Prince Albert (A Step-Brother Romance #4)

"Well, thank you, Gaige. You're really on top of things."

Anja laughs, the sound bitter. "On top of a termite issue," she says, her voice sharp. "Useless in every other way."

I swallow hard. I don't remember her being so...mean...to Gaige before.

"Anja, that's uncalled for," my father says, his tone warning.

"It's okay," Gaige says. "Not all of us have the luxury of attending luncheons instead of working."

I clear my throat, trying to cut through the tension in the room. But I don't have anything to say. Luckily, my father saves me, quickly changing the subject.

"Vegas," he says. "Was it productive?"

Great. He saves me by asking the worst question ever. I definitely don't want to hear about Gaige's Vegas exploits.

Anja snorts. "Speaking of not working," she says. "I don't know when partying at a Vegas nightclub started to count as work."

"I feel the same way about being a human clothes hanger," Gaige says.

Anja sniffs. "Modeling involves skill," she says. She sips clear liquid from a crystal tumbler that's obviously not water, and I'm pretty sure she's half in the bag already.

"Fortunately, being a washed up model involves no skill at all," Gaige says.

"Gaige," my father warns. He doesn't look at Anja. He's unhappy; I can see the dark circles under his eyes, and the lines that crease his face, deeper than a few years ago. He's aged, and I wonder why I didn't notice it before.

"That's right. Take his side," Anja says, standing. She places a hand on the table to steady herself when she wobbles, but picks up her glass, bringing it to her mouth and taking a sip. Her eyes are unfocused, but she narrows them when she looks at Gaige. "He's your investment, after all. Always protecting your investments, even the ones who are as useless as Gaige."

I inhale sharply, looking at Gaige, whose face is ashen. My father stands quickly, puts his hand on Anja's arm. "Anja," he says. "Perhaps you'd like to lie down."

She jerks her arm from his grasp. "Don't talk to me like a child," she says. She turns toward me and I hold my breath. "I see the way he looks at you, you know."

"Why don't you go dry out, Mother," Gaige's voice is hard, and he doesn't look at me, but I can see his fist clenched, his knuckles white.

But she continues, turning toward me, her voice slurring. "Don't think you can fool anyone," she says. "I see you looking at Gaige, too. He'll go through you like --"

My eyes are wide as my father cuts her off, his face red. "That's enough, Anja," he says, taking her arm. She jerks away from him, glass in hand and stumbles out of the doorway. My father turns toward us, shaking his head. "I apologize for her behavior."

He follows behind her, and Gaige and I sit in silence for a minute before we hear their voices, echoing through the other end of the house, before the door slams closed.

"Well." After that, I don't really know what to say. Other than that this is really fucking awkward. Gaige doesn't even look at me. He just stares at his plate. What she said about us -- about the way Gaige looks at me, the way I look at him -- runs through my head, but I put it aside, more concerned about Gaige. Anja might have been critical before, but now she's just awful. "What she said about --"

"Don't worry, Delaney," he says, his voice bitter. "She's drunk. Obviously you and I aren't looking at each other like that."

"Gaige, that's not what I -"

But Gaige stands up, pushes his chair back from the table, and walks out of the room, without even a second glance at me.

Damn it. That's not what I was going to say. I was going to say that what Anja said about him being useless wasn't true.

I sit in the dining room by myself, staring at my plate, until the cook, Deborah, enters the room. "Is everything okay?"

"Huh?" I ask. "Oh. Yes. Everything's fine."

"With the food? It's okay?"

"Yes." I nod. "I don't think any of us are very hungry tonight."

Upstairs in my room, I open my book again, then play with my phone, but the whole time I'm wondering what Gaige is doing next door. It's silent. Maybe he went out somewhere; I didn't hear the front door, but this place is so big, he could have left and I wouldn't have known.

I tap my finger absently on the screen of my phone, until I just can't take it anymore. I can't just sit here and pretend like nothing just happened. If I were Gaige, I'd be pissed off. And hurt.

I grab a piece of paper and a pen. I hesitate for a moment before I put the pen on the paper, then just do it. Pool? I write. Then I walk over to Gaige's room and slide it under his door and sit back down in my room with my novel.

It's a few minutes before the piece of paper floats under the door, and I bend down to pick it up before opening the door. Gaige stands there, that cocky grin on his face, and I look down at the paper.



I knew you wanted me.