Family. And I’m not hers. This isn’t news. So why does it hurt so much?
“All right. Maybe we can hang out later—” I bite my lip to shut up. What am I doing? She’s stressed and hurting, and I’m making it worse because I selfishly want to be the one to fix things. What had John said before? I can’t fix her problems. I can only be there to support her.
“Do what you have to do,” I say. “If you need me for anything, I’m here.”
There. That was all right, wasn’t it?
She visibly sags with weary relief. “Thank you.”
Good. This is good. I’m not completely fucking it up.
Brenna slowly heads for the door but pauses just before walking out of the room. “Maybe you were right to be leery of relationships. Maybe love isn’t enough to stop people from cheating or breaking apart.”
Shit, that’s what she’s getting out of all this? Now, when I finally understand what it means to truly only want one person, when it’s crystal fucking clear that cheating isn’t about a flaw in the other person but a flaw within the cheater.
An agitated shard of panic spears my gut.
“No, Brenna,” I say with feeling. “No. I was wrong. That’s not what love—”
Another door slams, followed by Killian’s deep voice mixing with Isabella’s contralto as they argue in rapid-fire Spanish.
Brenna’s gaze darts their way. “I have to go.”
“Bren—”
“We’ll talk later, Rye.”
She’s out of the room before I can reply.
And I’m left with the cold fear that I might never be able to convince her that love isn’t what breaks people apart; it’s what holds them together.
Chapter Thirty-One
Brenna
In the scope of things, my aunt and uncle getting a divorce isn’t the worst that can happen. It’s just…that dinner sucked. My parents suck.
Their words, so easily slung, float around within me like sticky bites of sludge, clinging to my heart, worming through my guts. Some people will say words are just air, they aren’t real. As though you don’t need air to breathe, to live. Words can kill parts of your soul with astonishing ease.
And yet my parents’ words, their disdain for me and those in my life, aren’t what bother me now.
I head in the direction where I heard Killian and Isabella arguing and find her in the pink parlor, a relatively small and pretty place done up in shades of pale pink. She’s curled up at the end of a Regency-era settee covered in ice-pink silk.
As soon as I enter, she stiffens, sitting straighter and pushing a lock of inky hair back from her face. Pride. Poise. No one knows this, but I modeled my style after her. When I was eighteen, she was the classiest woman I’d ever seen. She still is.
She’s wearing a vintage Zac Posen sheath in burgundy satin that makes her light-brown skin glow and highlights her flawless figure. Isabella was trained to walk runways, but her effortless grace still manages to make me feel like a clumsy girl in comparison.
When Isabella realizes it’s me, she relaxes. “Dinner is always an event at Varg Hall.”
I laugh shortly as I sit next to her. “Some more so than others.”
“At least we didn’t have to suffer through the cheese course.”
“There’s that.” I settle back into the couch, digging the point of one heel into the carpet thread. “Where’s Killian?”
“Liberty took him up to their room to relax.” She gives me a watery smile. “My son has an explosive temper, followed by a passionate release of feeling.”
“Yes,” I murmur dryly. “I’m aware.”
“He doesn’t like change. Or surprises.”
I’m more like my cousin than I care to admit. “Few people do.”
Isabella shrugs lightly, sending her glossy locks sliding over her slim shoulders. “He blames his father, when it is not that simple.”
“I’m sorry about you and Uncle Xander.”
The light in Isabella’s eyes dims. “It’s not so dire as Neil made it out to be. We’re having problems, but nothing has been decided.” The tiniest of frowns mars the smooth space between her brows. “We would have discussed this with Killian when we were on firmer ground. Unfortunately, Neil overheard something he shouldn’t have.”
Shame coats my skin with hot hands. “You mean he eavesdropped.”
“Yes.”
“I’m so…disgusted, Isa. It was wrong what he did.”
She studies me for a moment, her dark gaze moving over my face. “It was. But Brenna, what your parents said to you. They’re wrong there too. Completely wrong. Tell me you know this.”
Tension rides my shoulders and I roll them, releasing an unfortunate crack. “While everyone was arguing, I started thinking about my parents—coming to a realization, actually. Thing is, I love them, but I don’t like them. I could hunt them down, have a knock-down, drag-out fight about their shitty behavior or why they can’t accept me for who I am, but it won’t change anything.” A humorless laugh escapes. “I suspect only years of family therapy would fully eradicate our issues.”