I nod as Spider clams up and brushes past us to head into the formal living room.
It’s a spacious affair with a beamed ceiling and a fireplace framed by whitewashed stone. The focal point of the room is the pair of charcoal drawings that hang on the wall behind the cream leather sectional.
Spider blinks as he walks around the coffee table and stands in front of the pictures. My interest piqued, I follow him while Robert moves to make himself a drink at the bar. I stand next to Spider, our shoulders not quite touching as we look at the art.
The one on the right is a Tudor-style home made of stone with intricate dormers and arched doors. The other one is a little boy lying spread-eagle on the grass as he stares up at the sky with a big grin on his face. It’s perfectly mischievous.
I study them both closely, taking in the childlike quality to the art. I think I see his name scrawled in the corner of one of the drawings. “Yours?”
He nods, indicating the drawing on the right. “Just the one of the house. The other was drawn by my sister Cate.”
A ghost of a smile flits across Spider’s mouth. “We both loved to draw, but she was always better about capturing people.”
His fingers are magic with a guitar, so it’s not surprising that he can draw as well. “They’re both very good.” I motion toward the little boy. “I bet you were a handful.”
“I had the attention span of a gnat.” A long sigh comes from him. “I was her favorite subject. She meant . . . a lot to me.” Darkness crosses his face, and I immediately want to make it go away.
“Is that where you grew up?” I tilt my head at the house.
He nods. “That was our family estate, my real home, and we had the run of it. Mum and Father were gone a lot, but with Cate around, there was always something to do.” He tucks his hands in his pockets. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen these. I-I didn’t even know he’d put them up.”
“Why did you leave London?” He alluded to it earlier on the plane with his fresh start comment, but I’m curious for more.
“Father . . . he wanted away from the memories.”
“What memories?”
His eyes turn to me, and you know the saying that eyes are the windows to the soul? I read his. Spider’s luminous amber eyes enrapture me, capturing me with their loneliness.
My breath hitches.
He opens his mouth to say something more but Robert’s voice comes from across the room, interrupting our conversation. “Rose, tell me about your classes this semester. How’s it going?” There’s a sharp quality in his voice, and I turn over my shoulder to watch him as he crosses the room toward us, his carefully creased slacks moving with each step.
I frown. He clearly cares about Anne, and I like him a lot, mostly because he softens Anne and makes her happy, giving me more space. But it’s clear he doesn’t want Spider to be around me. I noticed it earlier at the door when he watched us—and now he’s trying to interrupt our obviously private conversation.
As if Spider senses the tension in the air, he steps away from me and sits down on the couch.
He’ll learn that I don’t give up that easy. Something about him makes me want to dig for more. I want his story.
I’m saved from further talking as Anne waltzes into the room looking lovely in a pink flowy ankle-length maxi dress that artfully conceals her growing belly.
She runs her eyes over my red dress, pausing on the hemline, a small wrinkle forming on her forehead. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that.”
It’s her way of saying I look awful.
Feeling self-conscious, I touch the bodice of the silk garment. “It’s something Oscar found for me at one of his consignment stores. It’s vintage, I think. I like it.” I fidget, feeling uncomfortable as her scowl grows. She runs her eyes over my hair and I’m glad I wore it down since it covers the tattoo.
“I don’t,” she says.
Robert tosses an arm around Anne. “She looks beautiful, dear. Don’t give her a hard time.”
Anne’s lips tighten and I’m not surprised. I expected her disapproval and wore it anyway. I rarely rebel against her, but lately with the whole NYU thing, I feel antsy.
She exhales. “The next time you come, dress more modestly. That dress is too short and gives off the wrong impression.” She smiles brightly at me like she usually does after a criticism. I call it her “cut and hug” routine. She turns to Robert, not waiting for my reply. “Now, how about a soda?”
“Bloody hell, they’re rather scary,” Spider whispers from behind me as Robert and Anne walk over to the bar so he can make her a ginger ale.
“What do you mean?” I ask, turning to face him.
He palms his spider tattoo. “I mean, Father’s acting weird, and Anne is . . . rather strict.” He brushes his gaze over me, lingering on the bodice of my dress, and I get tingles. “Don’t listen to her. I love the dress.” He grins. “After all, you did wear it for me, right?”
I shake my head at him. He goes from deep to cocky in the space of a few minutes. I can’t keep up with him.
“Anne’s big on appearances. She doesn’t want me turning into my mama, and her way of making sure that doesn’t happen is to tell me every single move to make.” I sigh.
“Don’t let her squash your spirit.” He searches my face. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here—as a stepbrother, of course.”
I picture us talking . . . then kissing . . . then doing more. I imagine his hands on my body, slipping under my dress . . .
Shit. Where did that come from? I suck in a breath. Forget those thoughts, Rose.
I nod. “Right.”
After dinner, Spider excuses himself to go upstairs to his room. He mentioned he’s staying at the penthouse but he’s yet to head that way.
He barely said much during our five-course meal, his eyes fixed firmly on his plate. I don’t like it that he’s different around Robert and Anne. I want my snarky Englishman from the plane.
Twenty minutes later, he dashes down the stairs dressed in black gym shorts and an athletic shirt.
“Running?” I ask stupidly as he makes his way to the front door.
“Yeah. I need to get out of this place for a bit.” With his hand on the doorknob, he glances back at me. “You wanna come?”
I send him a wry look. “My heels weren’t made for running. I was thinking we might get Robert and Anne and play some games. Scrabble?”
“Scrabble? My father?” His face is surprised, and I can see that he’s probably never played many games with Robert. Again, I wonder what’s between them, and part of me, the part that’s like Granny, wants to analyze their relationship and maybe help mend it. “It might be fun to get to know each other better.”
He shakes his head and backs away. “I don’t even know what fucking universe this is. I gotta go.”
The door opens and he’s gone, his tall form slipping out into the night.
I stand at the open door and watch him disappear as he jogs away.
We play a round of Scrabble, and by ten, Robert retires to give Anne and me some time alone.