I nod seriously.
Theo blinks. “Okay. Isn’t that what you demanded?”
“Yes,” I say. “I demanded rent. Actual rent. Adult rent. Not a symbolic gesture that looks good on a spreadsheet.”
Theo tilts his head. “So what’s he charging you?”
“Eighty pounds a month!”
“Ah, yes. He mentioned that he is charging you proportionate rent.” The grin on Theo’s face tells me all I need to know. This has been planned. This is a Corbin brother master plan.
“Eighty pounds are not proportionate. That’s pocket money with a conscience!” I exclaim rather louder than I intended to.
Ivy lets out a surprised laugh and immediately clamps a hand over her mouth.
Theo sighs. “Christa, Geoff doesn’t need the money.”
“I know he doesn’t,” I snap. “That’s the problem. He’s done the maths in his head, decided what I can afford without blinking, and landed on a number so low I feel like I should be paying it in loose change.”
“You insisted on paying something,” Theo says patiently. “Thisissomething. For him.”
“For him,” I repeat. “Exactly. Not for me.”
Sheer irritation bubbles up. “I want to pay a reasonable amount. Something that doesn’t make me feel like a charity case he’s sponsoring out of guilt.”
Theo folds his arms. “Itisreasonable. Relative to Geoff.”
“That’s not how rent works,” I say. “Rent is supposed to sting a bit. Otherwise, it’s not real.”
Ivy snorts. “You want financial pain.”
“I want financial dignity,” I say. “There’s a difference.”
Theo rubs his face, already regretting his life choices. “You are arguing semantics with the wrong brother.”
“Then stop defending him.”
“I’m not defending him,” he says. “I’m explaining him. He heard you say you didn’t want to be beholden to him and he adjusted. Quietly. Because that’s what he does.”
I open my mouth, then close it again, because that lands uncomfortably close to the truth.
Theo watches my face shift through irritation, recognition, and the distinct annoyance of being understood against my will. “Why are you even arguing with me about this?” he asks. “I’m not the one you live with.”
“Because,” I say, leaning forward, lowering my voice like this is a negotiation and not a mild domestic standoff, “you need to talk to him.”
Theo laughs. A short, startled sound. “No.”
“He won’t listen to me,” I say. “I tried. I transferred more money to him.”
Ivy’s eyes widen. “You did not.”
“I did,” I say. “He transferred it back.”
Theo blinks. “Well. That tracks.”
“With interest,” I add. “Actual interest. Like I’m a high-risk savings account.”
Ivy loses it. Proper laughter, head tipped back, one hand clutching her coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
