Page 65 of The Deception: Hercules Valentine and I

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

She just looks at me, panicked, while still chewing. I want to laugh.Does she not remember the goddamn script?I know Max Grove’s type. I’m sure he’s written one for her.Control…

She doesn’t even realize it, but she gets wet when I take control. She likes it that way.Damn… we need to finish eating.

“Just a brother,” she finally says.

I nod, surprised that she told the truth.

“Are you close?” I ask, purposely pushing her.

“Very.”

I put down my fork and fold my arms. “Tell me about him.”

Her eyes are wide again. “Like what?”

“Is he older or younger than you?”

She pauses. “Older.”

Again, the truth.

“Where does he live?”

Paisley heaves her back against her chair, frowning. “Why do you want to know so much about my brother?”

I study her with narrowed eyes. She’s nervous.

“Well…” she says, and I’m all ears. “I can say that when my mom calls my brother, she doesn’t rattle him.” Her jaw drops. “Oh my God, sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

I raise a hand. Paisley is a master at diversion, but I decide to play along. “No, it’s fine. My mother and I have a complex relationship.”

“Oh yeah?” Her tone is leading.

“Yeah. She’s not a horrible mother. She’s the one who made us who we are. She has expectations because she’s afraid with one mistake, we can lose it all.”

She sits up straight. “One mistake? Like what?”

Paisley looks genuinely curious. I thought all Groves were aware of the Valentines’ morality clauses. Charles Grove, her grandfather, used them to win his licensing case for the original version of TRANSPORT against my grandfather, Hugo.

“It’s all about our family’s reputation. Do you know anything about that?” I ask.

“About what?”

“Letting down your family?”

She shows me a beautiful yet solemn expression. “Don’t we all?”

I let silence reign. I want this discussion to fizzle away. I don’t want to push her anymore, at least not in that way.

“Oh, I wanted to ask you—do you really think it’s smart of us to start making flying cars?” I say.

Her eyes light up. “If it’s possible, then why not try?”

I grin, mainly because I like to see her happy. “But come on—flying cars?”

“Well… it doesn’t have to be a flying car per se. Maybe we’ll end up with a superhighway. There are three major reasons for rush-hour traffic…”