Eli, Lan, and even Creigh are firm believers of the King name supremacy and consider an offense against one of its members as a declaration of war. It’s not that I don’t share the sentiment. More like, I never felt worthy of the superior last name.
Lan clutches my shoulder, a wicked grin painting his lips. “Congrats on kicking the bitch to the curb. For the love of Satan, don’t get back together with her. She’s not for you.”
“And how do you know what’s for me? Are you an expert?”
“Me, an expert? Nonsense. But you should at least be with someone who actually only has eyes for you.”
“Aww.” Eli wraps an arm around my other shoulder and squeezes me. “The help dared hurt my precious Bran? Why didn’t you mention that before so I could’ve gouged her eyes out and fed them to the dogs?”
“Maybe that’s why I didn’t,” I mutter. “I’m just going to sleep.”
“Hell no. We need to get you drunk to celebrate.” He clears his throat. “Rems!! Get the pints out!”
A few things are knocked over down the hall before a door is flung open and Remi peeks out, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face. “Did someone say pints?”
“Yeah, as much as you can find.” Eli squeezes me. “We’re giving Bran a Congrats for Dodging the Help’s Bullet party.”
“No clue what that is, but I’m in!” He jumps to the opposite room, wearing nothing but boxers, and kicks Creigh’s door open. “Wake up, spawn! We have a partaayyy.”
I’m dragged to the living room against my wishes for a celebration I want no part in. I’d rather paint for an hour or so until ten thirty.
But then again, my paintings are taking a turn I dislike and I find myself hiding the canvases as if they’re a dirty little secret.
Maybe they are.
So perhaps this mindless gathering with my family members is exactly what I need.
I find solace in Creigh’s silent presence, who also didn’t give his approval about attending this sudden celebration.
He’s around Glyn’s age, but he has an old soul and he’s the one I seek out whenever I need calm.
He clinks his bottle of beer against mine and lifts his chin. “Congrats on getting rid of the loose screw.”
Jesus. Even he didn’t like her.
I take a sip of my beer. “I didn’t think you knew she existed.”
“She made sure everyone knew. Not for you, cousin. You deserve someone who doesn’t use you.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
“Even my Cray Cray thinks you dodged a bullet.” Eli ruffles his brother’s hair and headlocks him, at which they start to wrestle playfully.
Landon pushes them away and slides to my side, a calculative look I don’t like slipping into his features. “So what prompted the breakup? Did she cheat again?”
I swallow a long mouthful of beer to avoid his inquisitive gaze. Of course Lan wouldn’t let it go. He’s always acting like a dog, sniffing around, and trying to locate the bone. Bones. Plural.
He knows I kept her around for convenience reasons, and while he didn’t approve of her, he of all people is well aware of the image. The camouflage.
Now, he has no idea why I need that image, and he never will, but he couldn’t have missed its existence. It’s why he’s never liked the way I converted to painting landscapes. He knows I’m doing it as part of that fa?ade.
It’s impossible to hide from him, no matter what I do. It’s like a curse.
I let out a breath, staring at the tinted bottle. “I was bored.”
“So she didn’t cheat. Interesting.” His intrusive eyes dig a hole in the side of my face and I pretend to be fascinated with Remi making a fool of himself.
Thankfully, Lan gets off my case with a simple “Well, I’m glad you finally got bored.”
Not sure why he cares so much about my relationship with Clara, or the lack thereof, but whatever.
I knock back the rest of the bottle and then reach for a second. Maybe it’s better to just get smashed tonight.
Maybe that will numb the illicit thoughts trying to tear through my brain.
Tonight, I broke up with my girlfriend of two years—though on and off—but my thoughts are infested with images of a savage ravaging me.
“Rems! Do those impressions.” Eli points his beer at his cousin, snapping my attention to the present.
“Whatever do you mean, my liege?” Remi says in a dramatic medieval accent. “I shall not be accused of treason when my blood has irrigated these lands for decades.”