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“It’s not polite,” I confirm, wishing I was anywhere but here. “I won’t stick my finger up my nose.”
“Honestly, Micah.” Grandmother’s scowling at me. “This isn’t appropriate dinner table conversation.”
There’s a story people tell about someone Grandmother used to work with. He annoyed her incessantly, but she tolerated it, until one day, he put his feet on her desk and refused to remove them. He went missing a day later and was never seen again. The story is that Grandmother killed him… though nobody can prove it, of course.
I always thought that was a little farfetched. Kill someone over feet on a desk? Grandmother has a short temper, but she’s not a monster. Now, though… now I understand. Now I believe she could have done it. Because her blood runs in my veins, and right at this moment, I would happily kill Zac for being too dense to understand my signals.
And Asher, for making the whole situation so much worse.
“My apologies, Grandmother.”
She nods and turns back to Cam. “So it’s settled. Zac will personally escort you around Europe on the next few weekends. I think Paris first. He lived there for decades and knows all the best—and most romantic—places.”
I can actually see the moment realization hits Zac. His eyes widen, his jaw drops, and he swings his head around to look at me. I make a “see? I was trying to tell you” face.
“Uh, Grandmother, I don’t think that will work,” he begins, then falters as she and his mother both turn on him.
“Why ever not?” Aunt Dalia asks. “Surely you can spare some time for Cam, who’s giving up months of his life to help us.”
Zac stutters, utter panic plastered on his face. “I-I just don’t think I’m the best choice.”
I bite back a groan. They just spent the last ten minutes talking about why hewouldbe the best choice. Some of those reasons were flimsy—very flimsy—but the time to dispute them was then, not now.
“Nonsense.” Grandmother’s prepared to steamroller us all to get her way if she has to. “You’re the perfect choice.”
“Maybe Cam doesn’t want to spend his weekends racing around Europe,” Zac argues desperately. “He’ll be working hard all week. Maybe he wants weekends off.”
All eyes turn to Cam, and I make a mental note to throttle Zac later for throwing him under a bus like this. Cam, however, seems completely unfazed as he forks up the last mouthful of food on his plate. It’s hard to believe this is the same man who was so nervous earlier that he delayed us multiple times.
“Oh, I’d love to see Europe,” he declares cheerfully. My gut twists, and despair crosses Zac’s face. “But not with Zac.”
The whole room freezes. Grandmother draws in a breath, and Aunt Dalia’s mouth sets in an offended line.
“Why not Zac?” she demands. “He’s handsome, personable, intelligent…”
“He is,” Cam agrees. “I like Zac a lot. We’re probably going to stay friends after I leave here.”
“So why don’t you want to see Europe with him?”
“Because I’m sleeping with Micah, and it would be awkward.”
That’s definitely true. It might even be as awkward as this moment.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
Cam
The first cluethat I might have said the wrong thing comes when Isaac asks, “How come you’re sleeping with Micah? Don’t you have your own bed? We have a spare room, right, Dad? You could stay with us.”
Uh-oh.
Before I can stutter out some excuse, his mother says, “Have you finished your dinner? Why don’t you and Chloe go see what’s in the cookie jar? Grandmother told me it’s been restocked.”
Both kids are out of their chairs in seconds, completely distracted from my thoughtless comments. “Excuse us, please,” Chloe calls over her shoulder, and then they’re gone.
And I’m the center of attention again.
“You’re sleeping with Micah?” Damaris asks. Her tone is flat, neutral. She’s not happy, but she doesn’t sound mad either.
