“Ivy. Who is she?”
I look up.
Riley has abandoned her cooking disaster and is peering over my shoulder, arms crossed, eyes locked on my screen.
“And why,” she adds slowly, “is she calling you King?”
Her gaze flicks to my face.
“You’re smiling,” she singsongs.
I lock my phone and put it in my pocket.
“It’s none of your business.”
“That’s sibling code for ‘someone I definitely shouldn’t be interested in.’” She plops onto the couch. “Come on. Details. Is she famous? An ex? Someone’s girlfriend?”
“She’s nobody.”
“Liar, liar,” she sings, gesticulating and swaying. “My brother is turning into a liar for a girl.”
“Riley…”
“Does she know it’s you? Declan Hawthorne, not King.”
My silence is answer enough.
“Declan.” Her voice carries that older sibling tone. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because when she doesn’t know it’s me, she’s different. She’s open and real. She talks about things that matter instead of treating me like a walking billboard.” I run a hand through my hair, frustrated. “And I want to know that version of her.”
Her expression softens. “But you’re lying to her, bro.”
“I’m not lying. I’m just…delaying the truth.”
“That’s literally the definition of lying.” Rowan points out, settling into the armchair with his tablet and scrolling through something work-related. “You’re on your work phone—and I’d bet money you gave her that number. Just don’t do anything stupid.”
He’s right. In the heat of the moment, I gave Sloane my work line—the one I usually keep strictly for business.
It keeps King separate from Declan.
And I have absolutely no intention of admitting that out loud. “When do I ever do anything stupid?”
Both twins stare at me.
“Fair point,” I concede.
My phone buzzes again.
Ivy:
Random question. If you could have dinner with any historical figure, who would it be?
I reply.
