorus of happy birthday greetings filtering into the foyer.
“Too bad we tried that. It didn’t exactly work.” Esme shoots me a glare. “Did it?”
“I—”
“Sorry.” She winces. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s true, though.”
“I know. I just…” Briefly closing her eyes, she draws in a deep breath. Then she plasters a congenial expression on her face.
I hate everything about it.
Because it’s the one she wears when in public. When pretending to be anyone other than who she really is.
“I know this is probably quite awkward for you. It’s awkward for me. But we’re both adults, correct?”
I nod.
“And we both adore Anderson, right?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Then let’s get through tonight and pretend there’s never been anything between us. Can you do that?”
“Of course,” I say, even though the idea of being nothing to Esme is like a knife to the heart.
