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I thank him and begrudgingly grab the glass.
“The others are waiting for you in the parlor. Your mother thought it’d be too hot to have drinks on the terrace today.”
And just as well.
I walk through the marble-lined entrance hall toward the parlor. Familiar voices greet me as I enter the room. Dad is sitting on his favorite armchair, a brandy snifter in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other—Mom doesn’t let him smoke inside, but he still likes to smell the tobacco with his Sunday drink.
Thomas is sprawled on the couch opposite him, feet on the coffee table, while Mom is trying to get him to take his feet down.
“Come on, Tommy, where did you leave your good manners?” I say, making my presence known.
Mom immediately abandons her quest and comes to hug me.
Thomas drops his feet from the coffee table and, arms draped on the couch backrest, casually flips me the bird with the hand Dad can’t see. “Nice of you to finally show up, Gabriello.”
While hugging my mom, I flip him right back.
Mom pulls back from the hug but still holds me by the shoulders. “Are you all right, baby? You look a little tired.”
“Late night?” Thomas smirks from the couch.
“Boys.” My dad’s voice booms across the room. “Wait at least until we’ve had appetizers before you start.”
“Start what?” Thomas and I both say, the image of two good boys.
My father shakes his head.
“Hi, Dad.”
He nods at me.
I make to move, but Mom is still on my case. “Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale?”
“I’m fine, Mom, I promise.”
Dad takes the last swig of brandy and stands up. “I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” I say since I skipped breakfast.
Mom pats me on the shoulder. “A good meal will make you feel better.”
Both my parents head to the formal dining room. Thomas stretches a hand as if asking for me to pull him up, but I know better than to fall for it.
“Get your ass off that couch on your own, brother.”
“Aw, come on.”
Thomas springs up and tries to ambush me in a headlock, but I’m prepared and, before he can loop his arm around my neck, I snatch his wrist and fold his arm behind his back.
Thomas taps out, and I let him go.
“Mom is right. Someone is prissy today.” He drops an arm over my shoulders and steers me toward the dining room. “Did Blake ruffle your feathers again last night?”
“Nope,” I lie.
“Saw the pictures on Instagram. She looked phenomenal.”
I only grunt in reply.
