Theo presses his lips together, already shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”
“What do you mean absolutely not,” I say. “You’re his brother.”
“And you’re an adult,” he replies. “This is between the two of you. I am not stepping into a financial Cold War involving bank transfers and principles.”
“You’re just going to leave it,” I say.
“Yes,” he says cheerfully. “This is your fight.”
He steps back, already turning away. “And, for the record, if you think involving me is going to make him back down, you have dramatically misunderstood how stubborn my brother is.”
“That’s helpful,” I call after him.
“I aim to serve,” he replies, lifting a hand without looking back as he heads for the counter.
I stare after him, fuming quietly.
Ivy wipes at her eyes. “Oh, this is excellent.”
“This is not excellent,” I say. “This is infuriating.”
“He transferred it back with interest,” she says, grinning. “That’s such a Geoff move.”
“It’s financial gaslighting,” I mutter.
“It’s foreplay,” Ivy says.
I choke. “Do not.”
She laughs again, softer this time. “You’re going to have to fight him on this one.”
I slump back into my chair, glaring into my tea like it personally betrayed me. “I hate fighting about money.”
“I know,” Ivy says. “But Geoff is a Corbin.”
I glance up at her. “That explains nothing.”
“It explains everything,” she replies. “Corbins don’t do grand speeches or chest-thumping alpha nonsense. They do quiet support. I’m here. I’ve got you. Tell me if you need me. That’s their whole thing.”
“I didn’t ask him to look after me,” I say. “I asked him to charge me rent.”
“And you did that because you wanted to save money,” Ivy says gently.
I open my mouth to argue and immediately close it again because the words refuse to cooperate.
“You literally said it,” she goes on. “You told me. You told him. You told anyone who’d listen that moving in made sense because it would save you money and give you breathing room.”
“That was a reason,” I say. “Not a permission slip.”
Ivy tilts her head. “For him, it probably was.”
I sigh and rub a hand over my face. “I just didn’t want it to feel like charity.”
“It doesn’t,” she says. “It feels like someone making space for you without making a fuss about it.”
I stare into my tea again. It is doing absolutely nothing to help.
“We’re not in a relationship,” I say. “We’re just… friends.”
