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It’s as if a DJ ripped a vinyl off a turntable. All three of my brothers stop what they’re doing and stare. Oliver’s suddenly out of Henry’s grip, heaving breaths and watching me intently.
“Just the way he says her name, all reverent like, sounds like he’s quoting a sonnet,” Alec says with a smirk, and the other two join in a jolly good time of laughing it up.
I shake my head and leave the game room, lifting one arm in a “good riddance” gesture.
I’m gonna give Sophie a piece of my mind for mentioning that I was looking for a book of Shakespearean sonnets. And for Alec to know that probably meant she said something to Oakley, too.
I have to be more careful around here. They can’t know about this.
But they’re not wrong.
Elianna.
The name—and the woman—are more beautiful than all of the sonnets combined.
When I get back upstairs to the office, Elianna is already there, typing like mad on her laptop.
“Are you writing a proposal?” I’d given her permission early on to be able to do that when there’s downtime.
“No, I’m not,” she rushes to say. “Rowena gave me some tips on better notetaking. I’m just fixing some things.”
“Your notetaking is fine, Elianna.” Basically, everything she does is A-okay with me.
“Just trying to maximize my time,” she says, staring at the screen with a frown.
She’s on edge, but the office doesn’t seem like the best place to get into whether or not she’s doing okay.
It feels like all she does for the rest of the afternoon is field phone calls from various people vying for my time. And all I do, in between the calls I can’t avoid, is pour over my spreadsheets searching for any and all ways we can increase our productivity and our bottom line.
“You and your spreadsheets.” It’s late afternoon, and Elianna is at my elbow. Every sense comes alive at her closeness. “If someone blackmailed you and threatened to take either your spreadsheets or your first born, which would it be?”
“I don’t have a firstborn. But I’m not giving up my spreadsheets either.”
She playfully presses on my upper arm. “I still think you’d choose your spreadsheets over your firstborn.”
She returns to her desk, and I know she’s joking—mostly. Maybe? So why does that comment bother me so much?
Probably because it’s a fear so ingrained in my DNA, I can’t see how I’ll ever get rid of it. Am I doomed to be haunted forever by the possibility of becoming like my father?
When Gabriel calls my cellphone, I’m relieved to have something else to stew over.
“How does Henry seem to you?” Gabriel asks.
I don’t mind talking about family business with Elianna around.
“He’s worried about Quinn and Navie.”
Gabriel’s quiet. Then, “Why did they even break up in the first place? It’s sad.”
“It is. And I think Henry’s regretting how it all went down.”
We just sit there, and I know where my mind’s going. I screwed up my one relationship years ago. Our father messed up his marriage, almost beyond repair. And Henry did the same thing, only his really is beyond repair. It’s a Tate family plague.
Elianna stands and approaches my desk again, carrying her laptop. “Can I talk to you both about something?” Her blue eyes are wide with excitement.
“Sure. Gabriel, I’m putting you on speaker. Elianna has something to talk about.”
“Hey Elianna,” Gabriel says.
