We were both tipsy that night, prone to making mistakes, and we tipped into one. That’s all. So when he shot me a worried look after Rowan left and asked if I thought my brother would tell anyone, I’d told him no…and neither would I, because it had obviously been ahugeerror in judgment.
Then I saw him with that woman, and after that, we’d easily slipped into our old ways—the open hostility, the barbed remarks.
I’d protected my hardened heart the only way I knew how.
“Some things just aren’t meant to be,” I say carelessly.
Rowan doesn’t look convinced, but his cell phone rings out a text alert. He checks it and sighs heavily, his brows shooting up. “Duty calls.”
“A fire?” I ask, wondering why he’s not in a hurry to answer whoever it is if it’s something important. “Sort of. It’s Nana.”
I make a face, which is the appropriate reaction to any mention of my grandmother.
“Why do you still do shit for her?”
“Swear jar.” He sets his nearly full bottle of beer down on the coffee table. Why, yes, I will be drinking that after I finish mine. It’s his fault for bringing up Cole.
“Why do you still do shit for her?” I repeat, doubling down. “She’s been terrible to all of us, and I thought you were as unenthused by the prospect of this terrible show as we are. If you leap at her beck and call, you know she’s going to ask you to do show-related errands.”
Rowan might be a handyman in addition to being a fireman, but that doesn’t mean he needs to be Nana Mayberry’s fix-it Fred.
He scowls. “I don’t like her bothering you and Bryn.” Then he shrugs. “Besides, she’s getting old, and it’s obvious Mom doesn’t give a fuck about any of us. Like it or not, it’s our responsibility to keep an eye on her.”
I snort. “You think she’s getting senile?”
“Well, she did force the whole matchmaking thing on Rory,” he says, referring to Nana’s stipulation that she would not allow Byrne Enterprises to develop the Matchmake Me app unless Rory agreed to go on four dates with women of her choosing.
“That’s well within the realm of typical Nana Mayberry behavior. That being said, I fully endorse turning the swear fund into alet’s send Nana Mayberry into a retirement homefund.”
“Nah,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “Our sister’s marrying a billionaire. Don’t you think that should be his job?”
I laugh. “He’d probably be glad to do it. But what would happen toMatchmaking the Rich?”
“Let’s just hope it’s one and done.” His mouth flattens to a displeased line. “If I can sabotage the first season, I will. The last thing our family needs is to be in the spotlight.”
“Preach,” I say.
My father, Auggie, is just the kind of person to bask in the spotlight. My mother too. As far as I can tell, it’s the only thing they have in common. It won’t surprise me if they both come crawling back to town once filming starts, hoping to get their five minutes. Ugh. So far, I’ve kept Auggie away by telling him the following: Nana still hates him (true), Bryn still hates him (also true), and he needs to get more Botox before he can even consider going on camera. The last argument was the only one that swayed him, and he has a dermatologist’s appointment just after Thanksgiving, so I’m not holding out hope he’ll stay put in New York.
I find my father amusing, and I have formed a sort-of friendship with him, but I’m not particularly keen on that scenario. He’s the kind of slacker who will totally try to take up permanent residence on your couch if you don’t set a hard line.
“This is going to be a nightmare,” Rowan grumbles, stuffing his keys in his pocket.
“Helping Nana tonight, or the general nightmare of the show?”
“Both.”
I have to smile back at him. I’m glad we’ve become closer. Growing up, Rowan spent most of his time with Willow, who’s his full biological sister, and Bryn and I clustered together. Our little sister, Ivy, who’s now an insanely popular romance novelist, mostly kept to herself. Still does. She’s the only one of us who doesn’t go by the name Mayberry, so maybe she managed to avoid whatever familial curse has dogged the rest of us. She’s also the only one who had an involved father. My dad is a douchebag—unreliable and vain—but at least he’s not an asshole like Rowan and Willow’s father. Their dad left them to have another family and didn’t bother to keep in touch. Ours didn’t do much better, but further acquaintance with him has assured me it was genuine flakiness that drove his departure from our lives, not callous indifference.
“Do you want me to come?” I ask on a whim. I don’t want to go. I’d prefer to never see my grandmother again, if I had a choice. Call me petty—Cole certainly would—but I have trouble forgiving people. Icouldforgive my grandmother for always overlooking me, for thinking my tech skills were unnecessary to her business and therefore not valuable. For calling me overweight because I’m not stick thin. For talking about my biological clock like it’s a boy band. What I struggle to forgive her for is the way she’s always treated Bryn. To her, my sister was always a means to an end, a minion she expected to do her bidding. When Bryn revealed that she and Rory had fallen in love, my grandmother’s first reaction was disbelief. She couldn’t understand why a hot billionaire would fall in love with my wonderful, gorgeous twin. I mean, really, fuck that. Her second reaction was to feel betrayed. She thought Bryn should have stepped aside for her sake. It only occurred to her to act happy about itafterwe pointed out that it would boost her platform as a matchmaker if she pretended she’d set them up.
“You don’t look like you’re in a hurry to go anywhere,” Rowan comments, his mouth twitching as he watches me recline on the couch with my beer.
“Not in a hurry, no. I only hurry to help people I like.”
His expression tightens, and I know he’s thinking about those messages he saw.
“You don’t have anything to worry about, Rowan,” I say, careful to keep my tone light. “I’m infatuated with my catfisher boyfriend.”
