Pride, Prejudice, and Other Flavors (The Rajes #1)(92)

She laughed—mirthless laughter had become their language now—and sank into the plastic chair. “You’re thirty years old, Darcy James!” She sounded exactly like their mother. “Isn’t it time you figured out how to deal with all that anger? Or one of these days, you’re going to blow up like a volcano and hurt someone entirely undeserving of it.” She grabbed her pencil and started picking at it.

“Yeah, and you’re one to talk.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Aren’t you blowing up right now?”

Her hand fisted around the pencil, turning her knuckles white.

“Yeah, you’re bloody imploding, Emma Jane. You’re so angry you don’t even care who you destroy along the way.”

Her eyes widened with shock. She was about to respond, but the doorbell rang and they both looked at the door.

“That’s Julia,” she said, calming down so fast he felt like a prized lunatic for how much anger was still lodged all the way up his gullet. “It’s showtime.” Despite her best effort, sadness suffused her eyes and his anger fizzled.

“You don’t have to do this, Emma.” The knot in his neck squeezed tight.

Her only response was a bitter laugh. “A bit late for that, innit? Open the door.”

He did as she said and found Julia smiling brightly, blond dreadlocks spilling over her bare shoulders.

“Hullo there.” He took the tripod from her and she followed him inside.

“Am I interrupting something?” she whispered, giving him a quick hug, as was her way.

Emma shoved her hand at Julia before she could hug her, and they shook. “Yes, but I’m glad you are,” she said lightly. Had his sister always put up such a good show for everyone? She was excellent at it. No one else would see everything swirling inside her. But it was all he saw, maybe because it was inside him, too.

Julia snapped the camera on the tripod. “He’s ready when you are.” She gave it a little pat.

Emma threw DJ a look that told him exactly what she thought of anyone who talked about cameras like they were pets. He almost smiled.

“Some pain perdu?” he asked, trying to buy his sister some time. He’d made some earlier.

Julia raised one brow.

“That’s fancy speak for French toast,” Emma supplied.

“Sounds fabulous,” Julia said.

Emma gave a bored grunt. “It’s all right.” But her eyes shone.

DJ made up two plates, but took only one out and handed it to Julia.

Emma took it from her. “Very funny. You can give her the one you’re hiding in the kitchen for me.”

He shook his head and dropped a kiss on her idiot head.

When he brought Julia her plate, she had turned the camera on and aimed it at Emma who was sitting stiffly on a beanbag.

“So what made you decide not to have the surgery?” Julia asked.

His temper flared again. Wasn’t she not supposed to do interviews anymore?

Emma stared at her toes. “What kind of question is that?” Which wasn’t an answer but DJ had a feeling Emma no longer had a simple answer to that question.

“It’s the kind of question our viewers are most interested in.”

Emma stopped looking sad and glared at Julia. “Why are your viewers so interested in terminally ill people, anyway? Why are you? Have you ever wondered why you’ve chosen to tell these stories where there’s no longer any help to be had?” Once again he was struck by how wrong this was, this wanting to watch someone die, this curiosity about what that pain and fear might be like. It was unarguably barbaric and he hated that he hadn’t talked Emma out of it.

Julia didn’t even bat an eyelid. “That’s good, that’s very good. So you’re angry that this has happened to you. Let the anger out. It’ll help.”

“Oh, it’ll help, will it? What if I’m not angry at all? What if I’m tickled. It’s so droll that there’s shit growing in my brain that’s going to kill me.” She kept saying it was going to kill her. But it wasn’t. She threw DJ a warning glance—don’t you dare go there!—and he stayed silent.

Julia looked at him. “Why don’t we get some of you today? Since it seems like Emma might need a moment.”

Emma laughed. “Several moments, actually.” She bit into the pain perdu.

“I beg your pardon?” he said to Julia, because when had he agreed to being part of this?

“It’s nothing really. Just sit down and talk and let the camera pick you up. I won’t use anything that you don’t want me to use.”

There was no way he was getting on camera and talking about anything, let alone his sister’s illness.

“Leave him be,” Emma said, taking another bite. “I’m the one these people are interested in. Let’s start with me trying to send myself into a food coma.” She looked straight into the camera. “I just consumed a million calories of this before you got here, but I can’t stop. Because my brother puts crack in his food. Write his name down, DJ Caine. Anytime you get the opportunity to eat his food, run don’t walk.” She took another bite and chomped with exaggerated delight. “Did you know he’s catering the big fund-raiser for that hottie Yash Raje?” She waved the syrupy bread at the camera like a campaign flag. “Yash Raje for governor!”