His mug reaches his lips again, takes a few more sips of his coffee as he tries to wake up, and I’m over here peppering off questions like it’s my job.
“Bobby and I were never your typical twins. Maybe when we were younger, and I have no memory of it, but our father pegged us up against each other every chance he got. It was like he wanted to see who was the strongest so he could get rid of the weakest.”
My stomach drops because, as a child, I couldn’t imagine how painful and disparaging that would be. How someone who’s supposed to love you is using you to bait out the other.
Especially between brothers.
“I’m the oldest,” Bronte continues. “So, naturally, my father had in his mind that I would take over Harding Holdings. I was proud to be a part of that for a long time growing up, knowing I had a future before I could drive. Until I started seeing the world my father played in. What kind of man he was. And the things I’ve heard him do, say, and the threats he would make to gain what he needed to move his company.
“Then he was fucking girls at my school. And that was it for me.”
Wait, what?
I aimlessly watch him casually drink his coffee like he just told me what we were going to do today, but he’s had years to think about this.
I’ve only had seconds.
“I guess you can say,” Bronte adds after a minute, ridding himself of his coffee and grabbing a small plate. “I became the black sheep that rebelled against everything he said, did, or thought. Oh, and I mentioned his underage sexual advances against girls I knew. Tack on that Bobby ran me into the ground with smoking weed, sneaking girls into my room, and fucking teachersto get good grades, that got me shipped off to boarding school in Switzerland.”
Smoking weed.
Sneaking girls into his room.
Fucking teachers to get good grades.
“And, no,” Bronte chimes in, scooping up some eggs. “I didn’t fuck my teachers to get good grades.”
I’m ashamed that it was something I thought could be true, based on the information about Bobby’s infidelities.
However, I’m relieved to know Bronte is still—allegedly—not like him at all. I think time will be the only telltale sign to confirm that, but I won’t convict him of a thing until I see receipts for it.
“Then you found your new father and mother?”
“In Greece,” he replies. “Well, my father. I started working for his company. He saw something in me—probably anger issues and too much energy before he started spending some time with me. He wanted me to come back to the States with him to work, I did. I spent a lot of time with Eleni, my mom, and Callie, my sister. They adopted me when I was nineteen.”
“And the rest is history.” He bows his head, seemingly lost in the past that I didn’t mean to make into something heavy. “What’s your sister like?”
“Mouthy.”
I smile because I like her already. “And your mom?”
“Kind.”
“And your father?”
“Strong.”
I’m not entirely sure how, but the one-word adjectives on his family sum them up pretty well in my head.
“I love that for you.”
“Your father has congested heart failure.”
I frown at his turn on my family and how he knows that. Not that I find myself fully surprised. But, the sudden shift has me abit on guard.
“He does.”
“And your mother…she still teaches?” I bob my head as he piles some fruit and a cherry danish on my plate. “She does that for the insurance, doesn’t she?”
