Simon chuckles. "I never know what's going to come out of his mouth."
"But…"
"He's like you. He thinks I'm an asshole."
"You object?"
"No." That same cool confidence. Only it's tinged with something. A disappointment. "Liam was a teenager when our father died. He didn't want to take orders from me. But he didn't have a choice. Neither of us did."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't—"
"That's the second time you've refused sympathy."
"Only the second?"
"In twenty-four hours." I reach for my drink. The glass is cool, but it doesn't steady me. It only knocks me more off-kilter. "Is it that uncomfortable?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
His blue eyes fill with surprise. Not the question he expected, I guess. "It feels like weakness."
"Grief?"
"Any sign of emotion." He wraps his hand around his glass. Brings it to his lips. "That was my father's way. He held his cards close. He loved us. And he showed us, in his way, but only in his way."
"What was that?"
"He pushed us to be better. To thrive in a cold, hard world."
Is that really how Mr. Pierce felt? He was rich and powerful, controlling an empire from a mansion worth millions.
They had everything. The world on a silver platter.
And their father believed they needed a stiff upper lip to survive in the cold, hard world.
It's strange, but I understand it.
There's a power to stillness. To silence.
I know that power.
I revel in it too often.
Simon takes a long sip. Lets out a soft sigh. "I know. We had everything. He grew up with everything too. His father was the same. Always firm. Unyielding."
"Your mom?" She died when he was a kid. I remember that from school. "Do you remember her?"
"Bits and pieces."
"Was she cold?"
"No. She was luminous. Like Bash." His eyes go to the amber liquid. "I take after my father."
"All orders. No smiles."
He half-smiles.
"You're soft, with your sister."
"I love her."
"You don't love Liam?"
He chuckles. "He'd kill to have this on tape. Proof I'm an asshole."
Does Liam really think of Simon that way? I don't know the trouble-making younger brother well. There's hostility there, yes, but there's a begrudging admiration too.
Or maybe that's my older sibling bias talking.
Of course, Simon has to be harsh sometimes.
Of course, he makes sacrifices for his family.
But he doesn't have to be tough all the time.
"I did my best," he says. "To keep everything in order. But I was young. I wasn't ready. I didn't get through to Liam."
"He's functional."
"He's happy." He finishes his drink. "But he still resents my attempts to protect him."
"There's something in your voice."
He looks at me funny.
"You agree with him?"
"Not usually."
"But sometimes?"
"I haven't decided."
"That sounds like a story."
"A few months ago, he found out I knew something, but not what it was." He sets his glass on the table. "It was ugly. I tried to shield him."
"He didn't appreciate it?"
He nods. "No. He called me an asshole for trying to protect him."
"That's how you see it?"
"I don't want to burden him."
"What if he wants that? To support you, as your brother?"
Again, he looks at me funny. "If it was you and Lee? If you knew something awful, something that would hurt her."
"It depends."
"Something in the past. Something she couldn't change?"
Like my biological father hurting my mother. "It might help her. To understand."
"Understand what?"
"You." Does she know? Did Mom tell her? Did Daddy? I was young when they met. When they married. With the work I do now—
It's hard to believe it escaped her.
We never talk about it.
And my relapse—
Fuck. I'm a hypocrite. "You're right. I do the same thing with Lee. Keep things from her to protect her."
His eyes flit to my glass. "Do you want something else?"
"No. I'm just…" Nervous. Even more, now that we're talking. It's easier touching him. I understand the appeal of his body. I accept the appeal of his body.
His mind? His heart?
Not as much.
"You talk to your sister about sex," I say.
"Yes."
"Is it awkward for you?"
He nods.
"But you do it anyway. You push past the discomfort. I do that too, sometimes. But, sometimes… sometimes I keep something from Lee to protect her. And because it's easier for me. More comfortable."
"More comfortable carrying it on your own?"
"Isn't it?"
"Yes," he admits.
"People say it's easier, in the long run, to share."
"You don't believe it?"
"Do you?" I ask.
His eyes flit to my glass. "You're not drinking."
Right. I'm not. But I want to finish this first. "We do it for ourselves too. Because we don't want the discomfort of the truth."
"You must keep secrets. With your job."
"It is your job to keep secrets." I take a long sip. Let the delicate mix of gin, liqueur, and lemon dissolve on my tongue. "That should be a red flag."
"No bullshit. We agreed."
"You meant it?"
"I only say things I mean." He watches me bring the glass to my lips. Watches me taste the purple cocktail.
"Do you want to try this?" I offer him the drink.