Page 212 of Silver Sweet

“No, no, not a secret. You’re good, dude. I’m just trying to figure out how you gained telepathy tonight.”

“Harriet texted me.” His grip tightens on the water pitcher. “She’s having dinner with Phoenix and Joana.”

“Excuse me, what?” I choke out. “She’s doing what with whom?”

He laughs. “It’s just dinner. You know—what we’re doing now.”

“Right…” Except Phoenix didn’t textmeabout it. I reach for my phone in my pocket. “I’m sure my phone is on silent, and I just missed his texts.”Not on silent. Zero texts.I’m about to go deep into my well of feelings when I realize that Phoenix told Harriet we’re dating.

PhoenixtoldHarriet.

He didn’t even keep it a secret for a day.

But how did he even phrase it to her? Something casual? Or did he use the wordboyfriend? This is an important distinction for my personal notes.

I jog to catch up to Ben whose long legs are carrying him fast down the hall and toward the dining room. “Whatexactly did Phoenix say to Harry?” I question.

“That you’re boyfriends.”

Holy shit, he called me his boyfriend to Harriet fucking Fisher. I’m grinning so hard I might just levitate right here, right now. Pass me a feather duster, I can clean the chandelier.

Ben’s smiling off my smile—and that just makes me feel ten hundred times better.

All good things must come to an end.

That’s exactly what happens when I enter the dining room and see my little sister.

49

TOM COBALT

The regal dining room is laid out for an elaborate feast, all prepared by our family’s chef. Roasted goose, seitan, potatoes, and vegetables wedge between ornate candelabras and candlesticks. All lit and dripping with wax while a gilded chandelier sparkles above us. But I’m not focused on the theatrical tablescape that rarely, if ever, has changed since I was kid.

My gaze pins on my sister, who’s standing and filling her goblet with a deep, dark merlot. We’ve been allowed to haveoneglass of wine at dinner since we were teenagers—so Audrey drinking is not why I’ve stalled out in the doorway.

It’s her dress.

“Why are you wearing a nightgown?” I ask her.

“It’s not a nightgown,” Audrey counters. “It’s a slip dress.”

“It’s a black silknightgown.” With tiny spaghetti straps. She looks like she’s ready to go to a cocktail party with rich twentysomethings that just got done gallery hopping through Chelsea and the Lower East Side. I know the type. Ipartywith the type.

I’m just not used to my sister embodying it.

It’s been five seconds, and I already miss her costume dresses.

Ben is totally cool, calm, and collected. Not even breaking a sweat as if this isn’t the most abnormal thing we’ve encountered tonight.

As soon as he sees my slack-jawed expression, he tells me, “Audrey showed me the dress in advance. The shock wore off hours ago.”

“Where was my advanced notice, Audrey Virginia?” I accuse.

She lifts her goblet. “Become my favorite brother, and maybe you’d receive one.”

“I’m not unseating Ben, okay.” I pull out a chair and tell my brother, “Your position in her life is safe.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Ben smiles.