would take the news well; it’s why I’ve put actually having this conversation off for weeks. It was hard enough to convince E this was the right plan, the best plan, and I doubt Mase will be any easier to persuade.
I push up onto my toes and reach to cup Mase’s scruffy jaw in my hand, rubbing my thumb back and forth over his stubble until I have his full attention. Doing this in front of an audience is far less than ideal, but at the end of the day, it’s us, Mase and me, who are what matters.
“I know you’re mad.” I tighten the hand holding on to his pants when he goes to deny it. “Don’t try to lie and say you aren’t.” The tension around his eyes smooths out when I call him out. “I’m sure you have all sorts of thoughts and feelings on the subject, but I need you to know I made this decision for you.”
“Kay.” The blunt edges of his nails dig into my back as he tightens his hold on me.
“I know he deserves so much more than what he got, but”—I lay the flat of my palm over my heart—“to me”—I move my hand so it now covers his—“you are all that matters. I had the lawyers draw up NDAs and what was essentially a combo platter of a gag and a cease and desist order on all the Chrissy/Tina bullshit he tried to drum up.”
“You did?” Shock and awe fill his light green eyes.
“Respect, Short Stack.” A fist appears above Mase’s shoulder, and Trav gives me a wink when I bump it. At least he doesn’t seem upset by me essentially airing some of his dirty laundry.
“What does Christina Hale have to do with anything?” Brantley is pretty much seething at this point, and the way his fingers fidget at his sides gives away how much he doesn’t like not being the one in control.
“Well you see, Brantley…” Tessa attempts to cover her snort with a cough at E using Brantley’s first name, but the twitch of Bette’s lips tells me I’m not the only one who doesn’t think she was successful.
We may be the only ones who know this, but the fact that my brother didn’t refer to Mase’s stepdad as Mr. Roberts is one of the biggest slaps in the face he could give. I think Dad would forgive him for going against the way we were raised since he’s doing it as a small way to defend my honor and all that.
“While you come storming in here ruining our breakfast and insulting my sister—who, I might add, has only thought of ways to protect Mason’s career—”
“Yeah.” Brantley puffs out a humorless breath. “Because she sees him as her golden ticket.”
“Little D may be short, but she’s no Oompa Loompa,” B cracks, and Em backhands him in the chest, eliciting an oof.
E rolls his eyes, and Mase mumbles to me how I do it better as we watch the testosterone-fueled standoff I feared. If left unchecked, E’s overprotectiveness could cause a rift between our two families that might not be able to be fixed once everything calms down.
“I honestly have no idea where you’ve come up with this ridiculous notion that my sister is some jersey chaser looking for a payday, but one thing”—E thrusts a finger in the air—“she does not need from your son is money. From my endorsements alone, I’ve set her up for life.”
E stops and swallows thickly; it’s his tell when he’s trying to actively rein in his emotions. The way his eyes turn down at the corners when he looks at me tells me he also feels guilty about letting this truth slip. He shouldn’t. His net worth is google-able, and anyone who knows the details of him taking over my guardianship would know he would take care of me. What almost no one knows is he did the same for the Taylor siblings too.
“Now”—E stalks to the door and yanks it open—“why don’t you see yourself out before you ruin the rest of our morning.”
When Brantley doesn’t make any effort to do as he’s asked, both Grace and Nana McQueen flank him, taking each of his arms in theirs and ushering him out of the room. E slams the door behind them with a sense of finality.
Is it too much to ask for there not to be a lingering sense of drama in our lives?
“I’m sorry.” Mase breathes into my hair,