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“Oh! The Siamese Twins?” Alba pipes up.
“Little brother,” Victor grits.
I murmur, “Twins?” Graham’s eyes twinkle with mischief.
“There were two, Luxury,” Graham corrects.
“The first one danced with Vic,” Alba adds on, “she got stuffed down the trash chute. The second one met you in the alley. What happened to her, Victor?”
“Yes, what happened?” My arms fold over. Although I try to hide it, I finally understand how that bitch was in two places at once. Dancing with Vic then beckoning me down a dark alleyway.
In a sharp, grave tone, Victor says, “The same thing that’sliterallyabout to happen to my baby brother.”
“First, Alba’s my lady. I had to shareyourdeviant hobby. She’s the right to know, Victor. Second, she’s my lady,” he says eagerly. While she pretends to shy away from his affections, the bubbly couple move around the courtyard. I don’t know if they’re tickling or what, but there sure is a hell of a lot of touching going on.
My hip smacks against Victor’s side. “He tells hereverything.”
“How are you so certain that it’s all his own business and not mine that the chap’s divulged, huh?”
Smiling at the two, I softly pinch Victor’s arm when it slides around my shoulder.
“Now, for this impromptu visit,” Victor begins as the jumping beans simmer before us.
“Yes, isn’t it a pleasant surprise.” I smile, testing him to say otherwise.
As we start into the house, I chat with Alba, allowing the brothers space to get reacquainted. I hear Graham whine about being hungry, so we all end up in the kitchen, clearing out the staff and getting to work.
Alba lists off the ingredients she needs for baked bannock, and we each dig around the pantry or fridge to get them. All of usbutVictor, who has claimed the stool on the opposite side of the expansive island.
“Mother should be arriving soon.” Graham uncaps four beers as we cook. He notices the worry in my eyes. “You'll love her, Luxury.”
“Did you consider visiting Somerhaven?” Victor asks with a bite in his tone, fingers steepled together.
“Well, I . . .”
“You fear having all your mum’s attention, really?” Victor snorts. “Grow up, Graham. Your visits to England are infrequent at best.”
“Vic—” I try as he continues to elevate.
“No. Graham’s excelled at the art of obtaining his monthly allowance but never takes his arse home. Have a laugh with his own mother! Or does she laugh?”
His tone reeks of sarcasm.
The giggly, yellow aura glowing around us all fades to black.
“Vic, I’m sorry, mate. No, I’ve never seen Mum laugh, smile, or do anything of the sort, really. I just thought.” Graham takes a long pull of his beer. “Anytime you’re around, Mum’s happy.”
“Happy?” Victor’s sharp demeanor siphons all the air from the room. Alba stops rolling out the dough for her bannock. I place the knife down for the vegetable salad I was preparing.
“Princess Mary’s every expectation resides with you,” Graham huffs, running a hand over his hair.
“That's how things usually are when a father dies. The oldest son gets the role,” I add, trying to help Graham’s cause.
Alba sighs, “Oh, I'm sorry to hear that—”
“Dad isn't dead.” Graham looks to me, then Victor.
“He isn't?” I glare at my man.This is how I get answers.
