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“With pleasure, dear sister.” He hiked his workout bag over his shoulder but didn’t move for the door. “Its money, isn’t it? Let me loan you some.”
“No.”
“Stubborn woman. How the hell did you get that way?”
“It’s in the genes. Trust me.”
As supervisor in the technology department of Cade Enterprises for the past four years, Demetrius had yielded more profits than the entire decade prior because of his intelligence and business savvy.
“I want to earn my way. Like you. Even though I have no idea how you came out of that family crisis smelling like a goddamn rose as the dutiful son.”
“Language, Moira. It’s not becoming of you.”
I slipped on thick workout pants over my tight boxing gear. “Since when is a girl of the aristocracy with a foul mouth ever becoming?”
“Touché. As to being the dutiful son, perhaps I am, but sometimes…” He wrapped the towel around his neck and clenched both ends. His eyes became glazed and distant, his countenance taking on that grave expression so typical of him. Funny. It reminded me of someone else with a frosty disposition.
“Sometimes?” I prompted.
“Sometimes duty does feel an awful lot like a cage. You’ve got to make sure your choices, even dutiful ones, are truly your own.”
That’s when I understood. Demetrius had once felt exactly as I did. And perhaps still did. He’d chosen to stay behind, to uphold the family legacy, to stay within the bars of Father’s control, while my sister liberated herself by marrying a Morgon. It wasn’t until Shakara came along and rocked his world that he finally broke free of Father’s cage.
“Well, whatever it is. Don’t let it bring you down. Life’s too short to dwell on the negative.”
“My brother, the optimist. Did hell freeze over and I missed it?”
He chucked his sweaty towel at me, hitting me in the face.
“Ewww!” I laughed.
“A smile. That’s better than the scowl you wore in here. The workout seemed to help your crappy mood.”
“It did.” It had helped even more when I imagined Kol’s face instead of my brother’s every time I pounded him. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Any time you need to beat someone up, just give me a call.”
With a wave, he was out the door. I finished dressing and made my way down the wide, spiral staircase. Mother was out doing errands. Edda, our family’s live-in servant since before I was born, greeted me at the bottom as she dusted the tall, wooden clock.
“Will you be joining the family for dinner on Friday? Your mother requested that you come.”
I sighed inwardly. My mother still bore hopes of me snagging the most eligible bachelor in town and becoming the model aristocratic hostess for the most posh of high society. Like her. Though I loved my mother, another one with good intentions gone awry, I would never be the daughter she wanted. To avoid the look of disappointment in her eyes, I avoided her as often as I could, especially in the setting she so wanted me to be a part of.
“No, Edda. I’m afraid not. I have something to do for work.”
“Of course.” Edda smiled, surely knowing I may or may not have something to do with work. It didn’t matter. I’d avoid the Cade party train as much as possible. “Well, work hard.” She winked.
“I will,” I promised as she bustled toward the kitchen.
I crossed the marble tile into the foyer, hearing papers shuffle from the front parlor. Frowning, I stepped in. Father was seated in the overstuffed chair next to the fire, reading the newspaper. This was the man I enjoyed spending time with, not the overbearing CEO I’d avoided at his office. At home, outside the realm of his professional kingdom, he was the man I wished he’d been during my childhood, before Jessen had left as the rebellious child he still spoke of with a pained expression. “Father?”
His usual steely gaze was somewhat wilted. “Moira. Come here, girl.”
I obeyed. Though I’d relinquished his hold over the direction of my life, I still treated him with respect.
I sat on the ottoman at his feet. He folded the paper in his lap, twining his fingers together over a paunchy stomach. His face seemed more drawn, his eyes less severe, the mouth less grim. Time was softening the hard lines of a face I once feared. The man who never picked me up when I fell down, who never kissed a scraped knee or elbow, who never wished me a sound sleep at bedtime. No. The man who had taught me severity and tenacity was fading behind the graying hair and softening belly.
“Why are you not at work?”
