Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116759 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 584(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
She shrugged. “I’m kind of half expecting you to naysay the whole thing, and the truth is, little brother, your opinion matters to me whether I want it to or not.”
Affection cut through my surprise. I reached over to pull my sister into a tight embrace. “I’m happy for you, Junebug. I will always be happy when you’re happy.”
“Yeah?” Her question was muffled against my chest.
“Always.” I kissed the top of her head and released her. “I don’t ever want you to be afraid to tell me anything.”
She nodded, giving me a small smile. “Thanks. You’re kind of an all-right brother, you know that?”
I chuckled, pleased. “So … when do I get to meet Leona?”
“I really wanted to bring her home for Christmas, but with our parents acting like imbeciles, that was impossible. And she gets it. So … I was thinking I could bring her to your Hogmanay party?”
“Of course. I can’t wait to meet her.” I meant it.
However, I felt a little unsteady as I got out of the SUV. Like something set in stone had freed itself and left the ground beneath me unsettled.
“Don’t tell Mum and Dad yet. I don’t want their bullshit to ruin anything.”
“You know they won’t care you’re dating a woman.”
“Mum might. She has her heart set on you marrying Lady Whatshername and me Lord Whathisfuckingface so she can return to Aunty Anne’s inner fold. Still strange that Aunty Anne’s queen.” Juno wrinkled her nose. “Our relatives are really weird.”
I wrapped my arm around her as we walked to Dad’s door. “Yes, they are. But Mum will get over her ambitions when she sees how happy you are. She told me if I was gay, she’d support me.”
“Did she? When did she? Why did she? Never mind. It’s different with her and me. Do you remember that speech she gave two years ago about how I needed to give her grandchildren someday because sons notoriously allowed their wives to push the son’s parents out of the grandparental bubble?”
“Being gay doesn’t mean you’re suddenly unable to provide grandchildren.”
“Yes, but Leona doesn’t want children.”
“What age is Leona?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Maybe she’ll change her mind.”
“This is a stupidly big conversation to be having. Let’s reconcile ourselves with the idea that your commitment-phobic sister is in love. Yes?”
Nodding on a still slightly stunned smile, I agreed.
Dad opened the door, ending the conversation. “Come in, come in.” He gestured us inside, already walking away. “Happy Christmas and all that blasted nonsense.”
Juno and I exchanged a grim look.
Happy Christmas, indeed.
“He’s drinking too much,” Juno observed as I drove us back to the house.
“I know,” I replied darkly.
It wasn’t yet one in the afternoon and Dad was drunk.
And bitter.
And sarcastic.
And generally unpleasant to be around.
Juno and I made our excuses to leave after brunch, which consisted of burnt toast and fried eggs.
“We need to do something.”
“I know that too.” The reality of my father’s drinking, however, was so big, so heavy, I didn’t even know where to start.
Mum returned home about an hour after we did, and I saw her note the grim atmosphere between us. But unlike the mother I’d grown up with who wouldn’t settle until she’d fixed every single one of our problems, I saw her silently question what had happened … then bury her head in the sand about it.
Instead, she enlisted us in making dinner and chatted away to us about Penelope Chiltworth, a nineteen-year-old home from St. Andrews University for Christmas.
“That’s not far from Edinburgh. And she was very pretty. Her mother is Lady Pillbroke. Daughter of the Earl of Kennilston.”
“I don’t care, Mother,” I’d muttered under my breath.
She either didn’t hear me or ignored me.
“And, Juno, Lord Thirsk was at the church service this morning. Did you know his eldest son is getting divorced? Very handsome man. And no children.”
“Isn’t he forty?”
“A very fit and handsome forty.”
I caught Juno’s eye. Tell her, my expression said. My sister shook her head frantically, nonverbally threatening me to keep my mouth shut.
Per her wishes, I let my mother torture us both with long-winded speeches about the wonderful attributes of aristocratic strangers she felt compelled to foist upon us.
It might have been a nice reprieve to have Dad show up out of the blue. If it wasn’t so bloody horrible. We were halfway through the turkey dinner when Dad burst into the house. Still drunk. And apparently ready to fight.
He strode into the dining room, angrily observing the beautifully laid table.
Mum shot out of her chair. “What are you doing here?”
Dad yanked off his coat and scarf. “Having Christmas bloody dinner in my house,” he announced belligerently as he swayed on his feet.
“Paul, are you drunk?” Mum glowered at him. “Again?”
“I’ve had a tipple. What are we eating?” He pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Get out!”
“Mumsy.” Juno threw her a pleading look. “Please let him stay.”