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“Yes,” I answer simply. “And frankly, even if something was going on, it’s none of your business, Carson.”
“You’re my little sister.”
“That doesn’t make you my keeper. I can make my own decisions.”
“So you keep saying. You’ve been making your own decisions since the day I fucking met you, Emilia. Is this how it was when you lived with her? She just left you alone? You made your own decisions then because you didn’t have anybody else. But now you do.”
I tense. Oh no, he fucking didn’t.
“You don’t get to assume what my life was like with her, Carson, and you don’t get to mention her either.”
“Why the hell not?” he growls. “She gave birth to me. As much as I hate it, she was my mother as well.”
I step toward him, vibrating with tension.
“No, she fucking wasn’t. You don’t know her, Carson. You don’t get to talk about her, think about her, or feel anything toward her. I already know you don’t, so there’s no need to pretend. She’s not your mother, she’s mine, and I don’t want you talking about her,” I spit angrily.
There’s a particular family trait we Camerons have. We’re stubborn to a fault, and when we’re mad, everything thing else blurs. We end up saying things we don’t mean in our rage. Things we wish we could take back. And despite not living together for most of our lives, Carson and I still perfectly capable of fighting like most siblings do.
“If your mother’s so fucking great then where the hell is she? Why did you come looking for us, then? How about you stop pretending like she was this great person who raised you with love and care. It’s bullshit. Even if you don’t say it, you think we can’t imagine why you came here. She was a drug addict, Emilia. She was probably horrible to you.”
“Shut up,” I say under my breath.
But he doesn’t stop. “If she’s so amazing, why hasn’t she come looking for you?”
Because she’s dead, I scream. Inwardly.
It doesn’t matter how angry he’s made me, he doesn’t deserve to hear about his mother’s death that way. I want so badly to tell him. But I’ve barely even come to terms with the fact that she’s gone. I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him about her eventually. Once I’ve made my peace with it.
I feel a hand on my waist, firm and steady. It’s amazing the effect Sterling has on me. One touch has me feeling able tobreathe easier. He takes a step forward until he’s standing beside me.
“Take a walk, Cameron,” he says to my brother.
Carson looks like he wants to argue. But after reading the expression on my face, he deflates. He huffs out a breath before doing as Sterling said, turning around to leave. I’m sure when he’s calmer, he’ll start to feel guilty. He’ll probably be calling to apologize in a couple of hours. I know he hates fighting. Especially with his little sisters.
“Well, that escalated,” I mutter once Carson’s gone.
Sterling stands in front of me. He raises his hand to my forehead, playing with a couple strands of my hair.
“Camerons,” he says fondly, shaking his head. “You guys practically exude glitter and happiness, until someone pisses you off. And then it’s a warzone.”
I smile at that, looking up at him, glad he’s able to understand so easily.
“He’s just angry because you haven’t opened up to him,” Sterling says.
My shoulders fall and I shrug. “I don’t know how to open up to anyone.”
“You do it little by little, angel,” he says. “Take it a bit at a time.”
My heart clenches when he presses a soft kiss against the middle of my forehead. I can’t help but wonder how much longer I can resist him.
“We should probably head back out to the party. Let’s just hope there’s no more drama,” I tell Sterling.
“Wouldn’t place a bet on that,” he murmurs.
But he gestures for me to take his arm all the same. I slip my hand inside the crook of his elbow as he leads me outside to the garden. It just feels right. Everything feels so right when I’m with him.
That’s the problem, though. It’s only when something feels right that a person truly understands how quickly things can go very wrong.