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“It’s not a death sentence.”
“It feels like one.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he mumbles under his breath. “Because she asked that we both attend. And because I don’t want to go alone.” He cups his hands close to his chest. “Please don’t make me. Please, please, please.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ve known you for one week and I consort with your arch nemesis. What makes you think I’ll be any help?”
“She’ll be outnumbered and we can gang up on her.”
We exchange a fist bump. “You have no idea how appealing that sounds.”
His expression grows serious. “And I want to see my dad. She keeps telling me it’s not a good time, that he’s having a hard day, or that he’s sleeping. She’s blowing me off.”
“That’s not right. Can’t you insist upon it?”
“I could. I have a key and... actually the house is in my name.”
“What? That huge house is yours?”
He makes a funny face. “Technically.”
“I bet Debra hates that so much.”
“I’m not sure she knows.”
“The plot thickens.”
“I have every right to be there. But I’d rather not upset my father by getting ugly.”
“It’s too late for that, Zane. It’s been ugly all of your life and Debra made it that way.”
I asked Ryker to explain the rift between himself and Zane in detail. He told me there was no actual rift, that Zane was simply an unpleasant person who causes problems everywhere he goes.
His answer was most unsatisfying, and I told him so. He had to go and told me he’d explain more later.
I expect the truth. I need to know his side of the story and what I could be potentially marrying into.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Mila. I’m not asking for sympathy. I got this.”
“You got this, but you don’t want to go alone to have dinner with your stepmother in your childhood home?”
He pretends like he’s making a jump shot. “Two points for Mila.”
He lands and his entire body stills, observing me. His large brown eyes blink heavily as he stands before me. “Come with?” he says quietly, the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen him.
How can I resist?
It’s Friday night and I have a rare free weekend ahead of me. I’ve played for ballet classes and practiced with the symphony all week. A break would be nice.
If Debra wants me there too, I should at least make an appearance. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll come with you.”
We both retire to our rooms to get ready for the evening. When we exit and find that we’re dressed alike in jeans and t-shirts, him in flip flops and me in sandals, it gives us a good chuckle.
“You’re wearing that on purpose, aren’t you?” I ask.
“Just bein’ myself.”
As we leave, he adds, “I can’t help it if my clothing irritates the queen mother.”
