she amends. “It’s funny. I always thought Dad would shut me out on account of having a uterus and all.”
“No. You earned your place,” says Ethan.
“And I didn’t, I suppose?” asks Beck, easing his hand from my hold.
His brother stares back at him, face blank. “Nobody wins points for leaving when the going gets tough. You know that.”
“He made it impossible for me to stay.”
“Oh, grow the fuck up.” Ethan’s gaze is cold and hard. “He tested us all in different ways. You’re the only one who decided to disappear because your delicate little feelings got hurt.”
“Would both of you fucking stop it?” says Henry, jumping to his feet and heading for the door.
Emma sighs. “Kid, it’s okay…”
But he’s already gone.
“Well done, morons. I need a drink.” Emma’s head rests against the back of the sofa. She pulls out her cell and sends a message. At least, I assume that’s what she did since there’s a knock on the door a minute later.
“About time,” she mumbles. “I’m dying here.”
Beck and Ethan just keep on glaring at each other. This is not a happy family. Lots of underlying tensions. Oprah and Dr. Phil would have a field day. A death in the family is meant to be difficult, times of change always are. With the complicated family dynamics and the amount of money involved, however, it seems to be the usual amount of stress times about a hundred. As they say, money can’t buy you love.
A handsome man in yet another well-tailored suit wanders into the room. Dark hair, dark eyes, olive skin, and cheekbones you could cut yourself on. He closes the door behind him, looking around at each of us with interest. Though his gaze rests the longest on Emma who dramatically says, “I need a drink.”
“You need a hell of a lot more than that,” he says. “But at this stage, a strong drink can’t hurt.”
“The therapy and medication can and will come later, rest assured.” She waves a hand grandly in the air. “Alice, this is Matías. Matías, meet Alice. Consider yourself introduced.”
He smiles and moves over to a well-stocked drinks trolley. “I’m the trophy husband.”
“Wait,” says Emma, massaging her temples. “We’re back together?”
“Nope. Still getting divorced. Thank God.”
“Oh, good. It’s been a busy week, but I didn’t think I’d have forgotten something like that.”
“It’s just that trophy divorcé doesn’t have quite the same ring.” Matías looks up from the drinks trolley. “What’s wrong, your Botox bothering you again?”
Emma raises her middle finger. “If I have a headache, it’s because my father just died, and two of my brothers are behaving like children, while the one who actually is a child is being raised by a cannibal in Jimmy Choos.”
“Isn’t Giada a vegan now?” asks Matías, pouring whiskey into five tumblers. “Thought Lise talked her into it a few months back.”
Beck just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I have no idea what my mother’s been up to.”
“Speaking of which, Lise was so proud you’d cast off the capitalist yoke in favor of undertaking a journey of spiritual discovery across this wide land,” says Emma. “Finally following in her footsteps.”
“Yeah.” He winces. “That was not what I was doing.”
“What’s wrong? Didn’t you find your Patronus?”
“How much is her woo-woo company worth now, anyway?” asks Ethan.
“I don’t know, forty million or so?” answers Emma. “The organic herbal-flavored waters seem to be doing particularly well for her.”
Ethan shakes his head.
Matías starts passing out the drinks. First to Beck and me, followed by Ethan and Emma. The tumblers are a beautifully cut crystal, heavy in the hand, and the liquor smells delicious. Like honey and cinnamon. Far better than anything we had on the top shelf at the bar.
“The Macallan?” asks Ethan with a brow raised in amusement.
“Why not? He ain’t here to stop us.” Matías smiles. “To Jack.”
“To Dad,” says Emma in a quiet voice.
We all drink. The whiskey is indeed superior and smooth. Though it’s largely wasted on me, a vodka or tequila drinker from way back. For a moment, no one talks, everyone reflecting on the deceased or enjoying the high-priced liquor. Everything is silent since any noise from the rest of the house is smothered by the thick old walls. The couple of hundred people might as well not be out there. But the illusion is broken as soon as Rachel opens the door.
“Ethan,” she says, tone ever so slightly reprimanding in the way only a mother’s can. “The mayor would like to talk to you.”