“Actually, Dad, she could write anywhere if she wanted to.” The words bubble up before I can think too hard about them. “She’s got the top four articles on Belladonna’s site right now, and they’re trending on socials, too. They might not be winning Pulitzers at her magazine, but they’re fucking smart to have hired her.”
“Ryan, I didn’t say?—”
“She’s brought millions of people to the site,” I interrupt him, and I know it’s more than what he just said about Pippaand her writing. It’s everything I want to say about the way he belittles my job, too. But I’ll be fucking damned if I let him make Pippa feel the way he’s made me feel. “And that’s not just online dollars. It’s physical sales, too. She worked hard as fuck to get that job, and she’s killing it. How many writers do you know who started a trend so viral that you can’t scroll for more than a few seconds on any social site without running into an iteration of it?”
Dad’s throat bobs as he straightens and gives an apologetic look to our guests as if to saykids, what can you do?
“Smug bastard,” I mutter under my breath before draining the last of my mimosa.
“I didn’t realize you’d taken such an interest in Pippa’s career,” Emily says, not a question, but the way she says it makes it clear she’s cautiously curious and I worry I’ve just made yet another huge fucking mistake.
“Like I said, you can’t go anywhere on social media without running into that stupid trend,” I add, trying to recover. Trying to force myself not to look at Pippa even though I can feel her eyes on me like the fire of a thousand suns.
It’s not the most eloquent ending to a speech. But for a second, the uncles and aunts have nothing to say. So if you ask me, that’s a success.
When I can’t take it for another second, I flick my eyes to Pippa and wish I hadn’t.
She’s gawking at me like I just stripped off all my clothes and started swinging my dick around. Her jaw is so tense, I can see the outline of her bone in a sharp line from chin to ear. Her eyes so narrowed that I’m surprised they don’t form a physical point and stab me.
I look away and tug at the constricting collar of my shirt, suddenly hot and sweating like I ran a half marathon.
She looked afraid of what everyone might think about my coming to her defense and definitely angry as hell, but also…
I don’t know, I’m probably imagining the pain I saw in her eyes. The hope hidden beneath it.
Well, whatever. After her little lecture, I reread some of her articles with new eyes. I still think she can do better than writing essays about how to send nudes safely and sexily, but everything she writes still oozes with talent. Her wit, sharp observations, and feminist slant come out in everything.
It’s impossible to read one of her articles without hearing her voice in my head. Without…smiling like some sort of fucking idiot.
Stilted conversation starts up again between the aunts and I see Emily come to check on Pippa, whispering something about how much she loves her daughter’s articles and to ignore the aunts because they’re just old fashioned and a bit prude.
I don’t miss the way Emily is looking at me from the corner of her eye like I’ve grown a second head.
Pippa and I have always either fought at family gatherings or completely ignored each other. This is different and she can feel it. Sense it.
All because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut.
I didn’t need to jump to Pippa’s defense. If she was offended, I’m sure she would have told off the aunts herself.
Fuck.
What is wrong with me?
When I look up, Dad’s watching me from the bar cart, his gaze spearing me over the rim of his champagne flute.
“Ryan, where are you going?” Emily calls after me just before I get to the main hallway.
“I need to take a shower before dinner. Late night yesterday. Didn’t have time.”
“But we were going to have?—”
I don’t hear the rest of what she says as I take a sharp right into the hall and jog up the stairs to my room before I can make things any worse.
22
PIPPA
“What’s gotten into your stepbrother?” Aunt Paige says. Her lips are pursed like she just bit into a sour lemon. “Talking to his father like that.”
