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“I’m surprised you invited him.”
I shrug. I don’t like him. I don’t like what he represents. I despise that our father cared more about telling me about the son he barely knew instead of trying to mend the fractures between us.
But the world now knew about Michail Sullivan Drakos, private security millionaire in his own right and secret son of Lucifer Drakos, thanks to a belated press release arranged by Lucifer before he died. The old bastard just had to have the last word. Leaving Michail off the guest list would have looked petty at best and undermined my image.
A mercenary approach. But I don’t make decisions based on emotions.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Rafe asks quietly.
I smirk. “If you really wanted an answer to that, you would have asked it four weeks ago when I asked you to be my best man.”
Silence reigns between us.
“I don’t always know what to say.”
I glance at Rafael in surprise. My brother is a block of ice. I’ve never once heard him admit to anything that could resemble a weakness.
“You always know what to say.”
“For business, yes.” He leans forward, his eyes sweeping across the lawn. “When it comes to personal matters, I’m more of a failure than our father.”
I frown. “Are you drunk?”
He laughs, the sound rusty as if he hasn’t used his voice for that function in a very long time.
“Sadly, no. Merely reflective.”
He looks at me then with that sharp gaze I know so well. Except right now it’s tinged with a brotherly concern I’ve never experienced. It cuts me, unexpected and sharp. When I found out I had a brother, a stubborn flame of hope had flickered to life. Despite my mother choosing heartache over life, and my father dismissing me as if I were nothing more than a bug he’d stepped on, the concept of a sibling—abrother—had made me hope one last time.
A hope that died the moment Rafe had walked in on a break from university, said hello as if he was greeting a stranger on the street, and then continued on to his private rooms on the second floor where he stayed until he went back to London a week later.
He was never cruel or rude. His indifference was almost worse.
But I grew up. I shoved all of those hopes and desires for something more, for a family, out of my mind as I hardened my heart.
That a single glance and a few words can shake my resolve makes me feel...weak. Weak and angry that he would choose now, after all these years, to try and be a brother.
“I have concerns about how quickly you rushed into this. And who you’re rushing into it with.”
“That’s the beauty of this arrangement, Rafe.” I slap him on the back. “She’s agreed to cease any investigations into our company. After we’re divorced, even if she does try to write anything, it will look like pettiness from an ex-wife.”
“But we don’t have anything for her to write about.” That look of concern intensifies. It’s almost unnatural on a face that’s usually as smooth as stone. “We never have, and never will, be like him.”
The way he says it with such conviction digs deeper into my heart. I pause, waiting a second for my emotions to settle before I speak. It’s nice to hear, sure.
But it’s too late. I’m not opening my heart to anyone again.
“Doesn’t mean she won’t try to drum up something to get back at Lucifer.”
Rafe’s brows draw together. “I’ve wondered why she focused on him so hard. I should look into her background.”
I nearly tell him then, about Grey House and her father. At the last second, I bite it back. No matter what I think of her, it’s not my story to tell. That’s what I tell myself as I ignore the protective instinct that rises.
I glance back out the window, then smile as I see a familiar blond-haired woman moving through the crowd, shoulders thrown back with confidence as she navigates with the use of her forearm crutches.
“Tessa’s here.”
I can practically hear Rafe’s neck snap as his head whips around and he moves to the window. Interesting. I think this is the most emotion I’ve ever seen him display. His eyes zero in on the petite figure dressed in blue. His wife.