Gabe takes the mug, inhaling the steam before sipping. Black, no sugar. He sets it on the coffee table and leans back, his broad frame sinking into the leather. Toned muscles peek from under the cuffs of his shirt. He must have developed them when he was abroad, because he wasn't that fit when he lived here before.
"How's the wife?"
"Did you come here to chit-chat, or do you need something?" I redirect, not wanting to talk about Grace with my brother.
The response doesn't faze him. He rubs his beard, gaze drifting to the window. Manhattan sprawls below, a concrete empire we've all clawed to control in our own ways. "I wanted to let you know that I started a scholarship program through the foundation. For kids from low-income families. Covers tuition, books, living expenses if they need it. The first recipient will be announced at the Sanctum Cares gala in August."
I arch an eyebrow, waiting for the angle. Gabe's always been the soft spot in this family, the one who actually gives a damn. Dad preaches philanthropy for headlines; Gabe does it because he believes the bullshit.
"Okay." I lean forward, eyes narrowing. "That sounds fine. Why are you telling me?"
Gabe's mouth quirks, not quite a smile. "I'd like you to be there. Paints a good image if we have the whole family. I think it will go a long way in helping with, ya know..." He does a gesture with his head, and I do know what he means. The scandal. Thewhole reason my dad created the charity foundation that Gabe now runs.
So far, none of the women have gone public. Yet.
It also will be right before the quarterly board meeting in September, and if it goes well, that will give us something positive to report on.
"Sure," I tell him. "But you could have just told Mel to put it on my calendar."
He shrugs. "Maybe I wanted some brotherly bonding."
I don't believe that for a moment.
"You hit your head while you were digging wells out there?"
That makes Gabe laugh, and the sound sends me back to a memory. To simpler times when we were younger and the weight of the world and our parents’ expectations hadn't threatened to drown us.
"Never too late to try something new." He takes a sip of his coffee and sets the mug down on the table. "Maybe next time, then." Brushing off the thighs of his black slacks, he stands.
"Next time, what?"
"We'll bond."
And then he leaves me. And I'm wondering when my brother became so strange.
I get home early, finding Grace sitting cross-legged on the couch, balancing her laptop between her knees and noise-canceling headphones covering her ears. She's showered, something I've come to expect in the weeks we've been playing this game. She writes her words, showers and gets dressed in real clothes, and remembers to eat two meals and a snack.
I've noticed her anxious habits have dwindled, too. Her nails are growing; the cuticles aren’t red and picked over and she's not biting them down to the point of bleeding. Her skin is glowing, though that could be from the high-end products Vivian selected for her. Overall, she seems happier, and I pride myself in knowing that this relationship is benefiting her.
"How was your day, Sugar?" I lean in, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
She startles, sucking in a breath and turning to find me. Setting down the laptop, she pulls the headphones off her head. “I wasn’t expecting you home yet–”
“I know. I left early.”
“Oh.” Her eyes seem hazy from being so deep in her writing, lost in whatever world she's building, but the pull between us snaps her out of it. A blush creeps up on her cheeks as she smiles shyly. Over the last few weeks, I've learned that to be a giveaway that she's writing a sex scene. Something that immediately makes my cock harden. One of these days, she's going to let me read the words she keeps hidden away.
“How was your day?” I repeat, sure she didn’t hear me the first time.
"Good, Sir," she tells me, and I relish the sound of that word on her tongue.
"Come here, Sugar." I extend my hand, voice dropping low.
She sets the laptop aside, uncurls her legs, and pads over in those soft socks she favors. Her body fits against mine when I pull her close, her head tucking under my chin. The scent of her shampoo, vanilla and something floral, mixes with the faint trace of coffee on her breath.
"You've been so good lately." My palm settles on her lower back, fingers tracing lazy circles. "Hitting your word count every day. Eating without reminders. I think you deserve a reward."
She tilts her head back, hazel eyes wide. "What kind of reward?"
