If looks could kill, I’d be murdering my father right now. What’s that called? Patricide? Yeah. That.
My father glares at my mother and she pretends to ignore it.
Brand takes it all in stride… my father’s rudeness, my family’s very obvious dysfunction.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” he says smoothly, shaking my father’s hand. “Nora wasn’t sure how large this gathering was going to be and she asked me to accompany her. I can’t say no to her.”
Hell no, he can’t. I remember our day by the lake and smile inside. He might be stubborn, but I am too.
My father sniffs. “Try harder.”
Oh my God.
Before I can make a retort, he returns to his chair, motioning to Nate to join him. Nate flashes me an I’m sorry, but what can you do? look before joining him.
I personally want to chase Maxwell Greene down and punch him in the face. That’s what I can do.
But I don’t.
Instead, I turn to my mother. “Do we have a few minutes before dinner?”
She nods.
“Great,” I smile, putting my hand on Brand’s elbow. “I’m going to show Brand your gardens.”
She smiles, grateful that I’m distracting our guest from my father’s rudeness. Once again, I wonder why she puts up with him. Other than the fact that she’s thousands of miles from her homeland, and my father controls all the money.
I lead Brand out the massive French doors and onto the veranda overlooking the beach.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him when we’re alone. “I had a feeling he’d be like that.”
Brand shrugs. “Like I told you, it’s fine. I don’t care what your father thinks of me. I’ve been in battle, Nora. Words don’t hurt.”
I smile a little, and shake my head, thankful for his understanding even if it’s not true. Words do hurt. My father doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as Brand, much less be graced by his presence.
I motion to the gardens below us, the lush greenery, the roses.
“My mother’s hobby,” I say by way of explanation. “We have a gardener who helps her, a dear man who has been with us for a very long time, but my mother tends the roses herself. It’s her getaway, I suppose.”
Her getaway from her reality of my father.
I shudder. I can’t imagine being married to him.
Brand stares down at all of it. “It’s beautiful. Like you.”
He turns to me, his eyes meeting mine, his hand splayed on my back.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you and your father,” he says quietly. “But you’ve got this. I’m here with you, and you’re going to be fine.”
He must’ve noticed my shaking hands. Great.
I smile, putting every ounce of courage into it, to trick Brand into thinking that I’m brave.
I’m brave.
I’m fucking brave.
“I’m good,” I assure him. “I’ve got this.”