“You should have paid her more.” Rhys nonchalantly traced his finger over the rim of his wine glass, giving Sebastian a speculative look.
“She’s lucky I paid her anything at all.”
“She’s lucky you’re a hopeless romantic and didn’t make her sign a pre-nap,” Rhys snapped.
“So, she’s telling people I like it up the ass and that I’ve put a baby into her.”
“She’s implying you have unique sexual preferences and that she is pregnant by a St. George.”
“Well, unless she fucked Dad too, she’s implying that it’s me,” he said.
“She’s implying it’s a St. George.”
“You told me you’ve had a vasectomy.”
“Right.” Rhys took a drink of his wine. “I’ve toldyouthat.”
Sebastian matched his brother, taking a sip of the cool white blend. “But you haven’t told her that.”
“Why would I?” Rhys raised an eyebrow. “She’s no one. She’s nothing.”
“So you don’t think it’s really my baby.” Shivers broke out up Sebastian’s spine and his hands began to tremble from relief. He set his wine glass down as to not break it and flattened his palms on the counter. He counted his fingers, then he counted his knuckles, and when he was confident he’d steadied, he took another drink.
“Even I can do basic math. Your wife apparently cannot.”
“Please stop calling her my wife.” Sebastian closed his eyes and took another swallow of wine.
He needed to eat something.
What time was it?
Was it time to eat? Would Remington have told him to eat?
He wanted food. He wanted home.
He wanted Remington.
Why did he want Remington so badly? Why couldn’t he face his own messes on his own? Why when things got hard did he turn to drinking or avoiding when he could just face his issues and wipe them away himself? Why did Remington make it so easy?
“Soon to be ex,” Rhys corrected himself which, even though accurate, still made Sebastian’s stomach churn.
But that could have also been the lack of food.
“You clearly don’t think that I’ve gotten her pregnant, so why am I here?” he asked.
“Maybe I missed you.”
“Why am I here?” he asked again, finishing his glass of wine. Whatever Remington would want be damned. Sebastian emptied the rest of the bottle into his glass and leveled a sharp look at his brother. “I’m tired of playing games. Just tell me what you want.”
“What I want…” Rhys dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth. “What I want doesn’t matter, and it never has.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” Rhys waved him off.
“What does it mean?” he pressed.
“Do you really want to do this now?” Rhys asked. “I brought you here so we can shut your gold digging ex-wife up, not to rehash the failures ofmylife.”
