Skyler opens his mouth to respond, but his words are drowned out by the sudden bang of the front door downstairs, the sound reverberating through the mansion.
“Helloooo, Thompson family prison!” a boisterous male voice calls from below. “Your favorite disappointment has arrived!”
Skyler’s expression shifts from anguished to something like relief. “That’s Steven,” he says unnecessarily.
Heavy footsteps bound up the stairs, followed by the appearance of a man who looks like Skyler, if he ever relaxed a single muscle in his body. Steven Thompson rounds the corner into our hallway, his hair deliberately messy, wearing jeans with strategic rips and a band T-shirt that probably gives Elaine nightmares. A leather jacket hangs from one shoulder, a backpack slung on the other.
“Well, well,” Steven says, taking in our tense postures and flushed faces with a quick, perceptive glance. “Did I interrupt something? Please say yes. Family drama is the only thing that makes this mausoleum bearable.”
The contrast between Steven’s casual demeanor and the formal Thompson atmosphere is so stark it’s almost comical. Where Skyler stands rigid even in conflict, Steven leans against the wall with the easy confidence of someone who stopped caring about Thompson standards long ago.
“Steven,” Skyler says, his voice a mixture of irritation and relief. “What are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, big brother.” Steven grins, then turns to me with a genuine warmth that’s missing from every other Thompson greeting I’ve received. “Harley! Still haven’t come to your senses and left this family of robots? I’m disappointed but not surprised.”
Despite everything, I feel a small smile tug at my lips. Steven is the one Thompson who treats me like a person rather than an inconvenience.
“Perfect timing as usual, Steven,” I say, noting how Skyler’s posture has shifted to defensive.
“I live to serve,” Steven says with a mock bow. “And judging by the murder in your eyes and the guilt on my brother’s face, it looks like my service is desperately needed.”
Skyler’s phone chimes with the distinctive tone he’s set for his mother. He pulls it from his pocket like it’s a lifeline thrown to a drowning man. “Mother needs help with the antique Greek vase arrangement,” he says, relief washing over his features. The excuse is so pathetically transparent that I almost laugh. Elaine Thompson has never needed help with anything in her life, least of all arranging vases that haven’t been moved in years.
“The Greek vases that require a professional art handler to touch? The ones Mother threatened to disown me for breathing near last Christmas?” Steven arches a brow. “Those vases?”
Skyler ignores his brother’s sarcasm. “I should go. We’ll finish this conversation later.” He’s already backing toward the stairs, the Thompson retreat in full effect.
“Will we?” I call after him, but he’s turning the corner, footsteps quickening as he descends. Running from conflict with the practiced ease of someone who’s been doing it his entire life.
Steven watches him disappear, then turns to me with a grimace. “And the gold medal for strategic retreat goes to Skyler Thompson, continuing his undefeated streak.” He mimes handing out a trophy. “Fleeing emotional confrontation before anyone can pin him down to an actual position has always been his special talent.”
The accuracy of his observation would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much.
“That wasn’t a text from your mother, was it?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“Not a chance.” Steven snorts. “She’s in her sacred evening routine right now. Precisely eighteen minutes of French face cream application while mentally cataloging everyone who disappointed her today. And judging from what I walked in on, it sounds like you’re second on the list. Behind me, of course.” He nods toward my door. “Come on. You look like you could use aThompson-free zone. Well, except for me, because according to the family will, I’m barely a Thompson.”
I hesitate only briefly before following him into the guest room. At this point, violating Elaine’s separate bedroom policy seems like the least of my concerns.
Steven whistles low as he enters. “Wow. Mother went full butterfly conservatory in here, huh? It’s like a bed-and-breakfast threw up on a spring catalog.” He gestures at the matching white-and-brown-striped pillows. “Do you sleep, or do you just lie perfectly still so you don’t disturb Mother’s vision?”
His irreverence is so refreshing that I feel some of the tension ease from my shoulders. “Apparently it’s the ‘garden suite.’”
“That’s because ‘garden’ is Mother’s code for ‘as far from Skyler as architecturally possible without putting you in the gardener’s shed.’” Steven throws himself across the foot of my bed, limbs sprawling with deliberate casualness. His leather jacket creaks as he settles, one boot hanging off the pristine duvet. It’s a position that would give Elaine heart palpitations.
“Does your mother even know you’re here?”
“Nope.” He pops the ‘p’ with obvious satisfaction. “She thinks I’m at a work conference in Boston. Which is technically true, except I left early. Nothing like surprising the Thompson fortress to keep everyone on their toes.”
I pace the length of the room, heels sinking into plush carpet with each step. “Well, your timing is either perfect or terrible, depending on your perspective.”
“I’m guessing I interrupted Skyler failing spectacularly at something important.” Steven props himself up on one elbow. “Want to fill me in? I love a good Skyler-screws-up story. Makes me feel better about being the designated family disappointment.”
I hesitate, unsure how much to share, but something about Steven’s frank gaze encourages honesty. “Your parents spentdinner singing Amanda’s praises and invited her to your family foundation dinner. Skyler said nothing.”
Steven groans, falling back onto the bed. “Classic Thompson move. They did the same thing with Skyler’s college girlfriend when they decided she wasn’t suitable. Mother paraded his ex from high school around like she was royalty until the poor girl got the message and broke up with him.”
This revelation hits me like a physical blow. “So, this is a strategy? They’ve done this before me, before even Amanda?”
