“The man you speak of is my oldest and best friend in this world. He has given up more than you will ever know. Has endured more pain, more suffering than you could ever imagine. That includes not getting to raise the little girl you treat with such disrespect. If you weren’t a child, I would have skinned you alive and fed you to my wolves for saying one ill word about my best friend. If I ever hear you disrespect his name or his children again, I’ll do much worse than this…” And with a slight shift of his hand, he let the stunned eleven-year-old boy go, dropping him in the chilly lagoon in the middle of autumn.
My mom glances at me daydreaming, wiping her hands off on a towel.
“Aunt Marilynn says he’s been a lot better lately. Having a girlfriend has really helped.”
Why is she so naïve? So blind?
Has she never had to deal with a heartless man in her life?
I sigh loudly. “How long until they’re here?”
“One hour.”
I don’t dare to greetthem at the door.
Nope, my ass is planted firmly in my chair.
The plan for this evening is to ignore, deflect, and to just leave if he pokes and prods at my patience.
He does not exist.
He’s dead.
Died.
Corpse.
I breathe in and out. Why am I already angry?
“Ahem!”
I jerk my head toward the dining room entryway.
“No one took my coat at the door. No one announced my title and arrival. No one escorted me to my dining seat. What kind of an event are you running here?”
I lose a little steam at the sight of his hand on his hip. Flecks of snow melting on top of his golden hair.
“Hi, Uncle Niles.”
“I’m pretty important,” he adds with narrowing eyes.
I crack a smile and get up to hug him. Wrapping my arms around his neck, my frigid heart thaws out as he hugs me back. It’s expected when hugging Uncle Niles. It’s a natural law when being embraced by someone like him. These hugs are the warmest. The sweetest. And he almost always has a joke lined up to make me laugh.
Why does his son have to be a narcissistic—
“You’re insulting my son again in your head, aren’t you?” Uncle Niles kisses the side of my hair.
“No…”
“Can I help?”
“Give it your best shot.” I grin against his shoulder.
“Niklaus was a slippery baby,” he says seriously.
I crack a smile. “Was he now?”
“Yes. Always lathered in too much oil after his bath.”
