“I know you are,” Sebastian said.
“Will you forgive me?”
He didn’t need to ask because he knew Sebastian always would. Rhys would never admit it, but he was fond of his brother. Probably more so than anyone else in his life, but that didn’t mean he could turn off the defensive parts of his personality in the blink of an eye.
But Sebastian understood.
And Sebastian always forgave him.
Because he was a St. George.
“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually,” came Sebastian’s reply.
“Not at Remington’s party.” “We’ll talk about it later,” Sebastian said.
“Sebastian.” Remington’s voice was soft, yet firm. It coaxed Rhys’s brother into a state of compliance that had Rhys curious about how he managed to evoke such a behavioral change with so few syllables.
Maybe he liked Remington Dockery a little bit after all.
“Tell me about the gala,” Rhys prompted, hoping to change the subject. “This weekend, right?”
“Saturday night,” Remington answered.
“You’re both set with your tuxes?”
“Yes, Dad,” Sebastian mocked.
“And a car?”
“Remington is going to drive.”
Rhys outwardly balked at the notion. “Remington, you’re sleeping with the man who has enough money to float your entire museum for the rest of his life if he wanted to. You cannot bring him to a celebratory event in a Honda.”
“I don’t drive a Honda,” Remington countered with a smirk.
“You’re not going to drive anything.” Rhys fished his phone out of his pocket. “Least of all on Saturday night. What time does the gala start?”
“Seven,” Sebastian supplied grudgingly.
“Oh, brother. I’m clearly twisting your arm over this one. Don’t act so resistant to the idea.” He fired off an email to the company that handled his vehicle service and gave them the address of Remington’s apartment and a seven p.m. pick up time. “And neither of you complained when you were being driven around Mallardsville, don’t forget.”
“That was different.”
“Wrong.” He tossed his phone onto the table and shot a sharp glare at his brother. “I have worked hard for this family, foryou. The least you can do is reap the benefits of everything I’ve sacrificed, Sebastian.”
“What do you mean—that you’ve sacrificed?”
“Nothing.” He sucked his tongue across the front of his teeth. “Nothing you need to worry about. The point I’m trying to make is the money is there. Use it.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.” Rhys took a healthy swallow of his drink and stared at a blank spot on the wall just to the right of Sebastian’s head.
“You two are so much alike.” Remington laughed softly. “It’s a wonder you’ve not killed each other yet.”
“If he stayed in Mallardsville after college, we might have,” Rhys quipped.
Tension radiated off Sebastian’s shoulders in waves so massive, Rhys could practically feel it across the room. He needed to give his brother a break. Again.
