“I prefer rain and clouds,” she replies before tipping her face up to her husband’s. He leans down to kiss her on the lips, and I have to look away.
It’s not the kissing that bothers me, but the brazen flaunting of marital bliss. Call it bitter jealousy, but I don’t need to see just how happy and in love they are. I give it five years before they can’t stand each other the way they did when they first got married.
Granted, that was because the family forced them into a sham marriage, but still…this period of passion will fade, and they’ll despise each other again. It’s inevitable.
While I wait for my water to boil, I cross my arms and look at my sister. She is the one who calls all the shots anyway. She’s not technically in charge by rank or age, but she is the one the rest of us look to for guidance.
The last thing I want is to disappoint Anna and take away theone thing she loves, but I can’t keep living like this, and she knows that. I did agree to come back to Barclay to spend a year or two on my art, and I did say she could continue to host events here, but after only a few months, it’s clear this isn’t working.
I deserve to have my house back.
And if I can’t have that, I have to leave.
The fleeting expression of concern on her face shows that she senses it too.
“Wouldn’t ye like a break, Anna?” I ask. “Hosting these events is so much work. And for what?”
“I enjoy it,” she replies enthusiastically. “And I think you would too, if you’d give it a shot.”
I scoff as my two brothers crack up in laughter. “Me? You think I would enjoy hosting these stupid, extravagant parties?”
“Yes! Sure, they’re extravagant,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “But they’re also romantic. And it makes me happy to be around so many happy people. Instead of around a bunch of grumps like you.”
“Come on,” Lachy jokes. “Give it a shot, Dec. Maybe she’s right.”
“I’d love to see the miserable wedding you’d host,” Killian adds with a haughty laugh.
“Thanks,” I reply sardonically. “I think I’ll stick to my studio in the attic. Haunting the visitors and being the ominous dark figure through the window that scares all the guests away.” I add in a little ghostly sound for effect.
Everyone cracks up momentarily, but when the laughter eventually subsides, Anna is staring at me.
“But how much longer do you think you can do this, Declan?” she asks seriously.
I heave a sigh as I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know, Anna. Either I have to go, or the weddings do.”
Truth be told, I don’t want to leave the manor. I like living here in my family house where I was raised, where memories ofmy parents echo through the halls. Where my childhood still feels somewhat intact. Where I can pretend my family is still together and the happy lives we once lived still exist somehow.
Not to mention, it’s beautiful here, even in the cold, bitter, depressing months. I find so much inspiration in the manor and on the grounds. There’s something mystical and intriguing about it.
I haven’t felt this inspired in a very long time. For the first time in ages, I feel compelled to paint something other than…him.
Anna’s expression melts in disappointment, and I hate how I do that to her. Because no matter what I choose, she ends up disheartened. She’ll either lose this thing that she loves, these weddings, or she’ll lose me.
And for Anna, the only thing that matters is keeping this family happy somehow. Lord knows we don’t make it easy on her.
“Oh, Dec,” Killian says, noticing Anna’s grimace. “You can put up with it for a little bit longer.” None of us want to hurt her, not really.
“I can’t,” I reply with a groan as I rub my forehead.
Just then, the whistle on my teakettle pipes up, screaming through the kitchen and breaking the tension between us all. I rush over, grabbing a mitt to pick it up off the stovetop.
Call me old-fashioned, but there’s something nostalgic about making tea on the stove the way our parents once did—with the kettle they once did. Without even asking, Anna pulls down five teacups from the cupboard, setting them on the counter while I rummage for the tea bags. For a moment, being here together with my siblings, preparing a late-night cup of tea like our mother always did, soothes my soul.
Judging by the comfortable silence among my brothers and sister, they feel the same.
As we stand around my kitchen quietly sipping our tea, it’s Killian who seems to be scheming somehow. A look on his face says he’s up to something. And after he sets his teacup down witha loud clang, nearly breaking it, he announces, “I suggest a wager.”
Internally, I bristle.I don’t like the sound of that.
