Page 15 of Fake Dark Vows

Jennifer learned long ago how to be discreet, but there’s another side of her that enjoys the shock factor of disclosing her previous occupation. Fortunately for me, not today.

“Business associate. That’s what they call it these days, huh?”

Damon emphasizes the word ‘business’ and downs his drink, refilling it himself and emptying the bottle in the process. He taps it with his index finger and waits for Tom to reappear with a replacement.

“Brandon is a typical Weiss. A workaholic with no time for meaningful relationships, so don’t go getting any ideas, sweet Rose.”

“I…” Rose shakes her head, heat flooding her cheeks. “No, I wouldn’t… I mean, I’m only here for the celebrations. To help your mom, that is. As a favor.”

Damon’s cell phone rings then, rescuing Rose, and he answers it with an eye roll. “Mom? Checking up on us before we’ve even left the ground?”

Pause. Damon’s eyes meet mine briefly.

“He’s here.” His tone is clipped. “Is that it?” Our mother must cut him off because he studies the screen and mutters, “Love you too, Mom,” under his breath.

“So, does that mean you’re not a typical Weiss?” Jennifer steps in, rescuing Rose.

It’s one of the things I like about her. I met Jennifer about five years ago through a business associate. Aside from the fact that she introduced me to three sexual positions I’d never tried before during our first encounter, I recognized in her a level of determination and confidence that few people possessed. The sleek black bob with red streaks down one side, the heavily kohled eyes, and the intricate ouroboros tattoo snaking around her wrist, hide a quick wit and intelligent mind. It’s the reason I jumped at the chance to bankroll her art gallery.

“I don’t need to be,” Damon says. “That’s what the eldest son is for.”

“Hmm.” Jennifer swallows a mouthful of champagne. “I detect a note of bitterness in your tone, Damon. Have you ever considered this situation from Brandon’s perspective?” When my brother doesn’t answer, she continues, “Perhaps he’d like to sit back and reap the rewards of someone else’s hard work occasionally.”

My brandy arrives and I down it in one, while Tom waits discreetly for my glass.

“You’re wasting your breath,” I tell Jennifer. “Damon doesn’t understand the Weiss family work ethos. He prefers to make his money via more sordid avenues.”

Rose is following the conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, her gaze flitting back and forth across the aisle.

The engines rumble to life then and Tom closes the door, locking it into position for takeoff. It’s going to be a long three hours.

Jennifer plays Candy Crush Saga on a handheld device, the sound muted so that she doesn’t disturb me poring over the documents I’ve barely even registered. At some point shortly after takeoff, Rose produced a pack of cards, and she and Damon have been playing a game that involves a lot of talking and bullshitting about what cards they have in their hands.

Damon is deliberately loud—he has always been disruptive, even as a kid, because in Damon’s eyes, any attention is better than no attention. I don’t know what Rose’s excuse is though, but she seems to enjoy my brother’s company.

It won’t last. But meanwhile, I have to fight the urge to glance at her every few seconds out of the corner of my eye.

Finally, she stacks the cards and asks him to tell her about his children.

Damon takes a deep breath and peers out of the window at the turquoise ocean below. “They’re great kids, just like their mom,” he says. “Frankie, the eldest, is seven going on sixteen. Then we’ve got Charlie who’s five, and Georgie, the baby, who’s three.”

“All boys?”

“All girls.” Damon strokes the stem of his champagne flute. “The family name won’t be going far unless Brandon produces the future generation of Weiss sons our father craves.”

Rose’s gaze instinctively flickers my way before she turns her attention to the view from the window. The three of them have been through three bottles of Moet, but she stopped drinking after the first glass.

“I can’t wait to meet them,” she says, trying to inject some enthusiasm into her voice.

“You want kids?” Jennifer asks her.

The smile is back for the first time since we left New York. The genuine smile. The one that reaches her eyes and lights her up from the inside. “Sure. I love kids. I had a job lined up at a preschool that fell through, but that’s what I want to focus on when I get back.”

Without warning, the aircraft drops, and my stomach takes a moment to settle. That’s all we need, some turbulence along the way.

I stand up and brush past Jennifer on my way to the restroom. An invitation. I have an irrational fear of turbulence and need to splash water on my face. As I leave the cabin, I hear Jennifer say, “What happened? Why did the job fall through?”

In the restroom, I lower my face to the cold water faucet and wait for my heartrate to regulate.

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