Page 204 of The Lies We Play

“Wine.” He takes a breath through his nose, controlled enough to piss me off on his behalf. “The good one. The one Liv keeps hiding from me.”

“She hides it from you because you don’t appreciate it.”

He scoffs. “I’ll appreciate it tonight.”

I go to the cabinet where Liv hides the bottle she brought back from Burgundy last August. Hides is generous. She placed it behind the Dutch oven and told both of us, with a very serious face, that if we touched it before a proper occasion, she would know. Halston said it was not hiding if she announced the location and the threat. Liv said that was exactly what made it psychological warfare.

I pour him a glass too full for the wine and exactly right for him.

He takes it.

Our fingers brush.

His are cold.

I don't comment on that because if I do, he will make them warmer by force of will and spite.

He sits at the island across from me.

“My stepmother was at the board meeting,” he says.

“Constance is on the board?”

“She has gone to meetings since the year after my mother died.” His mouth turns, but there is no humor in it. “But no, she is not on the board. My grandfather would never allow it.”

I look at him.

He has, in the three years and some weeks we’ve known each other, said the word mother four times.

Four.

I know because each time, the room changed.

He drinks more wine than tasting requires.

“She wanted to know,” he says, “why I am declining the foundation’s vice-chair position.”

“You’re declining the vice-chair position?”

He glares at me because I know he’s planning to live his life and not give two shits about the family.

“I won’t say anything until I’ve graduated and we have a plan,” he states, annoyed, and I know it’s not about me, but he hates the pressure. There’s a plan, I know he has one. Which will actually happen when he passes the bar exam. That’s a January problem, of course.

“They have been waiting for me to accept it for six months. I have been pretending I am too busy with school.”

“You already finished,” I arch an eyebrow.

“They don’t know that,” he snaps, takes a deep breath, and says, “Sorry, I’m not mad at you.”

“So, what did you tell her?”

“I told her I needed more time.”

“And?”

He puts the glass down with care.

Too much care.