Aramis’s shoulders slumped. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
Why don’t you want to tell them about that kiss?
“Okay, that’s enough about the Rivers debacle,” Athos said. “You lost the bet. And you know what that means. My assistant will put your name on the roster. The charity auction is in a week.”
Aramis and Porthos laughed so hard, they both fell back on the sofa.
Athos immediately changed the subject. “On to other matters, I suppose I shouldn’t even bother asking whom you’re bringing to the Grouse Gathering.”
It was his mother who had come up with the name for the annual event held here at the family estate. It was meant as a joke, given this place had no grouse, unlike the nearby estates.
His mother had been English. But his father was American and had come from humble beginnings. He’d worked his ass off to get where he was.
Even though his mother had died many years back, when Clarke was twelve years old, his father kept up the tradition of the weekend event. This time, the event didn’t conflict with his racing schedule. So he didn’t have a convenient excuse for missing it.
When Clarke didn’t respond, Athos nodded. “Right. No one.”
The three brothers shook their heads and sighed.
Clarke’s hands flew up in exasperation. “Why are you asking me about this now? It’s months away.”
“Because of Dad,” said Aramis. “He’s so happy that it works out with the racing schedule this year. He would never allow anything to interfere with your racing.”
Clarke hardly needed to be reminded of that. His father had part ownership in Elegante Racing and had been like a soccer mom on steroids for all of Clarke’s life. That wasn’t really a problem for Clarke. He was already so driven. He just wished his father could have given him space the few times he needed it, when Clarke didn’t have it in him to push himself.
“He still has hope,” said Porthos. “That you can turn things around and regain some of your former glory.”
Clarke preferred his father not have hope. The man had never gotten word that hope is the thing with feathers. His father’s hope felt more like a noose around Clarke’s neck with an anchor tied at the other end. And Clarke was just waiting for that anchor to be flung over a cliff and into the sea.
“Maybe having a date would make things easier,” Athos said. “Get Dad to talk about something besides racing. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.”
“I can fix you up with someone,” said Aramis. “Maybe a set of twins. Don’t worry, not the Chucky-doll twins. Another set. Wouldn’t that be fun? Me with one. You with the other. Of course, I’d have to give it some serious thought. I’d need to decide which one I prefer. That could prove difficult.”
Shaking his head, Clarke laughed. “No.”
He turned and gazed out the window. He knew just how many steps it would take and in what direction before he would arrive at the place where his mother had been laid to rest. In spring it was where the forget-me-nots bloomed.
“You are coming aren’t you, Leo?” Athos asked.
“You’re gonna catch hands if you don’t,” said Porthos.
“Of course I’m coming.”
Alone.
He picked up the rifle and headed for the door. “I need to get rid of this—I mean, return it.”
The sooner the better, he thought as he put on his coat and slung his scarf around his neck.
“Hold on a minute,” Athos said, holding out an envelope. “That’s the invite for the charity event. Make sure you wear a suit. And a good one.”
Porthos and Aramis came up beside Athos, grinning and laughing.
Clarke shook his head, refusing to take it. “I did not lose that bet.”
Athos sighed. “The bet concerned whomever wasfirstto make a move on the girl. Given I approached her first and asked her to dance, that would be me.”
“Yeah, but I’m the one who danced with her.”
