“I thought our nanny broke you of that habit when you were six.”
Samuel’s spine stiffened as the unmistakable cocktails in Barbados voice of his twin floated to him. Gathering what he could of his tattered pride, he reluctantly turned to Mason.
His brother was perfectly dressed and irritatingly fresh-faced, looking like he’d woken from a twenty-year-long nap.
“Good to see you, Mason,” Samuel said. “And by the way, thanks for overseeing that photo shoot yesterday.”
Mason raised a curious eyebrow. “Now, I knew you aced your MBA, but I didn’t know passive-aggressive 101 was part of your program.”
“I made a very simple request,” Samuel said. “You gave me your word. Not that I expected it to mean much.”
“Maybe I just didn’t think that Arlie needed my supervision. Maybe I trusted in her talent and expertise and felt like my attentions were better used elsewhere.”
“What’s elsewhere’s name?” Samuel asked.
From the subtle flinch in Mason’s features, Samuel judged that he’d hit his mark. “See you at Fort Funston.”
Only when Mason was halfway down the hall did Samuel call after him.
“Are you actually going to be there, or will our father be making apologies on your behalf?”
Mason paused, his back still to Samuel, fingers flexing briefly at his side.
Once, just once, Samuel wished Mason would argue with him. Cite logic. Provide facts. Address his concerns and refute them without humor, without the slippery defense he was so famous for. Just once, he wished they could have an actual conversation about the life they had shared since their arrival on the planet. He wished Mason would tell him to fuck off. Would acknowledge him in any real and lasting way.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” Mason said, flashing his unnaturally white smile.