Bree stood and tried to get past her sister, who blocked her from leaving.
“For Christ’s sake, Brooke, why the hell don’t you go back to Germany?”
Brooke looked from Bree to her father, expecting him to defend her. He only raised an eyebrow. Jace wanted to excuse himself, but in order to do so, he’d have to walk between the sisters whose argument was becoming increasingly heated.
“She isn’t a little girl anymore, you know,” Bree went on, glaring at Brooke. “She doesn’t have to ask permission to stay out all night. Especially from you.”
“So you’re okay with her acting like a slut?”
Jace watched the tension travel up Bree’s spine, into her arms, up her neck, until it settled in bright red splotches on her face. He saw her bring her hand back, and before he could stop her, Bree slapped her sister across the face. The crack of her palm meeting her sister’s cheek resounded through the kitchen, and the force behind it shook the coffee cups hanging near the coffee maker.
Brooke stood motionless with her hand on her cheek, looking at her father.
“I think you should leave, Brooke,” he said.
“But, Dad—”
“Brooke!” he shouted. “Leave.”
Brooke stormed out of the kitchen, the same way she had a few minutes earlier.
“I won’t apologize to her, Daddy.”
“I don’t expect you to.”
“She’s a condescending bitch.”
“She can be that.”
“I’m not putting up with anybody’s shit.”
“You could say we picked up on that already, Bree.”
Jace stood to make his exit, hoping no one would notice.
“Where are you going?” Bree challenged him.
Jace looked around the kitchen, hoping she was talking to anyone but him.
Mark put his hand on Jace’s shoulder. “You don’t have sisters, do you?”
Jace shook his head, cursing himself again for coming over here this morning. “No, sir,” he answered.
“Drama has been a steady part of my life for thirty years. I forget not everyone is used to it. Can I get you anything?”
“I’d love a Bloody Mary,” Bree answered before Jace could.
“You got it. How about you, Jace?”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” A little alcohol might help ease the tension that had engulfed the room, and him along with it. “What can I do to help?”
Mark pointed Jace in the direction of the liquor cabinet while he pulled ingredients from the pantry.
“We like to make our own,” Mark explained, waving his hand over the full counter. “Mix your own poison.”
By the time Paige came back inside, Bree was almost finished with her first drink, and Mark was in the midst of laying out a breakfast buffet.
“How are you this morning, baby?” she asked Bree.