Page 34 of Tobias

How did I know this is the sort of question he was going to ask? Though he too refuses to settle down with anyone, he’s always worried about everyone else getting married and finding love. He’s like cupid. And he doesn’t let me answer before he continues.

“We all know Brandon was an ass, but—”

“My dating life has nothing to do with Brandon,” I say firmly.

He frowns. “If you were happy alone, we wouldn’t care, but we worry about you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Well, we do.”

“None of you are married yet.”

“No offense, Tobias, but you’ve got quite a few years on us.”

I scoff but smile. “Call me old again, and I will get upset.”

He rolls his eyes.

“We just want you to be happy.”

“I’m fine. Trust me, I’m fine.”

He raises a brow, and I raise mine in response.

“Fine. Whatever you say.” He holds his hands up in defeat as he hops off his seat, then grabs his drink to walk off. “Okay, who’s ready for some Tay-Tay?!” he shouts, and everyone but me and Emmet whoop in response. I catch his gaze. It’s a firm look. Not intimidating, but… curious maybe?

I turn my stool to watch Nathanial as he gets up on stage and turns everything on so he can serenade us through our night that will surely end up with all of us drunk and stumbling home. As long as I have enough drinks to believe the lies I just told him, I think I’ll be okay.

Chapter Thirteen

Theodore

“Happy Thanksgiving!” my mother shouts as I walk into the house, her arms held up high. She hurries over, her heels clicking on the spotless tile floor. Her arms wrap around me, and she presses a kiss to my cheek. “Honey, you don’t come here enough.”

“I was just here a few weeks ago, Mom.” She pouts, turning her attention on Marianne.

“Oh, you look lovely, Mari!”

“Thank you, Mom.”

That’s another thing to add to my ever-growing list of why I can’t leave Marianne. She callsmymother Mom. They’re close. Maybe they should get married…

I chuckle to myself, shaking my head as I close the door.

“Your father is in study, Theodore,” my mother calls, her arm hooked through Marianne’s as they walk toward the kitchen.

My parents’ house is big, but it’s smaller than the one I grew up in. My mother complained of the house being too big to clean herself and so my father hired workers to do it. Then she complained of there being too many people in the house. So, the answer was to get a smaller house that my mother could clean by herself. Though, she doesn’t clean a damn thing in here. They hired a maid who does everything and lives in the in-law across the property. She’s a woman who can never make up her mind. I guess that’s what happens when your options are endless.

It’s a modest house for what my father makes, but once you step inside, you can tell they have plenty of money. Grand piano, high ceilings, expensive liquor, heavy drapes, and ugly art.

Why is all the expensive art ugly?

I knock on the door before stepping into the study. It's dark, but not because of lack of light. Everything is dark wood and brown. My father looks up from his phone as I enter. He’s sitting behind his desk, leaning back in his chair.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Son,” is his response as he glances back at his phone.

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