“No, but he’ll kill you if he finds out you’re targeting his sister.”
“Not before I kill him.” I pat his head. “Don’t worry about me, little bro.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind,” he mutters, his face harder than usual.
Hmm. Does he really care for Mia? Maybe in that sense?
Too bad she was soaking wet for me, not you, Bran.
“Surprise!”
Three girls with different hair colors—blonde, white, and chestnut—swarm through the front entrance, carrying what looks like takeaway boxes.
Ava, the one who announced the unbearable surprise, grins as she dumps the armful of what I assume is Indian food, judging by the smell, on the coffee table.
She’s blonde, loud, and has little to no concept of personal space. In short, a mellowed-out version of Remi but nineteen.
The white-haired one, Cecily, is more like the mother hen of the group, a position that she’s been fighting Bran for.
But considering the repressing shit my brother is into, I’d give her the crown any day. Where Ava is too loud for anyone’s liking, Cecily is soft-spoken and likes to baby everyone around her.
She carefully places the contents in her arms on the table and nods at us.
The third girl abandons some drinks beside all the Indian food and walks in my and Bran’s direction. Her chestnut hair with natural blonde highlights falls to her mid-waist.
Glyndon is the only one in our family who got some of Dad’s glorious blond Viking hair, as Mum calls it. She’s over four years younger than me and likes to pretend that I barely exist.
She hugs Bran and he wraps his arms around her in a sweet, mushy, and absolutely unnecessary show of affection.
I don’t understand why neurotypical people vie so much for validation and find it vital to display care and love. It’s not that they can’t possibly survive without the tedious emotions.
“What a nice surprise,” he says when they break apart. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Ava said she needed to confirm something first.”
As in, she had to make sure Eli wasn’t within the perimeter before she decided whether or not to come over. Don’t ask how I know that. One, it’s far from being a secret at this point—even the gardener and his extended family probably know about their strange foreplay. Two, I happen to hold everyone’s lives and secrets in the palm of my hand in case of possible future use.
Glyn nods at me as if we’re colleagues in a stuck-up law firm. “Lan.”
I nod back with the same energy. “Little princess.”
Since Dad calls Mum a princess, Glyn has assumed the title of ‘little princess’.
My sister stiffens, probably thinking I’m up to no good, including, but not limited to, eradicating her boyfriend from the face of the earth.
I laugh and ruffle her hair. “Relax. You’re too uptight.”
Bran shakes his head, more in resignation than anything else, but Glyn releases a breath. She likes to pretend that her unhinged boyfriend is different from me just because she fell for him harder than a moth to a flame. But oh well. I did cause her some minor discomfort. By minor, I mean I never really showed her affection like Bran does and, instead, preferred to watch over her.
One of us had to be the symbol of austerity, and Bran definitely can’t be stern to save his life.
Besides, she never really needed that from me, and I prefer not to pretend when it comes to my family. It’s exhausting and feels empty enough as it is with the rest of the world, and they certainly don’t belong to the same category as my family.
“What do you mean there’s no fish and chips?” Remi asks Ava, then pokes her. “Are you even British? Bring out the imposter in you.”
“You brought it the other time. We wanted a change. Besides, Indian food is delish!” She pushes him away. “And stop poking me.”
“You should be honored that my lordship is even touching you, peasant.”
“I’m going to bite your head off.”
“I would like to see you try.”
I walk to them and nod at Cecily, who’s bringing out the takeout boxes. She nods back and focuses squarely on her task. She used to be in love with me—like everyone who’s had the honor to meet me. Well, not in love, but she had a major crush on my unmeasurable charm, but like every girl with a brain, she soon realized I have nothing inside me she can reach.
It’s no secret that I’m an empty entity of anarchy and destruction. A vessel for uncharacteristically violent tendencies and artistic genius.
In fact, when those personality traits disappear, I’m nothing more than odorless air. It’s part of the reason why I’ve made mayhem the purpose of my existence. Without that, I’m an endless void.
I don’t delude myself about those facts. Some girls—including the old Cecily—do. They like to think they can fix me, and I let them hold the illusion while I break them into irreparable pieces.
What? I’m a no-strings-attached type of man who likes the adventure of new holes. It’s not my fault they think of baby names after I fuck them into oblivion.
I didn’t fuck Cecily, though. I contemplated it once but then thought of her super strict father, Uncle Xander, who would dismember me and drink my blood as the soup of the day if I were to ever go near his precious princess.
And while I possess the moral compass of a shark, I don’t like stirring the waters too close to home. My folks have been friends with Ava’s, Cecily’s, and Remi’s parents since way before we were conceived, and I supposed it wouldn’t be practical to be chased with a golf club by their parents during family dinners.
That doesn’t mean I can’t mess with them, though.
Keeping Bran and Glyn in my peripheral vision as they catch up on their cringeworthy relationship, I lean against a pillar and smirk at Ava. She pauses her childish back and forth with Remi and narrows her eyes on me.
“And what do you want?” She huffs. “Going to bitch about fish and chips, too?”
“Nah. I couldn’t care less what type of food I consume.” After all, its only purpose is to keep the machine going on and on and fucking on.
Until I inevitably drop, that is.
“Then why are you grinning like Satan’s wannabe?” Ava asks, completely oblivious to Remi, who’s already digging into the food, despite starting drama about it two seconds ago.
“You wound me. I thought Satan wanted to be me.”
She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, the long mermaid sleeves of her pink camisole a whole character on their own.
“You came because you thought Eli wasn’t here, no?”
Her gloating expression falters. “Eli who? I couldn’t care less about his presence or the lack thereof.”
“In that case, you’d be okay knowing he’s coming back home in about…” I trail off and check my watch that’s worth more than a dozen of her Louboutin heels. “Fifteen minutes.”
Her face pales and she clears her throat. “You’re bluffing just to fuck with me.”
“Am I?” I fetch my phone and send a quick text to my cousin.
Landon: Ava is here with delicious food. Yum.
He doesn’t disappoint and his reply comes in a matter of seconds.
Eli: Be there in fifteen. You better make the earth swallow your hedonistic form before I arrive.
I tap the last text so it blurs the background, then show it to Ava.
She swallows and narrows her eyes. “Did you tell him I was here?”
“Whatever makes you think that?”
“You being a twat, maybe?”
“Is that another word for Cupid?”
She growls like a cornered animal and I grin, contemplating how to play with them further before he actually arrives.
That is, if Ava doesn’t run away or disappear like a ghost since she happens to be a coward.
Speaking of cowards, I re-check some of the texts I sent to Mia over the past week that she had the audacity to leave on Read.
If you weren’t in such a hurry just now, I would’ve given you a ride as soon as I was done licking your taste off my fingers. I never thought of pussy as a five-star meal, but I’m quickly changing my mind.