My gaze accidentally travels across the room, landing on their daughter. Now seven, she entertains herself at the breakfast table, sketching pictures of ball gowns. Maria literally wants to be Rose. I fear for the world.
Lily redirects the conversation back to the topic, thankfully. “I’m not complaining about all my other birthdays. I never wanted a big party. All I wanted was…” Her eyes widen and her cheeks splotch red. I hug her closer, trying not to smile at her embarrassment. But she’s cute, even when she’s a tomato.
Ryke has an arm draped over Daisy’s shoulder. “Yeah, we all know where that’s f**king going.” He nods to Lily. “And for what it’s worth, Calloway. Birthday sex is the best.”
Lily groans. “Don’t remind me.” She stuffs her face in a beaded maroon pillow. She’s still on her post-pregnancy celibacy. Exactly three weeks left now.
“Can we please talk about this abstinence pact?” Sam asks as he ties off his wife’s hair. She passes him his champagne and then leans into his chest.
“Yes, please,” Connor agrees, sipping red wine like Rose. I’m more aware of the alcohol today than usual, and my eyes keep flitting to Ryke as a reminder that he’s sober too. Lil’s not drinking either, but it’s different.
My father always made it seem more masculine to grip a f**king whiskey. To drink at parties. If I didn’t, I was a pu**y. I’m still trying to rewire my brain and not feel less than Connor and Sam. I’m consuming soda. But so is my brother.
“Wait,” Ryke says, confused. He points at Poppy. “You’re doing this too?”
I laugh at that realization. Goddamn. This is a big deal for the Calloway sisters then.
“Six weeks isn’t that long,” Poppy declares, her wooden bracelets clinking together as she reaches for her gin and tonic.
Behind her, Sam chugs his entire champagne, not agreeing.
“This is rich,” I say under my breath. Lily hears me and smacks my chest. I mock wince, and her eyes drop to my lips. I’m about to kiss her when Poppy leans forward, just to make eye contact with Lil.
“Before you know it, Lily, it’ll be over.”
Lily is rigid as hell, the spotlight on her. And now it’s about sex. I whisper in her ear, “Relax, love.” I feel her blow out a breath, her chest collapsing.
“Dry humping shouldn’t be allowed,” Rose snaps with an icy tone. Her glare is set on me. Like I violated some contract written in blood. “It should be all or nothing. Be strong.”
“You take pacts to a whole new psychotic level,” I retort. “Rules are meant to be broken, Magdala.”
“You’re a child,” she shoots back.
“Weak.”
“Children,” Connor interrupts now, staring between us both. “Can we return to the issue or move on from it, whichever will stop this first?”
Daisy raises her fork in the air. “I approve of dry humping.”
“Done,” I add, definitely siding with whoever sides with me. Even if it’s Lily’s little sister, someone I’ve never wanted to imagine dry humping anything living or inanimate.
Daisy makes a chopping motion with her arm. “Case closed.”
I watch Lily hug that uncomfortable beaded pillow, which is meant for decoration. I steal it from her and toss it on the floor. She looks at me like I stole her vibrator. And I’m intimate with that look. I’ve seen it every time I trashed her toys.
I pull her onto my lap, and her expression morphs into content. Though I watch her catch glimpses of our parents, and her anxiety flares. My father has Maximoff in his arms, taking the most interest in him. Greg Calloway is a close second, sitting near.
I think they just connect more to the boy.
Maybe that’s why Samantha only pays attention to Jane. I haven’t seen her hold Moffy or anything like that. But I have to believe it’s his gender and not because he’s Lil’s baby. Even if it’s an option, it’s just too terrible to entertain.
Rose and Connor speak quietly in French, but Rose keeps nervously glancing at Ryke.
“I’m not f**king listening to you,” Ryke growls back. “Stop staring at me.”
Rose lets out an irritated breath and switches to what sounds like German. Although she speaks far slower and her accent isn’t as polished or fluid as Connor’s.
Lily leans into my arm. “Can Ryke speak German?”
I shake my head. “I have no clue.” The only languages I’m certain that he speaks are Spanish, Italian, and French. I ask all the time what else he knows, but he shuts down. It’s not important, he says. Why does it f**king matter?
I wonder when he’ll realize that there’s no reason. That it’ll never matter. It’ll never be important. He should just tell me because we’re family.
But he didn’t grow up with that sense of inclusion. The Calloway sisters did.
I did because I had Lily.
He had no one.
I get that now.
Lily pokes me in the arm. “My mom gave me these.” She hands me a small stack of business cards. I flip through them. I zone in on the profession. Nanny. Nanny. Daycare specialist. Nanny. Nanny. Childcare assistant. My stomach rolls over.
I’ve already told Samantha that we’re not hiring nannies. “Rose,” I say, licking my lip. “Did you get these?” I stretch and pass her the business cards.
Her shoulders stiffen as she inspects them. “No.”
Lily swallows hard. “I’m doing an okay job, right?” Her voice cracks at the end.
Poppy reaches out and places a hand on Lily’s knee. “You’re doing amazing. Don’t worry about what anyone else says.” Her voice carries warmth, and I see Lily’s fear pop in her expression. She’s worried that she doesn’t sound like that. It’s easier thinking you’re a warm person next to Rose Calloway, but stand next to Poppy and anyone appears rough around the edges.
I rub Lily’s back, making small circles. “Don’t even think about your mom,” I tell Lil. “Just remember the fantastic belated birthday sex you’ll be getting in a few weeks.”
She simultaneously blushes and inhales with more eagerness. I wrap my arms tighter around her waist, and she holds onto them.
My father laughs loudly at something, and it distracts all of us for a second. Connor takes a larger swig of his wine. He’ll need a refill soon. “Has the board made a decision yet?” he asks.
We have no more news than the last standings, but we’ve been to another function. I can’t tell what the board is thinking. They’re as pokerfaced as Connor sometimes.
I drink my soda, craving something sharper. “The board doesn’t need to make a decision,” I say. “It’s my title. So you can all self-sabotage any day now.” The edge in my voice hurts my ears. I hate it. “By the end of the month, you can call me Mr. Hale, CEO. We’ll even have a party.” I feign excitement with a small gasp. “Ryke can bring the tacos, and Connor, here, will supply the Glenfiddich. Won’t you, love?”
The entire room deadens.
The tension and silence is so thick that it’s hard to breathe.
I don’t know why I said that. To be an ass**le. Maybe it’s something deeper. But everyone catches the hidden meaning behind my words.
The first time I ever relapsed was by drinking a bottle of Glenfiddich.