One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(69)

“Yeah, but I think you’re more on a ‘grass is greener’ trip right now.”

“It can be. Don’t be so damned prideful little brother. I didn’t even know how to properly fasten a necktie until I was in prep school. The man who taught me saw potential in me and altered some of the instilled perceptions I had about myself on a night that changed my life. So, just put the fucking shirt on, and try to keep an open mind.”

“Fine,” I snatch the shirt from his hand.

“You should iron it,” he adds, shrugging on his suit jacket.

“That’s a fuck no,” I grumble.

He raises his palms in surrender as I fist off my shirt and slide the collared atrocity on.

Pinstripes.

Shoot me now.

We’re closer in build than we’ve ever been, so it fits well enough. Trying not to gag, I shed my jeans before pulling on a pair of his chinos. When my shirt is tucked in, Tobias’s expression resembles something akin to pride as he reads my discomfort and chuckles. “Okay, maybe we skip the bow I had picked out for your hair. Try not to look so miserable. We’re going to have fun.” His eyes dip. “Shoes too.”

He pulls some loafers from his bag, and I jerk my chin. “Not. Fucking. Happening.”

“Wear them,” he muses, “I promise none of your friends will see you.”

“Sean’s not coming?”

“No, Tyler either. You’ll be alone in college . . . at least at first,” he reminds me.

The weight of that truth doesn’t sit well, and he pounces on it. “That, that right there, is the whole point of tonight.”

“Thought it was a celebration?” I start to unbutton the shirt. “Not really interested in your little experiment.”

He swats my hands to keep me from undressing and sighs my name in frustration.

“Here’s an idea,” I mutter, “how about just allowing me to go through shit to figure it out for myself?”

With the snap of a cufflink, his patience follows. “Because you’ve gone through enough on your fucking own!” The light in his eyes dims as he runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.

“All right, big brother, no need to get emotional.” I flash him all my teeth, and he glares at me in return.




Three hours later, Tobias lays down a card for the three-thousand-dollar dinner bill—mostly due to his various wine selections. We’ve literally dined like our namesake. Our glasses never got close to empty—wine or water—as we were catered to like infants.

“So?” Tobias prompts, looking pleased while sipping his wine.

“So what?”

“So, was that not the best fucking fare you’ve ever eaten?”

“Sure.” I shrug.

He tosses his pressed linen napkin onto his empty plate as silverware clinks around us, along with hushed conversation. Looking relaxed, it’s clear he’s in his element. After thanking the waiter for topping off his wine, Tobias pins me with his stare. “We grew up gutter rats, and you just ate from a tasting menu designed by one of the best chefs in the country. Why are you so pissed about it?” He shakes his head. “Tell me, Dom, what does impress you?”

“A woman’s flexibility,” I smirk.

He sips his wine, unimpressed. “That’s Sean talking.”

“I’ll tell you what doesn’t impress me—wasting three thousand dollars on fermented grapes and sautéed vegetables.”

“That’s Delphine, through and through,” he dismisses, “tell me, Dom, where is your voice?”

I glare over at him.

“Don’t be offended that you’re a chameleon. You change colors to blend with the company you keep, and it only proves just how intelligent you are. But you’ve allowed others to give you the impression and current idea of what you deserve. You’ve been dodging looks your whole life,” he surmises. “The glares from Delphine for being a reminder of our parents’ deaths and the orphans she was forced to take in. The attention and cruelty you garnered for being a poor kid wearing ill-fitting hand-me-downs. The looks you draw now for lashing out because your grudge against the world is so obvious . . . Jesus, you haven’t even noticed the three women to our left who’ve been eye fucking us for the last twenty minutes. So, while you talk a good game—and have a healthy amount of confidence to back it up—you don’t exactly know who you are yet outside of the club.”

He leans forward, eyes intent as I rake my fork over my last bite of pureed cauliflower.

“That’s okay, Dom. It takes time—a lifetime for some—but it requires truly living and experiencing the world outside of books through your own perspective. Leaving Triple Falls is your chance to discover yourself outside our mutual purpose and decide what kind of man you want to be.” He pauses, knowing he has my attention. “I’m sharing this with you because I felt completely fucking lost my first year in France. I had no idea who I was. You’ve surpassed me by miles in some respects, but I’m worried because you haven’t evolved past the limits you were made to believe you have. You have to try, Dom, for yourself. I’m scared of how lonely you’ll be if you don’t.”

“I don’t get lonely,” I counter.