Page 48 of Devil's Iris
He freezes halfway into the car, his expression a mixture of shock and something I can’t decipher. After a beat, he actually waves back, the gesture awkward but oddly endearing.
Once the car disappears around the corner, I practically sprint back inside, my back hitting the door as I cringe from pure embarrassment.Have a great day, sweetheart?What the hell was that crap?
The whole thing seemed like a good idea in my head. I thought it’d be cute. But Christ, it was so… forced. His face was priceless, though—almost comical.
I giggle despite myself. He’ll have to work on his acting. We’ll both have to if we want his brothers and their wives to believe us. They’re allactuallyin love, so they’ll be able to smell our ruse from a mile away if we don’t play our cards right.
I walk into the kitchen to make breakfast and start browsing on my phone for ideas of what I can do with my time.Anything,Romero said. The thought that I can do anything is both freeing and terrifying. I never had time to dream growing up, and now I feel like I’m too old for dreams. What do I even want to do? Outside of my family and their needs… who am I?
I’m just finishing breakfast when a text pops up from an unknown number.
Miss Barlowe, this is Rico, the guard on duty at the front gates. There’s a young man out here who claims to be your brother.
There’s a guard stationed at the gates? I’ve never noticed one. Before I can reply, an image comes through—Ethan standing outside the gates, his face pulled into an exaggerated scowl as he poses for the camera with his middle finger raised high. I sigh as I text the man back.
Yes, that’s my brother. Please let him in, thank you.
Then I text Romero.
Heyy, we have a guard at the gates? I didn’t know.
He doesn’t reply immediately—probably already in court—so I put my phone away. Has it been two hours since he left the house? I’m not sure. I put my plate in the dishwasher and go wait for Ethan at the front door.
I don’t have to wait long. He comes skipping down the path, his face stretched into a wide grin. “Holy shit, Leni. This place is insane.”
“Did you have to flip off the poor guard?” I ask, crossing my arms. “He was just doing his job.”
My brother rolls his eyes as he stops in front of me. “He waskeeping me from seeing my sister. I thought that fucker might be doing something to you.”
“That fucker?” I raise a brow at him. Surely, he can’t be referring to Romero.
“Yeah, the fucker.” His lips turn down. “He showed up at our new house this morning and started laying down a bunch of rules. Can you imagine? He–” Ethan stops mid-sentence and grabs my hand, then whistles low. “Holy hell, Leni. That’s some rock.”
I glance down at the engagement ring on my finger. It’s only been there for a day, but it already feels so natural and right that I’d almost forgotten about it. In the daylight, it sparkles brilliantly, casting shards of light over Ethan’s face.
I slip my hand out of his grip. “Come on, let’s go in.” I lead him into the house, straight to the kitchen. “Are you hungry?”
He shrugs, but his eyes are bright with interest as he takes in the surroundings. ”I mean, I could eat. Are you offering me food?”
I smirk and pile a plate high with the extra waffles and turkey bacon I made with him in mind. Setting it down in front of my brother, who rubs his hands together in anticipation, I follow with a cold bottle of water from the fridge and a glass, placing them beside his plate.
By the time I slide onto the stool next to him, he’s already inhaled half the food. I chuckle. “Have you not been eating?”
“You know Mom isn’t exactly a cook like you, Leni,” he says around a mouthful.
Mom not being a cook is an understatement. She never moves off her ass once she’s got her opioids, period.
A stab of guilt pierces through me at leaving him to deal with her alone. “You should probably start making your own food. I taught you how.”
“Err, nah. I’ll just order takeout or eat cereal.” He smirks as heopens the bottle and gulps down the water in one go. I roll my eyes at his disgusting manners and return the clean glass to the cabinet, then put Ethan’s used plate into the dishwasher with mine.
“You mentioned Romero coming over to see you and Mom this morning. What rules did he lay down?” What exactly did he say?
He waves an airy hand. “Curfews mostly. Told me where I can and can’t go. Said ‘You can’t make your sister worry about you.’” He lowers his voice, doing a terrible impression of Romero, and I chuckle, warmth blooming in my chest at the thought. “Then he pulled Mom aside and said some things to her that made her go white as a ghost.”
Oh my God, did he confront Mom about the slap? Mortification washes over me. He said he was in a rush to get to work—why would he stop there? It’s not even on his way. I glance at my phone anxiously, half-expecting Mom to call and start yelling. I told him the slap wasn’t a big deal, damn it. I checked the mirror after he left and the bruise isn’t even that bad. Even Ethan doesn’t seem to notice it.
He went to give Mom a piece of his mind anyway—there’s no point in being anxious about it now.
