“That’s not how I remember it,” I reply.
“You and I remember a lot of things differently.”
I open my mouth to protest and slam it shut again. Then I exhale. “Yeah, I guess we do.”
I don’t want to argue with Mathew during one of the rare moments when we’re not at each other’s throats.
This entire day feels wrong.
It’s not how we’re supposed to be honoring our mother, but short of dragging everyone into the same room, there’s nothing I can do.
Like every year, everyone will honor her in the way they see fit.
“I did copy you a lot when we were growing up,” Mathew murmurs. “I thought if I did, Mom would like me better.”
I give him an incredulous look. “What are you talking about? Mom loved all of us equally.”
Mathew makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat. “You were her favorite, but I was determined to take that away from you.”
I stare at Mathew as I figure out what to say.
It’s one of the few moments I feel he’s being honest.
Mathew retreated into himself after her death. When he finally re-emerged, he wasn’t the same.
For years, I’ve only ever seen him as cold, cruel, and calculating, but I’ve never given myself a chance to wonder why or how he got there.
You’re not the only one who had to change after Mom’s death. He loved her too, remember?
Suddenly, I’m not looking at the brother who’s been waiting on the sidelines to catch me screwing up.
I’m seeing the little brother who used to follow me around the house and stare at me with those big eyes.
“Mathew—”
“Anyway, there’s no point in getting emotional about it. It’s just another day.”
I frown. “You sound like Dad.”
“At least one of us does,” Mathew replies. “Someone has to protect the Payne family legacy. I bet it tears you up knowing it won’t be you. Enjoy it while you can, brother.”
Without waiting for a response, he turns and strides off.
I press two fingers to my temple and rub in slow, circular motions. I’m halfway to the stairs when I see Katia and Carlisle standing in a corner, gesturing wildly. As Katia hears me approach, she turns to face me.
Carlisle says something to her, and she looks away.
In the room, I retrieve a bottle of bourbon from the bottom drawer and pry it open. When London emerges from the bathroom, I’m swigging straight from the bottle. She finishes towel-drying her hair and pads over to me, barefoot and smelling like spring blossoms. Wordlessly, she takes my hand in hers and tugs me onto the bed.
I take another long swig of the drink and look away. “Did you find a security team you like?”
London sighs. “There are a few promising ones, but I have to check with my dad.”
I turn to her. “The less contact you have, the better.”
Her insistence frustrates me. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“I won’t.”
