“Let’s start with this: I had breakfast with our mother this morning.”
“Good for you.”
“She said Paulina called her last night.”
“Fuck Paulina,” I say with more emphasis than I even intended.
He lifts a brow.
“Yeah, Graham. Fuck Paulina,” I hiss, watching him absorb a very un-Camilla-like display. “Oh, wait, you already did.”
His eyes darken, making him look more like my father than I’ve ever realized. “Choose your words wisely, Camilla.”
“The same goes for you.”
“What’s gotten into you?” he growls. “Is this what he’s is doing to you? Making you some crazed lunatic?”
“This is a crazed lunatic?” I laugh. “Really? It seems to me that being accosted in my own home and standing up for yourself is a little less lunatic-y than barging into your sister’s house and making her feel like some kind of criminal for nothing.”
His lips twist together, dismissing me. “I want you to take a good look at yourself in the mirror, little sister, and see if you like what you see.”
Imagining what Graham is seeing causes me to smile. It’s something he’s never seen before. It’s something I’ve never felt before. Determination.
I’ve fought with Lincoln before and sparred with Ford, but never Graham. He’s always been so much older than me that our conversations have always been logical, even-footed. Him the older brother and me the younger, more submissive sister. Not today.
Today it doesn’t matter if I make him mad. I don’t care if he thinks I’m an idiot or calls me foolish. I have absolutely no need to humor him or try to see things from his perspective because he is wrong. On so many levels.
“Dom has made me see things differently,” I admit. “It’s making me see people differently.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s absolutely right.”
He grabs the back of a barstool at the island and squeezes the top. “Are you aware that your . . . what is he? Your boyfriend?”
“He’s whatever I want him to be.”
“Of course he is,” he scoffs. “I’m sure he’s a modern day Romeo.”
Heaving a deep breath, I look him in the eye. “Graham, I’m trying very, very hard to remember that you’re my brother and all this probably, hopefully, comes from a good place. You’re making it extremely difficult.”
He considers this. Shifting his weight to the other leg, his eyes never leave mine. “Ford says he thinks it’s serious between the two of you.”
“Did Ford tell you that they got along? That they had a decent conversation and that he was helping him out with a few things?”
“I also talked to Lincoln.”
“Oh, yes, by all means, listen to Lincoln for the first time in your life,” I laugh, which only makes Graham’s anger return. “You should listen to him, actually. You want to know why?”
“I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“Because at least Lincoln had the guts and class to meet him and decide for himself. You haven’t bothered to do anything but listen to what you don’t want to hear!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not wanting to hear that he’s cocky—”
“Lincoln,” I say, letting him know I know where he heard that.
“Unable to take care of you—”
“Ford,” I sigh.
“And looks like, and I quote, ‘a man that just walked out of a federal prison,’” Graham concludes.
“Paulina. Maybe Raquel,” I sigh dramatically. “Did they also mention that he’s smart, has a day job, a night job, and a part-time job,” I say, counting the fighting as a part-time gig. “Did they mention that he makes me feel special? That he’s as overprotective in a lot of ways as you are,” I glare, “or that he’s never been in prison but might just end up there if he heard how you’re talking to me right now?”
Graham rolls his eyes, making a show of his annoyance. “Are you aware Dominic is Nolan’s nephew?”
I nod, taking a long, strangled breath. “Yes. I am aware of that.”
“And you’re still seeing him?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
He roughs his hands through his picture-perfect hair, mussing it all up. He looks around the kitchen like he’s trying to find a way to talk sense into me or something equally as dramatic. I would laugh if we weren’t discussing this particular topic.
“Cam,” he begins, “I’m a reasonable person. It may not seem like it right now, but I am. That being said, do you have any idea what this is going to do to Barrett?”
“I know he doesn’t like Nolan and I get it. But—”
“Doesn’t like Nolan?” he says incredulously. “That man tried to ruin Barrett’s career. He almost got Alison assaulted, do you remember that? Nolan almost destroyed Barrett’s . . . everything . . . and here you are—”
“Here I am what?” I power back. “Maybe falling in love with someone that had an asshole of a father that was brothers with another asshole? How is that Dominic’s fault, G?”
“How are you going to explain this to Barrett?”
“You were aware that Paulina screwed Barrett and, most likely Ford, and you still slept with her. Nobody was worried about that. I’m not sure why we all care who I’m fucking.”
His eyes narrow, his knuckles turning white. He’s ready to fire back at me, but I don’t give him the chance.
“You need to be a little less worried about what I’m doing and more about what you are. I talked to Mallory today. You do realize you’re on the verge of messing that all up, right? Or we’re not allowed to talk about that? Just who I’m sleeping with?”
The flinch is obvious, his hand dropping from the chair.
“Yes, Graham, I do know that he’s Nolan’s nephew. I also know how genetics work and that you don’t get to pick who you’re related to. If that were the case, I would opt out of sharing any DNA with you right now.”
He takes that hit, tugging at the collar of his white button-down shirt. His cufflinks twinkle in the light cast from the chandelier over his head. There are lines on his face I haven’t noticed before—deep, worrisome etches in his skin. If I wasn’t so mad at him, I’d ask him how he was feeling. But I don’t because I am still angry.
“I also know about the loan,” he states.
“Good for you.”
“Cam, please tell me you understand why this is concerning. Please tell me you haven’t lost all of your mind.”
“I get it. I’m not stupid. It’s a lot of money to be loaning someone that looks like he . . . what did you say? Walked out of prison? Something like that?”
Looking at the ceiling, he sighs.
“What is this, Graham? Is this about the money? About social status? Did it offend you somehow that Mom’s friends saw me with someone not in a Brooks Brother’s suit? Did that somehow take down our Landry brand?”
He shoots me a glare.
“Because if that’s the case, if that’s what we’ve been relegated to, I’m not sure I fit in here anymore.”
“Of course that’s not it,” he mutters. “I’m just . . . I’m trying to control what’s going on here.”