After plopping the giant chunk of cake onto a plate, he slides both across the island, lining them up with two of the barstools. “Milk?”
“That would be great. Thank you.” I wasn’t expecting to have a sit down cake session with Walker, but I’m not going to say no. Someone is finally talking to me, and I’m going to take full advantage. Even if the thought of putting cake in my stomach makes me want to gag. “So that means Titus is your cousin.”
“Technically.” He turns my way, setting a glass of milk beside my plate. “But even before I moved in with them, we were always together, so brothers is probably a better descriptor of our relationship.”
That has my brows lifting. “So you’ve actually seen him then?”
Walker stops mid step, large frame going still as he eyes me. “That jackass hasn’t come out of his room yet?”
I shake my head. “Not while I’m awake. At first I just thought he was really busy, but I’m starting to take it personally.”
Walker’s eyes drop mine, resting on the floor as he rounds the island and comes to take the stool next to me. “You shouldn’t take it personally. It’s got nothing to do with you.”
I wait for him to offer up an explanation, but Walker gets distracted when his cell phone buzzes from a few feet away. He stretches to pick it up, scanning the screen before huffing out a little laugh. Then he cuts off a gigantic forkful of caramel cake, eyes fixing on a spot across the room as he shoves it into his mouth.
I lean closer, wanting his attention back on me. “If it doesn’t have anything to do with me, whatdoesit have to do with?”
Walker’s gaze stays on that random spot a second longer before it comes my way. “Titus has been through a lot, and seems to have come to the conclusion that his life will be easier if he lives it entirely alone.”
What could have happened to make him this committed to isolation? And how far-reaching is it really? “But he sees you.”
“Not often. We all have a Zoom chat about the business once a week, otherwise I’d probably go months without seeing his face.”
So he doesn’t even come out of his rooms for his family? “Does Deidre see him?”
Walker takes another bite of his cake, eyes flicking across the room again. “She probably sees him more than anyone, but it’s only because he’s scared of what will happen if he ignores her the way he ignores everybody else.”
“What would happen?” I’m kind of curious. Maybe it’s something I can use to scare him into seeing me.
Walker takes another bite of his cake, shooting me a smirk. “She’d probably hire him a private chef.”
So I’m a punishment. For some reason, that stings.
Walker’s phone buzzes again, dragging his focus back to the screen. He smirks as he reads whatever message just came in, then lifts one hand, holding up his middle finger toward the same spot he keepslooking.
What the hell is going on?
I squint across the room, feeling a little dumb when I finally figure out what he’s been looking at. Seems like there’s yet another similarity between Walker’s house and Titus’s.
The security system they use.
Tucked in the corner, almost totally hidden thanks to the way the sun casts shadows around the room, is a camera just like the ones I covered up.
I stand from my seat, feeling a little bad that I didn’t even touch my cake. But based on how quickly Walker inhaled his piece, I doubt he’ll be upset. “I should probably get back. I need to start lunch.” Especially since I was so annoyed when I saw the untouched cake, I decided to skip making breakfast.
I also need some time to think. To mull over this new information Walker has given me.
Walker stands with me. “Why don’t you let me drive you back? It’s cold, and if something happens to you on the trip from here to there, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
I smile a little bit at that. “Are all of you scared of Deidre?”
Walker rests one hand on my upper back, glancing behind us as he directs me toward the door. “Not sure how that fits into this, but yes.”
The trip back to Titus’s is way warmer and less exerting in Walker’s side-by-side, so at least when I walk inside, I’m not huffing and puffing or sweating under my coat. I am torn though, because I’m feeling a tiny bit bad about pressuring Titus to do something he’s clearly not comfortable with. But since I couldn’t figure out a way to ask Walker all my burning questions, I still don’t know why Titus is not comfortable with it.
When I reach the kitchen island, I feel even worse.
Sitting in the center of the counter is a note like the ones he sends out with his empty trays. I have to think it’s what I would have seen if I’d made him breakfast.
