Say You Still Love Me(52)

“That’s because you’re too busy smoking pot and playing with silver spoons.”

He grins. “Mock me all you want, but do you know how many of those phone holders we’ve sold? Probably enough to pay for a pair of those ridiculous, overpriced shoes.” He waves his fork toward my Manolos. “What were they, a grand? Two?”

“Funny, I seem to recall a time when you only dated girls who wore ridiculous, overpriced shoes.”

He smirks. “And then I saw the light.”

My brother used to be the archetypal wealthy city-boy type—stylish gelled hair, a taste for expensive clothes, fast cars, and high-society blondes. Moderately entitled, but tempered by my mother’s influence; quick to anger when he didn’t get his way, though he was for the most part disciplined and eager to please my father. He was interning at CG during his summers, being groomed for an executive position.

And then it was like he woke up one day with a new personality and a one-way ticket to Thailand. In truth, there were probably signs that he would one day snap, but the six-year age gap between us made it hard for me to see them.

“Yes, that light is awfully blue and sparkly.” I stare pointedly at the signature robin’s-egg-blue Tiffany bag peeking out from his satchel. It contains a diamond pendant that Lawan had been eyeing online one day but would never dare ask him to buy for her. “I wasn’t mocking you, by the way. I loved the spoon sculpture. And the lamp that just arrived.”

“Yeah?” His eyes twinkle with delight. “And what’d Dad say?”

“He . . . uses it daily.”

Rhett bursts out in laughter and I can’t help but grin. He’s always had a big laugh, but somewhere along the way, it evolved into a hearty, booming sound.

“I hesitated too long, didn’t I?”

“You’re a shitty liar, Piper.”

“It did grab his attention, momentarily, if that means anything.”

“Whatever. I gave up on pleasing him years ago. And I’ll tell you, it was liberating.” He sighs heavily. “Okay, enough about Dad and that place. Tell me what else is going on in your life, so I know you have a good excuse for not coming out to visit us for eight months.”

I cringe. “Has it been that long?”

“Since our store’s grand opening. Lawan’s trying not to take it personally.”

“I’m sorry, really. It’s just been so busy with work, and then the whole breakup and moving and all that . . .”

He tips his bottle of Corona toward me. “Best decision you’ve ever made, shedding those two hundred pounds, by the way. Not gonna lie: I may have cracked a bottle of champagne after Mom spilled the news.” To say David and Rhett did not click is an understatement. The moment we pulled up to their house in David’s Maserati and David stepped out in his polished leather shoes and suit for a casual weekend, Rhett had made his mind up. David only validated his opinion of him when he point-blank told Rhett he was an idiot for not signing a pre-nup to protect his money from Lawan, an especially prickly thorn in my father’s side as well.

It’s the only time I’ve ever seen the pre-Thailand version of my brother: seconds away from knocking my fiancé’s teeth out.

“How’s the condo?”

“Besides the psychotic Siamese cat that was sitting on my nightstand watching me sleep the other night?” I fill Rhett in on my new living situation.

“I really need to meet these camp friends one day.”

“If you weren’t already married, I’d be setting you and Ashley up. You’d be perfect together.”

“Happily married,” he corrects with a warning look.

“Whatever. Just make sure you let me know when Lawan runs off with the gardener and half your money.” A scenario my father offered up when trying to convince my brother to sign the pre-nup his lawyers had drafted, the day before their wedding.

I’m only teasing, of course. I’ve never seen a more content and loving couple than Rhett and Lawan. He makes her tea every night and drives to a bakery one town over every Saturday morning for her favorite almond croissants; I’ve never even heard him raise his voice to her.

Rhett takes a swig from his beer. “And what about you? Dating yet?”

“Not yet.” It’s funny, just a few weeks ago, that answer would have been more along the lines of “Hell no,” and punctuated with a bitter laugh. Now, though, the second Rhett asked, my mind instantly veered to the lobby at work, and to the man behind the security desk.

“Don’t worry, someone decent will come along soon enough.” He adds in a grumble, “Preferably as opposite to Worthington as possible.”

“He definitely is that,” I mutter under my breath as I take a sip of my wine.

Too loudly, it seems.

Rhett leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Okay, spill it. So there is someone?”

“No . . .”

“An architect.”

“No.”

“Investor.”

“No.”

“Tennis pro?”

I cringe.

“Masseuse?”

“Stop it.”

“The gardener?”

I laugh and joke, “I don’t want Lawan’s sloppy seconds.”