“What answer?”
“The answer to the question you’re thinking.”
“How do you know what I’m thinking.”
“Because you’re my big brother and I spent my entire childhood observing you. Granted, back then it was so I could use that information to my advantage. It’s just handy now too sometimes.”
“You’re too much,” he scoffs, shoving off the table.
I shrug. “Okay, so you aren’t wondering whether you’d make a good husband? You aren’t curious, at least a little bit, whether it’s too early to marry Mallory or if you should wait and be really, really sure? Because this definitely goes against the plan you made when you were ten years old,” I say, rolling my eyes.
He doesn’t flinch.
“You are,” I say, wagging a finger at him. “You’re thinking both of those things and the answer to the first is yes, even though you’re a dick, and the answer to the second is no, because you’ll never be more sure than you are right now.”
“She leaves her clothes on the floor.”
“Pick them up.”
“She doesn’t rinse the plates before putting them in the dishwasher.”
“Does the world come crashing down?”
“She wants a puppy.”
“Oh, I’m with you on this one,” I laugh. “Puppies are a lot of work.”
He cracks a grin. “I just worry . . . what if I can’t handle it? What if we go into this with different expectations and all of a sudden realize it’s wrong?”
“That’s impossible,” I scoff, heading to the door.
“How do you figure?”
“You love her, right?”
“Right.”
“Then how can it ever be wrong?”
He opens the door for me. “Not bad, little sister. Not bad.”
Camilla
“NO, NO MORE CHAMPAGNE,” I say, waving off the proffered glass. “Really. I’ve had enough.”
The server gives up and heads across the room to my mother and her friends. I watch him offer Paulina a drink and she takes it. Of course she does. I hope she chokes.
I turn to head to the patio for fresh air when I nearly bump into Daphne and Barron Monroe. Our parents have been acquaintances forever, although I don’t quite have an affinity for Daphne. She’s Barrett’s age, while Barron went to school with Sienna and I. He’s handsome, smart, wealthy . . . and he knows it.
“Careful,” he says, steading me by the elbow. He flashes me his best smile—the panty-dropper as Sienna calls it. “How are you tonight, Camilla?”
“I’m good. Tired,” I admit. “Have you two enjoyed your evening?”
“Yes, thank you for the invitation,” Daphne says. Or I think she says. It’s a bit of a slur. “I’m going to the patio, Bar-ron. Find me later?”
“Of course.”
She leaves us, wobbling on her heels.