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“What’s wrong with a little attitude?” I close the front door. “Worked all right for the two of us.”
“Don’t want him running wild like you and I did.” Bryan’s lips twist. Apparently, he doesn’t remember our childhood as fondly as I do.
“I get it, I guess.” I pick up his suitcases. “Studio is this way.”
I head for the hallway that branches off in the opposite direction from where our wives and kids went. Warmth hits us as we enter the hallway, leaving the foyer behind.
“There are only two other rooms off this annex. The bathroom.” I jerk my chin, pointing it out since my hands are full.
“Good to know,” he says, giving it a cursory nod.
“But more importantly, the studio is here.”
I step inside a large room that has a huge black velvet sectional with throw pillows shaped like guitars, a couple of crimson chairs that swivel, and our band accolades plastered all over the walls.
“Cool fucking setup.” Bryan follows, stops to take it all in, and whistles through his teeth. “Who painted the Tempest hurricane logo?”
“Jewel Anderson.” I park his two suitcases by the door. “I mean, Jewel McMahon.”
“Rush McMahon’s wife.” Bryan tilts his head, considering the painting some more.
“Yeah. Shaina commissioned her to. Cost a fucking whack.”
“I’ll bet.” Bryan nods. “It’s really cool, man. The whole house is, from what I’ve seen so far.”
“Wasn’t me.” I shrug off the compliment. “Shaina did all the decorating, inside the studio and the rest of the house. But come see the best part.”
I leave the lounge, pass through the sound room with its top-of-the-line equipment and enough space for about ten people to congregate, and stop inside the soundproofed recording room.
“Whoa.” Bryan lets out a long breath. “Now this is freakin’ insane.”
“Thanks.” I beam. “The studio was all my doing. The only other part I participated in was sitting for the family portraits that are hanging on the walls in the rotunda.”
“Like those. Very welcoming.”
I make a face. “Shaina forces the girls and me to sit for a family photo every Christmas.”
“Forcesyouto sit for it, you mean.” He sets down his guitars and glances around.
“Yeah,” I say. “Not big on sitting still.”
I feel out of my element with the whole family gig. My old man never acknowledged me and my own mother was ashamed of me, or at least that’s what I always assumed until after she died. So, with family stuff, I rely on Shaina to guide me.
“The girls love getting all dressed up for it.”
“Love getting concentrated attention from their dad, you mean.”
“Harmony does.” My brows draw together as I consider my daughters and the differences between them. “The more attention Harmony gets from everyone, the better. She’s a lot like her mom. Peace? Not so much. She’s pretty shy. Her only real friend is her sister and her uncle Alex. But honestly, that kid prefers reading more than anything else.”
“Reading, huh?” Bryan arches a brow. “Where does that come from?”
“I have no earthly idea.” I shake my head, but no hair skims my shoulders anymore. It’s short now, easier to blend into the suburban landscape. “Probably from Alex. He started reading his scripts to her when she was only four.”
“Alex is a trip, but he’s good people.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “A trip is right. He’s been on a big ego one since he won another Oscar.”
“Big ego, huh.” Bryan rubs a hand over the scruff on his jaw and considers me. “Can’t say I’m familiar with anyone who has one of those.”
