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She narrowed her eyes sideways at me, but I could see the little hints of amusement about her face that most other people wouldn’t spot. “You really have a way of spinning things so they benefit you, don’t you?”
“As if you’re not dying to find out what the big family mystery is.”
“Yeah, it better be worth it.” She folded her arms in even closer to herself. “When do I find out?”
“My jet’s pretty secure. So I’ll fill you in on the way.”
Luna’s face remained screwed up until we settled onto the plane and were well on our way. I decided to distract her from the havoc she was currently wreaking upon the environment by letting slip the little mystery I promised.
I looked over at her lazily, my fingers tapping on one armrest, the other hand swirling around a near-empty champagne glass. “What do you remember of my family?”
She looked up and met my eyes with her bright, intense gaze. She lingered for a moment on my arms, swirling the champagne glass, and on my chest, where I’d unbuttoned a few buttons of my shirt in the heat of the takeoff. Then she blinked herself out of it. “Well, I remember you, and your mom, and Felix. Nothing weird or mysterious-seeming.”
A smirk teased at the edge of my mouth. She was checking me out, even as I was trying to tell her one of my greatest secrets.Priorities.“What grade was Felix in?”
“I don’t like the way you’re grinning. Is it a trick question?” Luna’s eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “He was in the grade below us. About a year younger. I was always impressed by your mom’s stamina, having you and then immediately wanting another... you.”
I set down the champagne glass and leaned in. “I was obviously a charming baby. But you’re onto something there.”
She leaned back into her chair. “C’mon. This isn’t an episode ofScooby-Doo. What’s the deal?”
I teased the details. “Well, my mom didn’t immediately get pregnant after having me. In fact, she never got pregnant again after having me.”
Luna rolled her eyes. “So, what? Felix is adopted?”
I shook my head, smiling in a way I was certain was irritating Luna.
“Felix is... older than you? He got held back a few years?”
I shook my head again, grinning wickedly. I knew she was hating guessing, but I was enjoying it immensely. More dramatic this way.
She met my eyes and I saw it dawning on her. “You and Felix are twins?”
I nodded and clapped my hands together. “Which means...”
“Which means Felix... is Emory’s son too.” She blinked, her eyes widening. Then her gaze snapped to mine, serious and intent. “Sylvester, that’s huge. If Apollo suspects that... or knows that...”
“Then, what? I thought he was your friend? Surely he’s not going to somehow attack an innocent poetry professor trying to fly under the radar of the whole Emory Brock dynasty.”
Luna looked away. She avoided my pointed comments, but I could tell she was thinking them over. “How did this happen? And why?”
“Well, you remember my mom. She’s a smart woman.”
Luna nodded in agreement. “One tough cookie.”
“She obviously immediately realized that Emory was awful, as it turns out most of our mothers did after sleeping with him, but she wanted kids and was happy enough raising them alone. But, as she grew more and more pregnant, she grew more and more paranoid that one day, sooner or later, Emory would be coming for his illegitimate kids. As it turned out, she was right, even if her paranoia was somewhat heightened by the emotions of pregnancy. When the doctors found out it was twins, she started making her plans. Raise them as brothers, a year apart. Fake the birth certificates. That way, she’d only had to lose one son if he battled for custody or whatever. A numbers game. And she did it.”
Luna’s expression was undergoing a steady stream of minute changes and twitches as she listened to the story. Then she looked me dead in the eyes. “Sylvester, I’m going to be sick. Where’s the bathroom on this thing?”
Luna
Ilurched into the private jet bathroom and managed to slam the door closed behind me before I retched heavily into the toilet bowl. I could pass it off as flight sickness, but what had really made me nauseous was thinking about Sylvester’s mom, carrying two unborn heirs of a multibillionaire in her stomach, already scared for their future.
Now I had a Brock heir growing inside me, too. However much I tried not to think about it, the physical progression of pregnancy day-by-day forced me to. The hormones probably weren’t helping either.
Hearing the story, I’d felt a strong emotional connection to Sylvester’s mom. Our circumstances were similar, though admittedly, hers were worse. Emory Brock was a disgusting old man with zero morals, and Sylvester was at least good-looking, my own age, and occasionally kind. But hearing her story, it was as if Emory and Sylvester were one and the same. A cursed cycle repeating itself, sparing no one from the pain of the Brock family line.
Eventually, when the sickness had mostly passed and my stomach was empty, anyway, I cleaned myself up and staggered out of the bathroom.
