“In fear of ruining your good opinion of me, I was a horny young sod trying to impress a date.”
Her soft laughter settles warm under my skin. “Did it work?”
I lean in. “You tell me.”
Her gaze dips down to my mouth and back again. “The jury is hung. I think you need to try harder.”
She’s going to fucking kill me. I may be the one laying the trap, so to speak, but she’s definitely not going to make it easy on me.
* * *
Tenor House is beautiful. It’s good to see it put to use after years of lying dormant in our family holdings. I’ll try not to look too deeply into the kinship that is churning in my gut. It is not a night for doubt.
The eclectic heritage-listed Victorian was built back in the 1850s, boasts three floors, a grand staircase, six fireplaces, pocket doors, and oak flooring. It’s magnificent and not a little foreboding, which is rather fitting tonight.
Before I can impress this knowledge upon Ivy, she beats me to it.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she explains, and it’s an impulse I fear she’s held back for a long time. There won’t be any holding back this evening. “I did some research on this place. I mean, Emma told me your grandfather was Deacon Bradbury, but I hadn’t realized he was the original owner. It didn’t say what it had been used for before your brother donated it, though. Was your family always interested in art?”
She stuns in the moonlight as our invitation is checked and confirmed at the door. I’ll have a hard time finding my brother because I can’t take my eyes off her.
The entryway is narrow, the crowd moving slowly through the dimly lit hallways. It allows me to stay close to Ivy, one hand on her back, leaning in to speak quietly in her ear.
“Not exactly. Deacon’s interest only extended as far as his profits. My father is the only painter in the family. Nothing creative, only residential.” She smells of jasmine. It’s divine. “He’s always joked that he never had the patience for anything more.”
It’s not true. He’s nothing if not patient. Soft, where the rest of us are harsh.
Jaded.
“But I suppose you could say we were all raised with an appreciation for the arts,” I say. I only wish Reed’s appreciation didn’t mirror our grandfathers so directly.
“That’s really sweet,” she says. I’m glad to be standing behind her so she can’t see the tightness in my jaw. “That must be why every cent raised from tonight goes into art scholarships and mentor programs.”
“I didn’t know that,” I push out. It’s been a long time since I spoke to my brother for longer than a meal, and guilt sinks, uneasy, into my gut, layered over the building anticipation of this evening.
As if called forth by lady luck herself, Reed appears ahead of us, tall and slim, cutting a fine line in a plain black suit and mask, escorting who I assume to be Mum up the central staircase.
Diverting course, I steer Ivy into a side parlor, where a couple is silently analyzing a series of sketches. Soon, every room will be full of socialites and wealthy business associates attempting to impress my brother and each other with their “generosity.” For now, they gravitate to the bar in the main room down the hall and upstairs, where Reed is no doubt holding court. It’ll be impossible to talk to him tonight, let alone have a reasonable conversation.
Perhaps this was a terrible idea.
I return my attention to Ivy, who manages to shine under the glow of the carefully dimmed sconces. At least this evening won’t be a complete waste.
She stares up at me, her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing. “You don’t get along with him, do you? That’s what Manny meant when he called you a coward, right? What’s that all about?”
Christ, she’s observant. It’s impressive, even if it’s a topic I don’t enjoy talking about, especially when I’m meant to be the one plumbing her depths, not the other way around. “My brother and I haven’t gotten along in a while, and I’d rather not ruin a perfectly good evening.”
But she’s undeterred. It’s a trait I admire, when it’s aimed at more pleasurable pursuits than my familial wounds. “So you could have moved to anywhere in the world, but you chose to come here where your brother is, only to avoid him?”
She certainly doesn’t mince her words. Dad would love her. Manny would be having a right old time if he were here.
“It’s complicated,” I say, with enough edge that anyone would know I mean to end the conversation.
The thing I’m rapidly learning is that Ivy isn’t just anyone. “I’ll get it out of you.”
“We’ll see.”
Trusting that Reed will stay upstairs, I lead Ivy to the bar in the main room. Shadows crowd each room of the house. They linger in the corners, under the staircase, draping every surface in mischief and mystery. It’s a night for secrets. A night for truths.
