Page 11 of Sweet Nothings
“Because you’re still his son.” I deadpan.
If I weren’t already a dick for my comment a second ago, I definitely am one now. I’ve just added more gasoline onto the fire that is my brother’s resentment to our father. I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the funeral or the day in general. Something has me on edge.
“A fact that will never change,” Jude mutters. “For the record, I only came to the funeral to show support for you and Micah. I get I no longer have a place in the family company, but you’re still my brothers.”
“Let’s just see what happens.” I give him a reassuring smirk.
“Sure,” he says unconvincingly, then he leaves me in front of the beverage cart without another word.
I stare at the gold painting hung above it, beside where Jude was just standing. I can’t explain it, but it angers me. The way the light reflects off the gold brush strokes. The way I couldn’t even tell you where it came from or how long it’s been nailed to this fucking wall. Every inch of it ignites a fire beneath my skin.
I lift my glass, down its contents, and I’m quick to refill it.
My younger brother Micah walks into the study and heads straight for the beverage cart I’m standing in front of.
“Leave enough for me?” he asks with a light smile.
The youth in his expression doesn’t waver. He’s twenty-three but acts as if he’s still sneaking liquor out of our father’s secret stash at the office at the ripe old age of eleven. He’s always been the little brother who tagged along with his two older ones.
“Of course,” I tell him.
His smile deepens when I pour him a glass. He takes a gingerly sip and points to me. “I didn’t think we were supposed to have this meeting until next week. Isn’t that usually how these things go?”
“Perry flagged me down after our toast out in the great hall.” I look away from the gold painting. “He said talking over the will couldn’t wait until then.”
“Oh.” He nods, sucking a sharp breath in through his teeth. I can tell he’s nervous.
Micah is mine and Jude’s half-brother, but we’ve never thought of him any differently than if he were our full blood brother.
Conceived from one of his countless affairs, our father couldn’t risk the reputation he might have created had he not claimed Micah when his mother told everyone she was pregnant by the famous James Harding.
Treating Micah like a business transaction, Dad considered the pros and cons, deciding the pros of having another son outweighed the cons of denying he had another and the media spinning a story of scandal surrounding our family name.
Classic James Harding.
Micah leaves me and sits beside Jude in one of the large leather chairs situated in the room. Surrounded by old law books and dark leather and espresso-stained furniture, my stomach turns. This isn’t how I remember this room, and with the way Jude refuses to look away from Micah, I know he’s thinking about it, too.
Thankfully, the ping of a text coming from my pocket pulls me away from my thoughts before they stray too far.
I unlock my phone to a message from Madison.
Madison: If you’re ready for round two, I’ll be in the courtyard. Come find me…
A picture of her hand, slipped between her slick folds, pops up underneath her first text. Her fingertips are pressed against her clit. She’s resting against a flourish of bright pink and red flowers as she’s fingering herself. Not at all too different from where I was with her only twenty minutes ago.
I tighten my grip on my phone and fight the urge to leave the room and play Madison’s game, but this meeting with my father’s lawyer is too important.
My phone screen fades to black the second I hear the sharp clicking of heels meeting the smooth marble floor. My father’s assistant, Sienna, strides into the room, followed by our family lawyer, Perry O’Connell.
Sienna moves to stand near the largest window overlooking the back gardens jutting up against the bay—most likely where Madison is waiting for me. Sienna sniffs and swipes the tips ofher fingers under each of her eyes as if she’s erasing her tears. As if we won’t notice she’s been sobbing since the second she found out about my father’s untimely demise.
After wiping her tears, she sips on her glass of champagne in silence. Tangled up in her grief, she’s drank every glass of champagne offered to her since the reception started.
As horrible as it is to say, I look at her with pity. I know the affair my father and her had over the years meant more to her than it did him. All his affairs were meaningless. Two years ago, I walked into his office for a meeting as she was crawling out on all fours under his desk. Pink cheeked and tousled hair, she shuffled out of the office without daring to chance meeting my eye. My father leaned back in his chair and smiled as if his eldest son hadn’t just caught him with his assistant’s mouth around his cock.
Still, today, I can see the shame and embarrassment in her eyes. My pity for her has grown, knowing my father used her like he did everyone else in his life.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Perry says behind me.