Page 97 of A Cold Hard Truth

“Yes, I want to do it now.” Sebastian straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, fighting back the way all the wine rushed to his head.

“It means that the things I want don’t matter.” Rhys leveled him with a targeted glare, clearly intended to cut. “I’m not allowed the things that would make me happy, Sebastian. I never have been, and I don’t imagine I ever will be. I’ve known that since college and I’ve adjusted my own goals accordingly.”

“Since college…”

Since college when he’d been with Callahan.

“Since college,” Rhys repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Take it as you want, Sebastian. I’m the heir to this empire, this house, this money, that damned university with our name on it. You think you’ve had a hard life being Sebastian St. George? Youngest son of James St. George?”

Rhys made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, and Sebastian swallowed back bile.

“You cannot even begin to understand what it means to bear this name. This responsibility. I have…” Rhys snapped his mouth closed and looked away.

“You’ve what?” Sebastian asked quietly.

Rhys shook his head.

“Tell me,” Sebastian pleaded.

He’d never seen Rhys so emotional, so borderline distraught and unhinged.

“I have done so much.” Rhys bit his tongue and stared at the fridge, voice lowering dramatically. “To give you the life you deserve.”

“What does that even mean, Rhys?”

“You can’t begin to understand what a burden this name is, Sebastian, and I’m glad for that.”

Sebastian saw the briefest flash of his brother in another light, but he smoothed his hand through his hair, took a drink of his wine and straightened the way his vest had gone askew and the look was gone.

“Finish your wine and meet me in the office.” Rhys stood like the conversation hadn’t even happened. “I’ve highlighted some key points on your divorce agreement that I think we need to focus on.”

“Rhys.” Sebastian stood, always mirroring his older brother, always trailing after, always being second. “Can we talk about what you just said?”

“I said meet me in the guest office.” Rhys grabbed another bottle of wine out of the wine fridge, picked up his glass, and stalked out of the kitchen.

Sebastian listened to his shoes click and clack as he made his way upstairs to the east wing that housed their childhood bedrooms and the guest offices. He braced himself against the counter to yet again catch his breath, promising to listen to his brother with an open mind, and then he followed behind.

As always.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Remington and the Confusing Feelings

It had been three days and four nights since Rhys had spirited Sebastian off to Mallardsville. It had also been three days and four nights since Remington had heard from him.

He knew Callahan had spoken with Sebastian on Thursday because Jace told him as much, but he hadn’t received the same courtesy. Remington didn’t want to admit the way the neglect abraded his confidence, so he ignored it, choosing instead to throw himself into work.

That was where he found himself on Monday morning, running through a checklist of titles that needed to be reviewed and stored, interrupted by a knock on his door and his boss’ smiling face.

“Grant,” Remington greeted, flipping closed the folder he’d been reading.

“How’s it going, Remington?”

“Easier now that we’re funded,” he answered, hoping the heat that crept up his throat wasn’t visible as a blush.

Knowing he only had a job because Sebastian had donated a quarter of a million dollars to the museum like it was pocket change always sat heavily in the back of his mind. It hadn’t come up in conversation since he’d found the donation receipt, and Remington was fairly certain Sebastian could go through the rest of his life without ever bringing it up. It still felt like a morally gray area for Remington, but he had reviewed the handbook and there wasn’t anything in there specifically against being romantically involved with donors.

“Very true,” Grant agreed. “That’s kind of what I wanted to speak with you about?”