I open my mouth to argue, but she shoots me a look that could freeze hell.
“Shut up for once,” she says.
“I don’t?—”
“What part of ‘shut up’ is unclear?” She turns to Elijah. “And you. He’s here, isn’t he? That’s what matters.”
Elijah’s expression softens slightly. “The speech?—”
“Will happen,” she says firmly. “Right, Brandon?”
There is a slight tremor in her fingers clutching my chest. She’s nervous. No. Scared. Of what? That I’ll make a scene? That I’ll embarrass her?
“Fine.” I loosen my tie. The damn thing’s still choking me.
“Good boy.” She pats my chest condescendingly. Can she do that more often? “Now, Elijah, I believe your wife is probably missing you.”
He hesitates, glancing between us. “Ten minutes.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I wiggle my head like a pendulum. “Tick tock.”
He doesn’t answer and walks off.
“You’re an idiot.” Naomi’s hand falls away, and I immediately miss its warmth.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“You’re also drunk.”
“Working on it.” I grab a champagne flute from a passing waiter.
She snatches it from my hand. “No, you’re not.”
“Since when are you my keeper?”
“Since you decided to pick a fight with your brother at an event that is held in honor of your father.”
The truth in her words stings more than I’d like to admit. “I?—”
“Save it.” She downs the champagne herself, placing it right back. “Just… get through the next hour without starting World War Three, okay?”
“Fine.”
She steps closer, close enough that I catch that apple pie scent again. “You’re better than this.”
“Am I?” I chuckle.
“Yes, you are.” All the amusement vanishes. “And you’re going to go up there, and you’re going to give that speech. Not for them. Not for Elijah. Not even for your father.”
“For who then?”
“For you.” She straightens my tie. “Because you’re Brandon fucking Milton, and you’re… funny.”
I stare at her, this woman who drives me crazy in every possible way. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Lying.”
