“Whatever we were talking about is significantly less important than that outfit,” I replied, not sure whether to laugh or make the sign of the cross.
“We were looking at the profile of Gale’s fiancée,” Arty said, completely unfazed by her fashion choice for the day.
“We are not engaged yet!”
He just assumed I would say yes when I agreed to think about it last night.
“Oh, let me see!” Eliza said with far too much excitement, and because of how long her dress was, she looked like she was gliding toward us.
“No way.” She gasped when Arty handed her the file.
“She’s very pretty, right?” Arty said proudly as if he had something to do with it.
“No freaking way!” Eliza started to jump up and down.
“Eliza, it’s not that exciting—”
“Do you not know how big this is?” she yelled at me. “Why didn’t you all tell me that the Odette Wyntor was going to be my sister-in-law?”
I looked at my brother, hoping he understood whatever the hell was happening. But he just stared at her with the same confusion.
“You know her?” he questioned.
“She has a ‘the’ in front of her name?” I asked.
Eliza glanced up from the file to us, and her shoulder slumped. The look of annoyance was clear on her face, or it could be the intent to murder. The veil she had on made it hard to tell. “I swear you guys never listen to me when I talk.”
“I have been feeling that way recently, too. Do you know why, Arty?” I looked at him, but again, he ignored me.
“How do you know her? Have you met her before?” Arty asked her.
“I wish. I’m a huge fan of her music! Remember that concert I wanted to go to last year in New York? It was hers!”
We both stared at her, not remembering at all. She rolled her eyes. “Whenever I play it, you call it depressed-siren music, Gale.”
“That’s her?” Arty and I exclaimed together.
I looked at him, and he looked back at me. We both laughed.
I couldn’t believe it. “The woman who always sounds like she is about to Sylvia Plath herself is Little Miss Sunshine? There has to be a mistake.”
“Little Miss Sunrise,” Arty corrected.
“Whatever.” I reached over, taking the file from Eliza’s hands and looking at the photo.
Odette was all smiles, and her eyes even seemed to hold a twinkle. I lifted the photo to Eliza just in case she was mistaken. “Are you sure this is the same woman?”
“I know what my favorite musicians look like, thank you,” she snapped. “And seeing as you’re marrying her, you should at least have the decency to know her music style. It’s called heartbreak sad soul, not depressed siren.”
“I think my name for it makes better sense, but what do I know?” I grinned, looking to the section about her music.
She had albums out and had been nominated for a Grammy in the past. She didn’t win, but still, when they’d said musician, I hadn’t thought much of it.
“I really can’t believe it.” Eliza, the goth wannabe, giggled. “It feels like fate.”
“Yes, like all the world wants them to be together,” Arty stated, now standing upright.
They really know how to ruin my fun. Closing the file, I sat up and tossed it back onto the desk. “Fate has nothing to do with this, fortune does.”
“Gaining wealth and losing wealth is fate, too.”
“Then maybe it is our fate to lose it,” I whispered, and silence filled the air briefly before he spoke again.
“Eliza, you should go ahead. The Halloween fair will be starting soon,” he said to her, and it was only then that I remembered what today was. At least that explained her outfit.
“I have a minute to see you smack him,” she said, amused.
But Arty had somehow mastered Mother’s “look,” so he did not have to say a word to her. She understood to leave.
“Fine. I’m going.” She frowned, turning her back to him, and then she stuck out her tongue at me before walking out.
He waited for the door to shut before his gaze fell to me.
I stared at him. “That doesn’t work on me, remember?” Though I felt uncomfortable, knowing he was no longer in the mood to make jokes or play nice.
Eliza said it was “king’s” energy. It left everyone else unsettled. Dad had it, and so did Arthur.
“A day ago, you seemed more amenable to this argument. What changed?” he questioned, taking a seat.
I shrugged. “I was more sentimental on that day.”
“No, you were more like a prince, remembering you have a duty and a purpose higher than yourself. You only seem to forget that after you’ve debased yourself.”
“Is that what the kids are calling sex these days?”
“I let the fact that you were with Sabina until this morning go—”
“Did you? Because it’s not feeling like it.”
“I let it go because she is smart enough to know her place. Giselle, on the other hand, seems always to forget hers,” he said with more venom than was necessary.
“I did not go see Giselle.”
“No, you just spent twelve minutes on a call with her, then sent people out to check on her yesterday. And now you think you’re smart enough to tip around the truth with me!”
“I am not a child nor your child, Arthur. I don’t need you to lecture me!”
“Yes, you fucking well do!” He slammed his hand onto the table. It took a lot for him to curse, and it was usually amusing on the rare occasion he did. Usually. “How many women do you need exactly, by the way? In the morning, you talk to Giselle. In the evening, you are with Sabina. Next week, you will want a whole new set of females. Are you not tired yet, Gale?”
“They make blue pills—”
“I am not in the mood to joke with you!”
“And I not in the mood to fucking argue about my sex life!” I hollered back.
“You watch your tone.”
“Or what?” I rose from my chair because I was done with this morning meeting. “I think we should call it a day—”
“I’m not finished speaking!”
“You are not the king!” I hollered back.
“No, but I am the Adelaar! Which means I can call any lord or lady to service. You spoke to Giselle. Does she want to go back to Brazil? Actually, it doesn’t even matter. I will simply call her husband, and he will surely take her with him!”
“You wouldn’t!”
He raised his right hand. “I swear on the Bible and the crown that I would.”
“Arthur, you know what that pig of a man does to her!”
“Oh,” he said with fake surprise and no compassion. “Did she call you weeping again? Is that why you lost your damn mind and decided to speak with her on an unsecured line?”
Closing my eyes, I did my best to calm down. “She was scared—”
“Then she should have called the police!”
“Arthur.”
“You are not her white knight! You are a goddamn prince of this nation! When will you get it? She is not leaving him. Why? Because she knows you can never marry her. She’d rather get beaten to a pulp than lose her status as a Lady of Belway. That is not our problem. That is not our fault. If you speak to her or have anything to do with her again, Gale, she will be gone by daybreak. Then I will go for Sabina. Then any other woman you want to test my patience with. One by one, I will find a reason to throw them to some corner of the globe. Do you want to be the reason their lives become worse?”