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“Amaretto,” I ordered, throwing myself on the couch and only realizing how badly I needed that couch when I was on it.
Ian handed me my snifter, his highball was definitely loaded with whisky on ice, and he folded his long body beside me and reached to his cigarette box.
He lit up while I sipped and watched.
It was horrible and alluring at the same time, the way he went about his habit.
After he returned the lighter, he murmured, “It’s a turn-off, I know. I smoke only at Duncroft, only in here, and only because my father knows I do and detests it.”
I lifted my snifter in salute, “Then carry on, milord. Got any lines of coke I can snort? I’m sure Richard would detest that even more.”
He gave me a small smile. “Sadly, no.”
The smile died and his head turned, then abruptly, he stood up, all before I noticed we were no longer alone.
Portia, Daniel trailing her, emerged from the foliage.
“You’re back,” she declared, her gaze doing what was now customary, bouncing back and forth between Ian and me.
“In the flesh,” I pointed out the obvious.
“And you’re in here relaxing and having a drink and not coming to talk to me?” she demanded.
“What do we have to talk about?” I asked.
“Lou has a brain tumor!” she shouted.
I sat very still, mostly because I was controlling myself from losing it with my sister, and if I moved, that control would snap.
“Calm the fuck down,” Ian said with quiet menace.
“Excuse me, but my stepmother is dying,” she snapped.
Daniel rounded to her side. “She’s not dying, Portia. You heard Ian when he told us what was happening, and we looked it up when we got home. It’s a glioma. It’s benign.”
“You can tell me how to behave when a member of your family has a brain tumor,” she retorted.
“When someone has a glioma, stress can cause seizures. Did you read that when you were looking it up?” Ian asked sardonically.
“We—” she started.
“And what stress has Lou been experiencing recently, Portia?” Ian drove his point home.
“Oh my God!” she cried. “Now I’m responsible for Lou’s tumor?”
“No, but you do bear some responsibility for the episode she endured tonight,” Ian replied.
“Portia, let’s go somewhere and get a drink,” Daniel intervened.
Arm stiff, she pointed to the drinks cabinet. “There’s alcohol right there.”
Daniel looked beleaguered.
Ian took a drag from his cigarette, blew the smoke to Portia’s right side, not in her face, but his intent was clear, and he instructed, “Duncroft lesson, petal. With plenty of space available, we’ve all claimed our own. This and the Brandy Room are mine. In case you’re interested, Mum’s are the Viognier Room and the Sherry Room. Dad’s are the Whisky and Wine Rooms. Daniel is partial to the stables and the Bordeaux Room. We respect each other’s space. And if you intend to spend any time in this house, you’ll do the same.”
“Will I get my own space?” she asked snottily.
“It’s been a generation since anyone used it. Mum flew in the face of convention and wanted her babies close. But the Nursery is available in the northwest wing,” Ian drawled.
