“It’s gorgeous,” Emily murmurs beside me, while my gaze lands on Derek’s hand, which is now well bandaged. I am struck by how alike my father and brother are tonight, both dressed in starched white shirts, both tall and striking in similar ways.
Shaking off the idea that I too am like them, I turn my gaze on Emily, to find her taking in the walls, lined with bookshelves, and topped with another domed ceiling that is painted to look like a globe, and the fireplace burning in the center of the far wall.
“My parents do have good taste,” I agree. “And I wonder how my brother explained that bandage on his hand.”
“I was wondering the same,” she replies softly.
“I have the champagne,” my mother announces, breezing past us, and toward my father and brother, while I guide Emily that direction and inside the square formed by the dark brown leather couch framed by chairs.
My father motions to Derek. “Give it to him.” He eyes Derek. “Open the bottle, son.”
Derek lifts his hand and my father grimaces. “Right. The attack of the steak knife your date somehow landed in your hand.” He looks at me. “Get it done, Shane.”
Derek’s expression darkens with the irony of the moment that says I always have to come to the rescue, and the look he gives me is pure hate. I open the champagne while my mother holds out glasses, which I fill as she passes them out. Finally, I set the bottle on the ledge above the bar and step to Emily’s side.
That’s when Derek’s eyes land on Emily. “Had I known we were bringing dates, I could have brought one myself.”
“If your date is Teresa Martina,” I say, “we’re all better off with you leaving her at home.”
“And yet Emily is welcomed?”
“Emily won’t get us all killed,” I say, while my father adds, “I invited Emily.”
“And I want her here,” I add, “because she’s now family. She lives with me.”
“Oh my,” my mother says. “That’s amazing.” She smiles at Emily. “I knew there was more to you two.”
“Interesting,” Derek says, his eyes glinting with a purpose I don’t like and will shut down.
“Let’s move on,” my father says. “Originally, this was going to be a dinner to announce the vote for head of the table. New events have occurred and I’m canceling the board meeting.”
It’s not a completely unexpected move, considering my father is now looking to control Mike before that vote, but it does seem to indicate his desire to do so is newfound.
“What new events?” Derek demands, his voice cutting with irritation.
He holds up his glass. “Seems I shouldn’t drink my way through chemo, and to my grave, after all. This drink is for show tonight, at least, for me. There’s a new experimental cancer treatment I’ve been approved to take part in. Of course, a generous donation to the right people helped.”
My mother’s eyes go wide, relief filling her face. “What treatment? How successful is it? When can you start?”
Her response pleases me, but I’ve researched these experimental treatments and fear she is simply headed for more pain.
“What matters here,” my father says, “is they’ve had patients enter remission that otherwise were thought to be imminently terminal. I won’t be giving up control of the company as quickly as I thought might be necessary.”
My mother hands me her glass and embraces my father. Emily moves forward and takes my father’s glass as well, and he wraps my mother in his arms. Derek’s gaze meets mine and he eyes the chess table sitting on the far left wall. “Let’s play, shall we?”
The last thing I want is to join Derek in a game of chess, but it’s better than standing here, looking at each other. I down my champagne and set both glasses on the coffee table. “Game on,” I say, giving him my back, my hands coming down on Emily’s shoulders, softening my voice. “You okay?”
“Of course. I’m not fragile.”
My lips quirk. “No. No, you are not.”
“But please kick his ass in chess.”
“I will,” I promise, releasing her to claim the leather chair across the table from my brother. “How long has this game been set up and going?”
“Seven years,” he supplies, “but I say we end it tonight.”
“Yes,” I agree. “Let’s end it tonight.”
We start playing, and the game is quickly intense. I lose track of time. My father pulls a chair up to sit between us. My mother tries to get us to break for dinner. But Derek and I stare at the board and soon I am backed into a corner. Derek’s gaze meets mine. “You could always sacrifice your queen and let her die a royal death. Would it—would she—be worth it to win?”
My blood runs cold, the threat against Emily clear. I am about to reach in my pocket and remove the tape I made of him at Teresa’s house the other night when my father leans in close and says, “If anything happens to Emily, Derek, I will disinherit you. And I mean anything, so you damn sure better hope a natural disaster doesn’t happen.” He reaches into his pocket and sets a piece of paper on the board. “There’s the amended page. It’s done. She’s one of us now and we protect her.”
“Why do you care about Emily?”
I might be shocked at my father’s actions, obviously planned to be a part of this night, but his motivation is clear to me. He wants my support to take down Mike, which means he’ll protect what is mine. His answer, however, is more simply his own, typical of who he is, and always has been. “Because only pussies use their women to fight their wars. Real men, Brandon men, fight one-on-one.”