99 Percent Mine(80)

I exhale. “Well, I’m glad she’s not getting Loretta’s sapphire. Thank fuck for that. I don’t suppose—”

“No. She left it to me. It is for my bride.” Jamie says my bride in a stupid falsetto voice. Heaven help whoever he eventually decides on.

“At least let me wear it. Or look at it.”

According to Loretta, the sapphire turned black from being buried in a flowerpot during the war. Which war, I’m not sure. Is it the truth? Not sure. My favorite ring in the world is now living a fate worse than a flowerpot’s: It’s in Jamie’s safe.

“Name your price.” I just can’t shut my mouth. “I’m guessing a cool billion?”

He’ll never budge on this. “I’m gonna need that ring one day. The twins aren’t getting any younger. Time for us to find a couple of unlucky victims to deal with our bullshit, for life.”

“I’m sure your bride would prefer something from Tiffany. Let me have the ring, please. I might … I might not be around that long.” I let my voice go feeble as I play the crappy-heart card and Jamie sees right through it. Even Tom half laughs, his possessive bristling easing off.

I sigh and give up. “Make sure she’s someone I won’t hate, sitting there wearing my ring when we all go on that cruise when we’re eighty. She’ll come drink whiskey Old Fashioneds with me before lunch and maybe let me try it on.”

If Tom has a wife and it’s not me, I’ll lure her out of his cabin at night and hoist her old bones overboard.

“We’re going on a cruise when we’re eighty? Can’t wait. I’m going to be so loaded.” Jamie smiles, positively romantic about his future bank account. Then he remembers something. “Don’t get your hopes up. She thinks I’m a nightmare. But yeah. She’d day-drink on a cruise ship with you.”

It’s a sore point and I really, really want to press it, because Jamie is actually having to do some chasing for once. I love her, whoever she is. “Well, sounds like she’s got your number. What’s her name?”

“Nope.” His ears are red. Frustration gets me right by the throat. Judging by his body language and the crowbar in his hand I’d better leave it. Once, I knew every single thing about my brother. How can I get back to that place if he forever shuts me down?

I wonder if Tom knows. He shakes his head with a shrug.

“Can’t wait to go on that cruise with you and your elderly husband, Tyler,” Jamie tries, but I wave him off with a scowl.

“So, we’re agreed, this is a bedroom?” Tom is in the entrance to the dining room, and also his own personal hell. I know what he’d whisper about Tyler—in the dark, rhythmically knocking the air out of me. That fucker cannot have me.

He’s buckling something around his waist, slow, like it’s revenge. It’s an honest-to-goodness tool belt. There’s a hammer on one side. It sits low on his hips and I can’t take it.

Everything boils up inside of me, and the floor vibrates under my feet, my bones shake, my heart bumps. The stitches unravel out of the shirt I’m wearing, my heart unspools like cotton and I can’t handle ten more seconds of not kissing him. I put my hand on my hickey and bite my lip. I clench everything so I don’t make a sound.

He convinced me last night that I’m beautiful. From the look in his eye, I convinced him he’s a sexual genius. The faintest smirk touches his lips. “Darce? You want a bedroom, right?”

I cough to clear my throat. “Make it a room fit for a princess. Wallpaper and a fireplace and a four-poster bed. Make someone fall in love with that room.”

“Sure, like it’s so easy,” Jamie replies to me with some snark in his voice. “He’s not your slave.”

“Oh, ’cause he’s your slave?” Tom’s phone buzzes in my pocket. “Tom, it’s your mom. Gosh, pretty early for her.” I hand him the phone. Then I round on my brother. That familiar feeling is in the air. A Barrett Battle.

“So, you got Tom to knock down my fireplace.” I know this is wrong. This won’t lead to anything good. But I have to start getting Jamie used to the fact that Tom is going to choose me over him from now on.

“I told him I trust him. Isn’t that what you do? Trust him? Why not now?” Jamie plants his feet right where the fireplace was and holds out his arms. “The room is huge. There’s some chance of making it look modern now.”

Tom is speaking in soothing tones on his phone and slips out the front door. “He’s going to crack,” I say as I watch him leave. “How much more can get piled on him? I’m trying to help him.”

“You’re never going to help him. Ever. You’re a monkey on his back.” Jamie hopes that hurt. When it doesn’t, he tries again. “He’s only here because I asked him to be.”

“He’s only here because I’m here.” I’ve just blurted the wrong thing, and this time Jamie doesn’t mistake what I mean. He laughs and looks me up and down like I’m nothing special.

“Who do you think you are?” He asks it sweetly. It’s those same words he used in our big fight. The words that echo in my head every time I take out the trash at the bar or open a box of fifty novelty mugs.

“Who do I think I am? I’m Darcy fucking Barrett!”