The Sister (The Boss 6)

There was nothing I liked better about our time with him than the lazy intimacy of lying together, all three of us, with our limbs in a tangle, not speaking, communicating with our bodies alone.

Well, there was almost nothing I liked better.

Neil showed him to the bedroom, though El-Mudad already knew where it was. I tagged along behind them.

“Lunch is going to be quite simple, I’m afraid,” Neil apologized.

El-Mudad laughed. “The first time I was here, I ate macaroni and cheese.”

“Reheated, at that.” I covered my eyes. “I’ll never live that down.”

“I won’t hold it against you, under the circumstances.” He dropped his bag beside the door but didn’t unpack it. “Shall we? If you don’t mind? I’m starving.”

“Well, when you have two percent body fat…” Neil teased him, but I knew that, while he more than appreciated El-Mudad’s incredible physique, he was also intimidated. It was weird, but I kind of liked that. It made me feel like I was even with Neil, somehow. I spent so much time worrying about my weight and measurements and did I look puffy today that I drove myself—and Neil—up a wall. It was a nice change to be the one doing the reassuring, instead of being reassured.

Neil went into the kitchen, but we’d already asked Julia to set up the dining room for three, so I took El-Mudad there. Red-ringed Noritaki china gleamed on the black lacquer table top, and white hydrangeas complemented the burgundy runner. Neil had picked those; he was notoriously finicky about flowers and plants. I’d brought home a potted geranium once on a whim, and he’d made me promise to keep it where he’d never have to see it. It lived at my mom’s house.

“This looks lovely, Sophie,” El-Mudad complimented me, as though he thought I’d done it.

I gave him a confounded smile. “You know I had no hand in this.”

“Ah, yes. Julia.” He danced his fingertips across the back of a chair. “I’d forgotten about her.”

“How could you forget?” My remark gave us both a laugh; when he’d visited us last time, Julia had been just a little too chilly toward him, to the point that Neil had been forced into one of those awkward employer/domestic employee conversations that were way too Downton Abbey to deal with. I shrugged and added, “She really is the best cook we’ve ever had, though.”

“There was a time when you did quite well with meals from boxes and cans,” he teased in defense of my honor. But his tone changed, and his gaze flicked nervously toward the kitchen door. “Is he…”

“He’s fine. Really,” I reassured El-Mudad. “Still in therapy, like, all the time, so if anything—”

“If anything what?”

Neil’s voice startled me, and I turned around guiltily. I should have left it to him to tell, rather than talk about his mental health in his absence.

El-Mudad stepped in smoothly. “I was prying. I asked Sophie about your health. I still worry about you.”

“Yes, well…” Neil cleared his throat and set a large platter on the table, his expression thoughtful. Finally, he went on, “It’s been much easier going now than the last time we saw each other.”

We’d last had a visit from our friend in February, but it had still been too close to the anniversary of Emma’s death. The timing had seemed right when we’d made the plans; what better way to distract us than a few days of good fun and great sex? And we’d had fun, but Neil had been distant. Not knowing his moods the way I did, El-Mudad had worried the entire time that his presence was a nuisance that would send Neil back to the hospital.

“I am glad to hear that.” His smile was small and deeply relieved. “I apologize. I should have asked you.”

“Not at all.” Neil waved it away. “I’m pleased to report that I see my therapist three times a week, my moments of dissociation come less frequently, and all of my shoes have laces, again.”

“Don’t,” I said gently as we took our seats. If anyone else had made the remark, I would have considered it in poor taste, but Neil’s grim sense of humor had been a precious tool in his recovery. Still, sometimes, it felt a bit too raw.

“Olivia has been a blessing in that respect, too. Now that we’ve all adjusted.” Neil reached for a pair of tongs on the platter. Julia had provided us with an assortment of fruit—grapes, orange slices, cute little triangles of watermelon—some lettuce wraps filled with a mixture of quinoa, sun-dried tomatoes, and walnuts, and a variety of cheeses and crackers. We all helped ourselves as we talked.

“And where is Olivia?” El-Mudad asked, glancing around the room as though he would catch a glimpse of her.

“Headed off to London with her grandmother.” Neil tried too hard to sound unconcerned. “So, you have us all to yourself.”