I roll my eyes. Paris is hardly “close” to us. It’s a good fifteen hours by car from Inverness, which is half an hour from here, and just over three hours by plane. Her voice trails off in a sigh, and I can’t tell if she’s trying to get him to be sympathetic and feel badly for her, or if she really is wistful.
I honestly feel badly for her, even if she ought to know better than to stick her nose in our work. While my brothers and I travel quite frequently, it’s always for business and hardly a joyride. The girls, on the other hand, are frequently secluded in our mountain dwelling, deep in the Highlands of northern Scotland, and are lucky if Leith allows them to shop in Inverness with their bodyguards.
Leith picks up a sheaf of papers, looking suddenly so similar to my father it makes me wince a little. He isn’t my father, though, something we all need to remember. He taps the papers on the table, straightening them up. When he looks at her, he almost looks sorrowful. I think being married to Cairstina has softened him up a bit.
“Not this time, Izzy.”
Tate looks at me, and we share a look. He hasn’t called her our childhood nickname, Izzy, in so long… not since our eldest brother Tavish died, if I’m not mistaken.
She pouts at this and flounces into a chair. “Then I’m not leaving your super- secret sanctuary meeting,” she says, tossing up air quotes with her fingers, “until you actually cave this time.”
I make a sound of warning she doesn’t heed. Little brat.
Leith’s jaw firms even more, and he shoots her a withering look. “Really? We’re playing that game now? You know we won’t allow it, so you might as well move along.”
If Leith thought patronizing her further would actually work, he was wrong.
I decide it’s time to intervene, to try another tactic, since clearly intimidation isn’t working. She knows how we bloody well adore her and Paisley, and she’s using that to her advantage. She gives me a doleful look, pouting, and I sigh. I can’t help but be affected by it.
“Listen, lassie,” I say, reaching my hand out to pat her knee. “We’ve got more than one trip to Paris planned, I guarantee it. Just be patient until the time is right, and soon enough I’ll know the lay of the city well enough I can take all of you for a real trip. Can you just be patient a wee bit longer?”
Leith scowls, likely unhappy with both her pouting and my interference, but I have no regrets. Maybe the girls ought to be able to get out once in a while.
“Islan!” Mum’s voice sounds outside the door. There’s a knock, then she pushes it in and smiles when her eyes alight on our sister. “There y’are. Come, will you, Paisley’s got her dress and needs a good fitting. We want your opinion.” The girls are in their friend Fran’s wedding, and have to do a “fitting,” whatever the hell that is.
Islan pushes to her feet with an impressively dramatic sigh. “Fine, then,” she mutters. She turns and shoots daggers at Leith. “This conversation isn’t over.”
He smiles. “Ah, but it is.”
Mum looks from one to the other in surprise. I only shrug and smile back at her. Islan throws up her hands in frustration and leaves with Mum.
When the door shuts tight, Leith nods at it. “Favor, Mac. Lock the bloody thing, will you? Next thing you know Paisley’ll be wandering in looking for something as well.”
Though he complains about the interruptions, I know he really wouldn’t have it any other way. Devotion to our entire family’s at the core of who he is. It is for all of us.
“Now, Mac,” Leith says, leaning back in his chair and fixing me with a serious look. “Tell us what you mean by multiple trips to Paris?” He hasn’t mentioned the other plans I brought up yet.
“Well,” I begin. I've researched this heavily, and I'm prepared. “The recent exchange rates make it much more profitable for us to have loan deals in Paris, in addition to everything we have in Scotland. I know you like to keep our work close to the vest, but the interest we’ve made in Paris over the past six months makes it clear we need to pursue business there.”
“Ah, right,” Leith says with a nod. “And at the end of the month, I’m to meet with Luis Martin and seal the deal finally.”
“Excellent,” my older brother Tate says with a grin. He looks a lot like Leith, but with a heavier beard and Mum’s blue eyes.
Leith nods. “Well done, you,” he says with an actual smile that reaches his eyes. “I’m damn proud of how you’ve handled this.”
My chest swells with pride. My dad never gave praise and still doesn’t, no matter what we’ve done. He’s quick with correction or criticism, but seemed to think somehow it would make us weaker men if we were praised. Leith has no such compunctions. Though he hardly lavishes it on any of us, when he’s truly proud of a job well done, he doesn’t hold back either.