The cold seems to deepen. James shuffles his feet. "Guess we’d better?—"
"I might be falling for her," I growl.
He stiffens. "You’re talking about your wife, I assume."
"Who else would it be?"
He turns to face me, shoving a hand in his pocket. "Isn't that why you married her?"
"As you well know, I married her to save my inheritance."
"Right."
"You don’t believe me?”
He surveys me with that shrewd look—the one which warns me that he’s about to give me the unvarnished truth. My brothers might have done the same, but I’ve been closer to James than them.
"Hey, I’m not trying to convince you otherwise." James raises a hand. "I can only tell you what I see from the outside."
"Which is?"
"The way you look at her, the way you watch her when she’s in the same room as you, the way you kissed her earlier… There was nothing fake about it."
"Hmm." I take a puff of my cigarette, and contemplate the tip. My head spins a little. I’m not used to the nicotine anymore.
My life is changing in front of my eyes.
"You know you can’t control life?" James drawls. "We think we make the decisions, but fate sometimes has other plans."
"Are you speaking from experience?"
He smiles grimly. "I’m an adopted kid who’s never forgotten that life might have gone another way for me. But it didn’t. My parents took me out of the foster care system. They gave me an identity. A purpose. And every day, I try to live up to this second chance I got."
I frown. "You’ve never spoken about it before."
"Never had to. But if it gives you, perspective?—"
The door to the balcony opens. Both of us turn to find Arthur framed in the doorway.
28
Brody
"I need a word with my grandson." Arthur addresses James without taking his gaze off me.
"Of course." James stubs out his cigarette. "I’ll be waiting downstairs." He squeezes my shoulder, brushes past Arthur and shuts the door behind him.
Arthur walks toward me. His gait is slow. He’s using a cane for support. It makes him appear more frail than usual. His back, though, is ramrod stiff. His shoulders erect. But his cheeks are gaunt. If I ask him if he wants to sit down he’ll refuse.
Instead, I head toward one of the two chairs set between the outdoor heaters and fold my length into one of them.
After a moment’s hesitation, he seats himself in the other one. His forehead furrows. "You needn’t have done that."
I know what he’s referring to. "If I hadn’t, you’d have insisted on standing. It would have worn you out, but you wouldn’t have backed down."
He shoots me a contemplative look from under his bushy eyebrows. "You always were more thoughtful than the others."
"Because despite your bluster, I know you mean well. As do my brothers. Your methods, though, leave much to be desired."
