“It’s three in the afternoon. Why aren’t you dressed?”
“Because it’s Saturday. I’m off. Why are you storming in here? What’s going on?”
He crosses my living room, pacing like a lunatic. “I fucking knew it.”
My heart starts to thud. Does he know about Wilder?
“I knew I couldn’t trust you in the city. You’ve completely lost your goddamn mind, sis. There’s low and then there’s this,” he shouts, and OK, now I’m a little nervous.
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you need money, is that what it was? Or was this just a regular Monday afternoon for you?”
I watch him, stunned at his behavior. Is he drunk? No. This isn’t Wesley drunk. This is Wesley losing his shit the same way he did when I told him I was dropping out of school to paint.
His eyes land on the two plates on the counter behind me. “Someone here?”
“No.” I move to block him from going down the hallway.
“Rose,” he warns, then grows pale as he stares over my shoulder.
My heart thuds against my chest dreadfully fast as I turn.
Wilder steps out into the living room in nothing but his jeans. And he doesn’t look any happier than my brother. “Think it’s about time you calmed down, Wes.”
“The fuck is this?” It’s barely an audible breath.
I swallow hard; my heart is pounding. I turn back to Wesley, and he meets my eyes. “Rose?”
“For fuck’s sake, what does it look like, Wes?” I shout.
He glares across the room, disregarding me. “It looks like you’re fucking my sister.”
Wilder keeps his tone even, taking slow steps. “Can we talk like adults? Calm down for a minute? Then we can explain.”
“We? You’re a we now? What the fuck? You don’t date, Wilder. You fuck around. You—” He pauses, his eyes wide. “Are you using my sister to ease all the stress you’re under?”
“No. I’d never do that. Not to you or her.”
Wes runs a hand down his face, crossing to the window.
“This is something else.” He turns to me. “You’re even more out of control than I thought.”
“That’s enough, Wes. The reality is we don’t have to explain anything to you. Rose is an adult. A level-headed, smart, talented, and open-minded human being. Maybe if you took thetime to get to know her, she might surprise you.”
Wes shakes his head with an unhumorous laugh. “Yeah, real level-headed. A therapist with an eye for art. Or—” He drops a stack of dark eight by ten photos over a manilla envelope onto my counter. “A girl who’s lost her identity and does something stupid. And once again, Wilder,” he bites, pushing the stack toward him across the counter, “you’re too blind to see it.”
I catch Wilder swallow hard at my brother’s words.
And I don’t miss the reference.
Howdaremy brother compare me to Bonnie?
Dropping my eyes to the stack of photos, a chill runs through me. I recognize them instantly. Where I’ve seen images like it before.
At the gallery.
My stomach sinks as I reach for them. They’reme. Nude—silhouetted, thank God—images of me, in front of a window, pushing back a curtain, arranging flowers, leaning against a door frame. There must be more than a dozen of them here.
