Hunter and his mother both turned to look at the man standing atop the grand staircase. Gerald Cavendish had one hand on the railing, the other holding a cane. But even with the cane in hand, he looked his same formidable self—straight-backed and impeccably dressed with a stern expression, hard eyes under busy white eyebrows trained on Hunter. There was no weakness in his voice as he barked, “Show some respect. Your mother only wants what’s best for you, and you know very well that we have a certain image to maintain.”
Hunter clenched his fists just thinking about the all-important Cavendish image. That image had haunted him for the last twenty-four years, dictating how he was expected to look, how he was expected to behave, and how he was expected to live his life. Expectations were the bane of his existence and part of the reason he hadn’t visited Cavendish Crossing for so long. Expectations and appearances were what had broken his h—No, he wasn’t going there. Oh God, it was much easier to be himself in the city. The desire to tell his father to get lost burned brightly, but Hunter bit back the words. He’d only just arrived, and there was no point getting off on the wrong foot—well, getting off any further on the wrong foot given the start wasn’t the best so far.
He swallowed heavily. Best to keep the peace. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you, darling.” His mom gave him a smile before looking at the watch on her dainty wrist. “Why don’t you head on up and get changed now? Cocktails are only an hour away. You should have time to find Don.”
Hunter nodded, but there was no way in hell he was going to ask Don to polish his boots, a task he could do himself if he was so inclined. “Sure.”
He picked up his luggage and made for the stairs.
“The drawing room in an hour, Hunter. Don’t be late,” she called after him.
“Six o’clock. Got it.”
He took the stairs two at a time, only pausing as he neared his father, who was slowly descending. His knuckles were white where he gripped the silver top of the cane, his other hand tight around the railing in the limited space between the decorations.
“Do you—” Hunter thought better of it and left the question unfinished. His father would never accept help from him—that would mean showing weakness. Instead Hunter gave a terse nod and continued up the stairs. At the top, he stopped and looked back down.
Appearances could be deceiving. The fierce and strong-looking Gerald Cavendish moved tentatively down the stairs, taking them one at a time. He made sure to secure his grip on the railing between each step, having to seek the polished wood between huge swathes of tinsel that spiraled from top to bottom. Clusters of silver bells and pale blue and white balls were attached to the railing at regular intervals, the color scheme matching the other Christmas decorations that adorned the foyer. Hi mom had obviously decided Tiffany blue was the color trend this year, and there was no way either of his parents were going to let anything like Gerald’s ill health dampen the full decoration explosion. The handrail and banisters of the grand stairway had always been decorated at Christmas. Why put something such as his father’s safety before tradition and making sure the house looked perfect?
A place for everything and everything in its place.
* * *
The bedroom dooropened and hit the wallpapered wall with a bang, but before Hunter could raise a protest, Brooke flounced into the room and into his arms.
“Happy holidays, little brother.” She wrapped her arms around him in a hug so different from their mother’s—warm, with so much love behind it as she held on tight, as if she’d never let go.
“Not so much of the little, huh?” He picked her up, happiness bringing a smile to his face, and swung her in a circle before placing her back on her feet. “How are you, Brooke? It’s so good to see you.”
She pulled away to meet his eyes, looking up with a grin from ear to ear. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you. I’ve been here for two days already. How on earth did you get away with the late arrival?”
“Aha! You think I’m going to give away all my secrets?”
Brooke let him go. She sat in the middle of his bed and crossed her legs yoga-style in a move reminiscent of her teenage self, not the nearly thirty-year-old woman she was today. Just seeing her there, in the center of his bed, reminded Hunter of all the good times they’d spent in this room: talking, sharing stories, and supporting one another. Brooke might have been five years older, but she’d been his rock growing up, and he liked to think he’d offered some support to her.
“You told them you had to work, didn’t you?” She narrowed her eyes.
“There’s no hiding anything from you, is there, Sherlock?” He gave her a grin, then moved to his bag where it rested on the end of the bed. Work coming first was something their dad definitely understood. He started to unpack, talking as he moved between the bed, the closet, and the dresser. “Actually, I did have a client I needed to sort out. There were some issues with getting the renovation complete on time, and with Christmas just around the corner, I couldn’t leave her in the lurch.”
“And did you get it all sorted out?”
Hunter made an exaggerated bow. “Of course.”
“I wouldn’t have expected anything less from the number-one newbie decorator in San Fran.”
The compliment caused the heat to rush to Hunter’s cheeks. He was proud of his achievement and the award he’d recently won, and it was wonderful to hear Brooke’s praise, although she’d always been his number-one supporter.
“I felt terrible leaving you here by yourself though. Plus I couldn’t wait to see Gabby and Cameron.”
“The kids are dying to see their uncle Hunter too.” She laughed. “But it’s Freddy you need to feel sorry for.”
“He and the ’rents not getting along?”
“Do they ever?” She sighed.
Brooke and Fred had been married for six years. Although they’d both been young, and Freddy had been studying, they’d had the two kids fairly quickly and were wonderfully happy together, so much so that Hunter had to push aside a flare of jealousy every now and then. They were head over heels for each other, and their relationship came before anything else, including the Cavendish expectations. Fred and Brooke lived out of town, an hour or so away. Fred was a dentist with his own practice and was doing well by all accounts. But no matter how well regarded he was or how much money he made, he was ever going to be good enough for Brooke in their mother’s eyes, which was strange, particularly considering their mom’s own background.
